Snowflake Alert!

It finally snowed here in lovely New Mexico.

That necessitates the annual “Snowflake Alert!”

Snowflake alert is when a New Mexican sees his or her first snowflake, FRIEKS OUT, and then plows unceremoniously into the ditch.

There was just a light dusting of snow when I drove to town yesterday, yet there were 6 accidents, one was an armored truck in the wrong lane on its side.

My truck is a real dog in the snow. The back end is way too light and it slips and slides like the road is covered in snot and Vaseline. I had no troubles.

There is something in the culture here that makes driving in the snow impossible. I do not understand it, but when people see the white stuff from the sky they loose it and drive into something.

I bet if I were to blow mashed potato flakes on the highway in the middle of summer somebody would slide into a guardrail because it was ‘too slippery’.

Then I would probably get my ass sued off for causing a public nuisance or something and spend the rest of my days in prison being sodomized by some nameless gang banger.

It would not be worth it.

Let ‘em learn the hard way.

CET

I am beginning, once again, my Campaign for the Extinction of all Gnomes.

Every fall I find their pointy headed misadventures particularly annoying and begin removing some of them from the gene pool. Let us just say that I am thankful that I am not a Gnome.

My latest gambit is leaving tiny cups of booze in small protected places around the neighborhood. I lace the booze filled cups with Gnome droppings and rat scat. The gnarly pests gobble up the laced bait with smiles on their faces and a song in their heart. They are unaffected by conventional poisons like arsenic, but I have learned that they have little resistance to a more primitive biological approach.

Soon their bellies begin grumbling and their mouths and bowels open up in a flood of regurgitated ethanol and recycled recyclables. I love the sound of Gnomes being violently ill in the morning. Seeing a dehydrated Gnome under a bush makes me smile.

That is possibly the best part, when they are so miserable that they want to die. Then, if we are lucky, they will.

I hear you out there, yelling ineffectually at your computer screen, that I am a racist. I am not. I am a speciesist. I think this species should be extinct like the Dodo and that pigeon that is extinct. (Passenger? Carrier? Messenger? )

“Why do you hate funny little Gnomes, Mr. Troll?” you might ask.

I hate them because they are notorious for rabbit raping and all the fuzzy bunnies in my neighborhood are now very confused about their sexuality. I hate them because they terrorize me and my kin when we just want to be left to do our own thing. I hate them because it is Troll like behavior to hate the Gnomes. I hate them because they are all cute and get better press than Trolls do. I hate them because I need to hate something and feel it is better to hate them than to hate you or cupcakes.

Trolls get terrible press. Most people can’t even tell the difference between a Troll and an Ogre, yet everyone knows what a Gnome looks like.

Even troll dolls are not a good representation of what a Troll looks like. I don’t know any Trolls that have hair in shocking colors that stands up like that. (I do have to admit that whoever did the dolls did capture the essence of a Troll’s belly quite well.)

So please, in your everyday endeavors, help kill a cute little pointy headed Gnome. Poison, traps, shooting, stabbing, stomping, smashing with large, heavy things, or even just slamming them in a door all help the cause.

Do your part. Kill a Gnome today! Do it for your future!

Happy Thanksgiving.

Mopdog

Mrs. Troll has a new purchase. She has a new mop.

Don’t have a heart attack. Serious cleaning is not in her future.

This particular mop is alive.

She finally found a little itty bitty dog that she felt that she had to have in her life. It does in fact look like an animated mop on pep pills.

After much ribbing I told her that she could keep it provided she named it Frunobulax.

She heartily agreed. She pronounces Frunobulax as “Furgie”.

Whatever works.

I keep trying to encourage my dog, Fexophedinine, to eat Frunobulax, but she will hear nothing of it. Fexophenadine is not a cannibal, nor will she fetch me a pillow or wash my laundry.

Ungrateful bitch.

What color is your news?

I have noticed over the years that each TV station tells pretty much the same news stories, yet each attracts a different audience.

I call this difference ‘color’.

Some stations color the news to be far darker than it really is and only show the black side of human behavior. Others try to keep things light and insist on a ‘Happy Feature’ in each newscast. Some try to incorporate humor into the news. Some just try to tell it like it is.

