Did You Really Say You Know How To Read?

So, while some of my friends go off into the deep end about things they cannot control, I deal with reality in another way.

A few scientists on retainer want to start up the earthquake experiments again, just to prove they have technology nobody else has figured out, let alone perfected.  We'll see - I'm too busy analysing another simulation of Époque proportions, which means they'll go ahead with their preparations without me.

To give voice to those with whom I disagree is not what I want to do with the limited number of waking hours left to me at middle age.

However, in order to ensure that therefore in accordance with the ubiquity and superfluous information floating around, I add just as much fluff to these blogs as a movie that producers figure they can stretch into two, filling cels with enough cameos to choke a British automobile made at the turn of [last] century.

What's next?  Well, that's what I've been wondering.  I know the goal in any Afghanistanical military parade is not to win the war but use the space to practice target shooting and weapons viability assessments ("No, boss, not another readiness review!" cry the unwashed programming/assembling masses.)

History will finally be revised to show that throughout history all battles in the Afghan mountains and valleys were solely for show and not for any real strategic value.  A giant playground for generals, if you will.  Instead of Custer's Last Stand, it's a Hotdogging Stand with Custard for dessert (but not deserters).

That's all, folks.  Another Saturd'y mornin' of domestic househusbandry, tapin' and staplin' broken things the wife wants fixed before the holidays.  And then, another afternoon and evenin' of football time in Tennessee, where the Volunteers march upon Fort Nashborough for a battle with the riverboat captains (uh, I mean Commodores) on the shores of the Cumberland River.