Curmudge only

The word is curmudgeonly, not the phrase, curmudge only, which would apply that one curmudges to the exclusion of all other varieties of distemperous joyless or joyvoidism fuck that right? Yes, I’ve been getting to like the latter much better. I don’t think curmudge is a verb let alone a word on that song but it should be don’t you think? Then you could curmudge only. You could also curmudge on. On and on. Kind of like a bizarro cover of Steven Bishop’s great tune. Irregardless, this isn’t something kind of heterosexual reproductive act of a joke, damn it, we’re talking about the very stewardship of our language.

and uni-sex terms can go fuck themselves

there. I said it.

Cover for me Louie, I dropped my phone again

Joan Jett cover of Louie, Louie

are the lyrics to Louie Louie dirty?

of course they are, silly. Either the snooty New Yorker or maybe it’s just WordPress, or maybe it’s a conspiracy between the two of them just to piss me off and irritate me, but for some reason I cannot embed this article from The New Yorker but f*** them anyway, we have history which I won’t go into right now but let me tell you it ain’t pretty. Go ahead and read it anyway if you want to.

Breakfast passion eggs hold the antelope

You lack passion in our lives today we lack passion or at least I do. I think I used to be passionate I was focused when I was younger I could spend hours in almost a chance like state playing a song working on some lyrics writing watching cartoons well maybe that’s just the way I remember it I wasn’t as easily distracted New
Maybe we need exercises and passion, an exercise or something that you do everyday kind of like a ritual of mantra that you chant or maybe even I don’t know like Tai chi something that draws on muscle memory and confidence knowing that the repetition of your entire life behind it can see you through it and help you keep focused on what it is that you’re trying to do. The other part of it might be that even if we can do that part of it we don’t appreciate it anymore we don’t feel it anymore we burn down the synapses we worn out the pathways that caused pleasure have we wore them down to end up doing the point that they’re going to break and cause it a lack of pleasure aneurysm and die of no pleasure? Or is it just the boredom of familiarity? I don’t know the answer to that one I don’t think I know the answer at all for either one of these. But breakfast let’s look at breakfast the first meal of the day eating is one of the fundamental passionate things that we do as biological organisms we take in nutrition we fuel our organic agents by eating other creatures animals plants fish water. The luxury of a two three four hour breakfast is long in the past for me. During the summer so we were teenagers and early college early twenties we could spend a whole day eating breakfast. Leave me around 10:00 or 11:00 or even doing if we’ve been up late the night before whatever somebody would bring eggs something to bring bacon some will bring it anything that was available, an antelope or some moose meat from Canada anything exotic it could be any can it could be roadkill. It just had to be, and novelty was inspirational. Antelope omelets! We could come off as a methodology of drying antelope meat in the sun and then crushing them with stones into a granular form and then take our antelope recipe and ship it around the world make it famous so everyone could enjoy it powdered antelope omelets in envelopes.. and the eggs. How parochial have we come to be a dozen eggs it’s always a dozen eggs who needs a dozen eggs I want two. So who needs a dozen eggs do you have six people for breakfast that’s a weird number nah you never have six people for breakfast everybody wanting two eggs there’s always extra eggs to put back in the refrigerator and then you never know which end of the carton is going to be empty very often you’ll grab it the wrong way you’re expecting to feel a heavier weight or a lighter weight and you accidentally drop the whole thing and break me a remaining eggs what a waste of food. Maybe we should take legs out on a balanced pattern every other egg kind of like social distancing for chickens so they don’t catch the bird flu. No I don’t want my eggs in a cardboard carton equally spaced so they’re protected against all the cracking dangers of the world an egg knows it’s an egg and should live dangerously. That’s natural selection. Think what a tougher brand of chicken we would have a more robust bird if only the eggs that survive the perils of the world made into our breakfast table to our omelette pan. Careful.
And now with 24x7x365 home delivery of groceries leave it on the porch and send me a text message you’re not even stewards of our eggs from the time we put them in the grocery cart to the time we bring them home we just pick the eggs up on our doorstep as if a magical chicken comes every night delays our table Fair out for us. That’s not right. I want to buy my eggs wandering along a dirt path through the forest come to a clearing find a broken down old wagon with a goat headed to it and an old Italian woman wearing a coarse linen kerchief on our left arm baby she would have a hook to nose and say something in a thick accident like what do you want and I would say I want a couple of eggs I’m going to make an antelope omelette. And she might say something like well we ain’t got no antelope it went bad and we had to toss it. And then we would go shake our heads knowingly lamenting the waste. then she might say something like you should have been here last week it was pretty good envelope. First day issue postmarked great North woods somewhere in Canada even, it came air mail with postage due in a big freaking envelope. Why did we eat breakfast last week. How many eggs you want? Two should be enough. Good she said I only got two. Is there an opposite ends of the car laying on the straw would be the last two things that she had for sale maybe one brown egg and one white egg. She put them in a little cloth sack for me and said don’t be an a* and break them cuz I don’t have any more come back I won’t be back for a couple of days I might have to steal some chickens I don’t know. Business is good though I can’t complain. Then I would pay for them by dipping into a drawstring scratch bag around my neck and pulling out a couple of rare coins from two different countries that no longer exist and hand them to her and she would say something like wow correct change thank you. Then she would take each and bite them to make sure they were real. Afterwards she would hold them up to the sun to admire the way they listened and shone and would say hey these are very rare coins you realize there was a fortune period And I would say yes I was aware of that but this is a very special breakfast. And then she would say too bad there’s bite marks all over them that destroys the value pretty much you realize. And I would say yes I know, I’m trying to be better about things like that. So then I would find my way home and have my breakfast but that’s another story. Someday maybe I’ll go back and buy some more eggs then again maybe not. It doesn’t really f* matter you realize.

i dropped my cell phone in the bathtub so call my landline or PM me or email me in that order

and if i get stuck in a train station next saturday night again and have to go #numberone it’s going to get ugly and slippery and i might just go to bestbuy first and explain it and do the demonstration of how uglyuglyugly it can be to have

and if #bestbuy doesn’t call me back like they said they would it’s going to be #uglyuglyugly.

spill in electronics aisle

and we’ll deal with wordpress and block editing after I call my primary care physician and explain my feelings about these and a few other items I am not obligated to share, OKAY? Is that alright? I trust the guy. He doesn’t have a website, and he’s a fisherman.

Bill Purkins has hats.


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