I think that what color news you watch tells a lot about how you view the world.

News is supposed to be unbiased and fair, but is definitely influenced by the opinions and viewpoints of those who prepare it for our ingestion. The news that we watch is that report that most closely matches the worldview that we already have. If you are a person that believes that the end of the world is imminent you are going to listen to news reports that support that view.

If you believe that processed ham is going to take over the world, you are always going to pay more attention to news stories that relate to ham and especially processed ham. And you will remember these stories about processed ham and ignore all the hundreds of stories about dying bees because your interest is in ham, not bees.

That is how people work, and how broadcast news works as well.

I think most people of my generation and later harbor an ‘end of the world’ feeling and pay more attention to news stories that have that ‘end of the world’ vibe. If not, then how could Al Gore have gained so much attention with theory and misinformation? *

Some cults tell us about impending doom just to lure us in. After these cults run the course and have no more to gain, then the followers get to drink the kool aid and we begin the cycle again.

So I ask again; What color is your news?

*(Please don’t get off the point here. Even the experts have to say it is still a theory. Every model has at least one unexplained factor. Are temperatures going up? Yes. Is it definitely caused by man? It is likely, but still not proven. It could be a variable in the output of the sun or aliens from outer space trying to make the surface warmer because they want to reduce the sperm count in cattle because they think cattle are the smartest life form on the planet. But I got your attention, didn’t I?)

Roomie

I have given in to my other, seldom seen, nicer side and taken a roommate.

He is a fella that I have known for about a year and he has always been honest and cheerful and all that other shit that makes people seem nice.

He was offered a job with us in Northern New Mexico and could not afford to commute or get a place up there so I let him stay with me for a while to get back on his feet.

He has tried to be polite and considerate and is mostly successful in his attempts. He has not been a bad roommate as roommates go.

But I am still a Troll and like my PRIVATE space under the bridge. (The voices in my head are always yelling, “Mine! Mine mine mine mine mine!!” like Daffy Duck with a huge bag of gold.)

After three weeks of sharing my space with a HUMAN I think I am shed of him. At least I really hope so.

Now he intends to move an RV up here and live in it like I do. He wants the RV space behind mine. I think he is intent on becoming the adopted son I never wanted.

It seems that no good deed goes unpunished.

UPDATE:

He called this weekend to tell me that he can’t afford to get his trailer up here this week and intends to live in his van until he can. For a short period of time there was a little voice in my head saying that I should just tolerate him for another week and be a nice guy. I slapped that voice into submission and gave it a good firm talking to. Originally I told the guy I would let him stay with me for two weeks and it turned into three. Guilt has just left the building. I have lived up to my end of the deal and then some. Yes Virginia, I am a stubborn ol’ coot.

Granola

I have not been writing as much as I should.

I am in a somewhat transitional period in my life and have been trying to make some changes.

I have been moved into (lower) middle management in the company that gives me my daily bread, and I have been given a lot of responsibility. If I were to dwell on it I might be a bit overwhelmed by the reality of being responsible for well over a million dollars worth of work.

I am not. I am just going to do my job and do the best I can. I will leave the worrying for someone else who actually enjoys worrying about things that they can’t really change anyway.

I do have Internet access from work now and may occasionally post from the land of fruit and nuts. (But only after working hours and briefly if I do have an exceptional tale to share.)

Perhaps explanations are in order;

My jobsite is in Santa Fe New Mexico. I consider this the land of fruit and nuts because it is a very strange place with tourists walking around staring at your ass while you are poking holes in things in order to put things in the holes you poked. Yes. It is that kinda place. Tourists make me nervous.

In other words, “Santa Fe is like a bowl of granola. What ain’t nuts is fruits and flakes.”

I will still be staying in the Doghouse in Pojoaque because it is fifteen miles from my new jobsite and still a hell of a lot better than driving to Sanctuary every day.*

I have had a roomate for the last three weeks and am hoping to never repeat that experience again. Perhaps I will post on that. Yes, I think I will.

TA!

*For anyone that does not read my dribble frequently, you might not know that the Doghouse is my 5^th wheel trailer and Sanctuary is my home in Edgewood. Thank you for interrupting. Now you know. Next time you have a question, please hold up your hand and ask instead of yelling at me.