Nice day, President’s Day, here in central PA. The keystone state is bathed in unusually warm temps [the 60’s for the sake of Fahrenheit!] for February. (Note to self: shoot the groundhog. He’s a fraud. Fake news! ) I forgot my office keys even though my wife reminded me that they were prominently displayed on the round table by the door I would pass to get in my car. “Okay, thanks, Honey. Have a good day.” I hit the treadmill after stretching in front of the television as I learned of another non existent terrorist attack, this time in Sweden not Kentucky. Oh, well. He can make it up by rigging the next Miss Universe pageant, making sure that Miss Sweden wins the highly coveted chrome plated crown. The Prima Donald is good at making stuff up. But you can’t make up the stuff he makes up. Cuz then it’s fake. He’s as unpredictable as a three legged blind rabbit in heat on a carnival ride. The Walt Disney maestro of cartoon politics.
Anyway, I drove to work without my keys, my morning vitamins, supplements and psychotropic drugs, and my lunch. I don’t usually take a lunch, but I was thinking a reheated venison burger with a dill pickle would shame my hunger mightily, thus chasing it away till after 7 pm. Being inattentive to minor details was not entirely my fault,though. I tried without success to lure Kermit the dog back into the house. She was intently staring down the ground hog hole in my back yard and refused my entreaties. I also heard the trash truck coming down my street. I wanted to wheel our empty refuse container back into place. My wife always says I fail to put things back where they belong, like the vacuum cleaner. Now this is true but annoying nonetheless. “Would you prefer a man who fails to start the vacuum cleaner or one who fails to put it back?” I asked her point blank. “I want your type of failure”, she replied. Okay, that was not really reassuring.
I closed and locked the door behind me firmly without my office keys in my pocket, and went up to greet the flourescently garbed garbage technician. I thanked him for relieving my overburdened container of its contents while thinking to myself , ‘such a thankless job’. As I wheeled that green garbage gulper back into place, I wondered if the garbage technician felt briefly validated by my attention. Perhaps he drove on an inch taller in the cab without doors. Who am I kidding? Finally I checked out the immediate driveway area, and off I drove to work in a sunny mood, a pink champagne sort of mood. Everything sparkled in this surprising sunlight. Even the garbage truck glinted gleefully.
When I got to my usual parking space seven miles from my home, it hit me that I did not have a key to open my office.’Hmmmm. Gotta get a key cut to hide under a brick.’ I turned around without too much self recrimination. What the heck? Just drive another 14 miles on a gorgeous gift of a day. (I was an hour early already.) So I did. It was painless both ways without school buses or mail trucks to contend with, or all the folks who work at the multitude of banks along the way. All closed, mercifully. Back and forth in 28 minutes.
The weather man on the classical music station spoke so smoothly and knowingly about the week ahead’s weather. “Sixties today and tomorrow. Aaaahhh chance of rain on Wednesday. And then near 70 on Thursday and Friday. And now some Chopin to celebrate this delightful weather.” Those facts soothed me as much as any harp or organ solo could. My body relaxed despite the goofy experience of driving through the 15 mph school zone twice when school is clearly not in session. I think everyone knows this, but we all wonder if a cop would still ticket drivers who violated a fake speed limit. Again, fake news. The light does not blink on weekends, but I suppose it is too much trouble to disable it on holidays and snow days, or those tricky in-service days when only teachers are at school. Nothing, however, rose to a level of annoyance. Not with golden sunlight bathing the awakening landscape in February.
Which indirectly brings me to global warming. Sure, I’ve experienced the odd day or week in past winters when the mercury hit 70. We didn’t know about global warming back then. Now I feel conflicted: should I indulge my senses and enjoy these freakishly warm days, knowing that soon the port cities of our planet will be under several feet of water, forcing millions of folks inland to high ground; or should I turn on my air conditioning and fight back, you know, cool down my immediate area? Maybe surround my house with bags of ice; do my part.
The preppers are ready, though. They have reasoned that the dark and diverse urban dwellers of the low lying cities will head west when the waters rise. Order will break down, the electrical grid will blow. Food shortages and riots will break out as if a Russian hockey team ran into an English soccer team’s hooligans without any beer. Bad stuff, I mean really bad hombres stuff, would follow. The mobs would inevitably roll west into our neck of the woods to steal our food, rape our women, and live in our fully stocked homes. The very same deplorables who are villified as criminally fat, welfare abusers, who refuse to get educated or work, will suddenly transform into a crack militia, roving at will over the hills and forests of strange counties far away. Somehow these marauders will learn to hunt and live off the spoils of the rural landscape. That’s why we true nationalists need to stand and fight alongside our NRA bumperstickers on our trucks, circled up in a grand defensive strategy. And unleash the arsenal we have stockpiled for this very moment.
Except, uh, I forgot to stockpile all my bullets and I didn’t get my AR on sale when they were gonna be outlawed by our first Muslim president. Shoot!! I mean, “Don’t Shoot!” Can’t we just agree to disagree? I guess not.
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