Two weeks have passed since I last blogged about poetry and other esoteric subjects. In that time, our government has been to the brink and back; storms have ravaged South Dakota, and the Affordable Care Act has met computer glitches of frustrating proportion.
I could have written about any of these subjects, but it would all have been curmudgery. Our government officials are self-serving and arrogant. We already know that. My only real regret is that Senator Cruz used Dr. Seuss’s work for his filibuster when Louis Carroll’s “Jabborwocky” would have been more appropriate.
The snows have come and gone, leaving cattle dead and cattlemen broken. And people still continue to call the AFC “Obamacare.” I realize he once said he didn’t mind, but it seems partisan at best not to use the right name for the law of the land.
So, instead of raving about things over which I have no control, I spent part of the afternoon looking through the myriad of catalogs that arrives each day in anticipation of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. My favorite items are sweatshirts; and here for your amusement are some of the sayings on them that help me forget what a mess we’re in.
These come from the “What on Earth” catalog: Isn’t rise and shine an oxymoron? Guns don’t kill people, drivers with cell phones do. Scars are like tattoos with better stories. Ends sentences with prepositions. Photosynthesis makes me tired. Dear Algebra, Stop asking me to find your X; she’s not coming back. What I really need are minions. Bad Grammar: Don’t go their.
And these are from “Signals,” which has a penchant for puns. A hungry clock goes back for seconds. A tardy cannibal gets the cold shoulder. A backward poet writes inverse. Ancient orators tended to Babylon. That cheese doesn’t belong to you; it’s nacho cheese.
I hope you smiled.
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