There are some times where discretion is the better part of valor. In the use of cliches, for example. It is a lesson most of us learn over time. Even the MO. Which brings us to long hiatus of this blog.

You see, I tried to write several posts. I would start, usually with the intent of elaborating on some daily observation. “Chickens are the direct descendants of Tyrannosaurus Rex,” began one post. “Sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree.”

Speaking of apples, I began one post with “The thing with apple trees is that somebody needs to eat them. It isn’t a law, but it sure seems wasteful throwing dozens of half rotten apples into the cornfield.” Earthy, no? Like Garrison Keillor without the smarm.

A third attempt yielded more predictable fare. A long exposition on the difficulty of maintaining one’s figure during a pandemic. That one lasted but a few sentences before careening off the rails.

For, not matter what my beginning, the post soon began to run off on a predictable rail, ruined by an orange specter of doom.

In response, my posts became pregnant with violent ravings. Threats of guns and machetes and general mayhem ran rampant, like a California wildfire (another orange menace, now that I think about it). I cursed the impending apocalypse and offered tips for winter survival. For instance, if you lack vitamin C, you can boil pine needles and drink the piney solution as a tea. No scurvy for me in a post-apocalyptic landscape. Or you (you’re welcome).

I also did a fair amount of speculating about terrorism. What does it take to become a terrorist? If Hollywood is to be believed, an AK-47 and a turban. I already possess my mother’s Mediterranean looks. Allah Akbar and away we go.

Surely, the reader can appreciate my problem. If not, it was (and is) the threat of fascism. Sometimes you are a little slow on the draw. Perhaps you have contracted Covid. I hear that you get something called the “Covid fog,” where your mental capabilities are dulled for months. Maybe Covid fog explains 70-some odd million people voting for a stupid Hitler. Probably not. I blame Jesus. All-powerful means all-responsible, my Jewish friend. You also get the credit for The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. Double credit, as they are Mormons.

Anyway, I began to realize something. Making threats, even veiled ones, could be a black mark if the country becomes an authoritarian state. I don’t want to be waterboarded. I don’t even like swimming all that much. One day you are musing about the elimination of political enemies, the next thing you know you are sleeping on a metal cot in Guantanamo. Better to go fishing and forget about the whole thing.

That didn’t work, but it was worth the try.

For a moment, I had rekindled optimism. Maybe democracy, for all of its shortcomings, would prevail in the end. Then I noticed the stock market.

In the end, there is no great revelation to be had. The Orange Pall is powerless without the help of Those Who Matter. And those sons-a-bitches run everything.

Time to watch John Wick 2 again. Bam bam bam bam bam. Take that, Russian oligarchs.

I can’t figure out why I like that movie so much. Keanu Reeves isn’t even that good of an actor. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure is one of the worst movies ever made. I hear they did another sequel. Yep, the little vampire from Lost Boys reprises the role of Bill. Now, that was a vampire movie.

“Now you know what we are, now you know what you are.”

There’s probably a more universal significance to that vampire quote, but damned if I can think of it. Probably Covid fog setting in. On the bright side, John Wick 2 starts in less than an hour.

He kills all of those guys just because of a dog. You talk about principles. Pow! Pow! Pow!