Snuggle Season turns into Tempest Time!
October 17, 2007 at 9:33 am by Thomas Wheatley in NewsThe weather write-ups over at The Other Paper really lose their flair when SnuggleScribe Jeffry Scott doesn’t write them. But any sense of nostalgia I felt was quickly replaced with the joy aroused by news that tonight and tomorrow should see some rain, with heavy showers possibly for this evening.
Every little bit helps, sure, but let’s hope the rain coming tonight is a steady, prolonged serving of angel tears rather than God’s wrath released upon our festering plot of excess and hedonism. If we get drenched, a lot of that could just flush right down the sewers and rush into the streams — or overwhelm the system altogether. Let us open our hearts to the heavens and our wallets to the televangelists and ask with the most heartfelt sincerity that God show us mercy in the form of a gentle and sustained drizzle. It’ll help replenish dwindling Lake Lanier and in turn add to our water supply, as well as give our agriculture and lawns a healthy drink.
Too bad Sonny’s in Japan. Just when you get the hell outta Dodge to get some business goin’ on overseas, things look like they might be perking up back home. Plus, I hear he’s a hoot when he belts out a stirring rendition of this gem.
Send to a friend:
October 17th, 2007 at 10:51 am
I’ve been wondering if this drought is some kind of punishment from an angry god. But punishment for what - the naughty behavior of the deep-south populace? I thought this was God’s country.
If you drive out Dallas Hwy towards Villa Rica, there’s a church on every street corner. Surely God wouldn’t set a drought upon those committed church-goers. Maybe the punishment is for urban wickedness, where the per-capita church count is much lower.
If so, this could be a case similar to my elementary school experiences: if one child was naughty, the whole class had to suffer with quiet time and extra work. The whole southeast could be paying for the immoral excesses of Atlanta.
I feel shameful. I’m sure I’m part of the problem.
October 17th, 2007 at 11:01 am
Remembering the Great Georgia Flood of 1994, from the archives of Dr Lindsay Holliday, Macon (Bbib County) Georgia.
http://www.hollidaydental.com/Levee1994.htm
4 months prior to the 94 flood, Doc Holliday raised the questions of the ramifications about flooding in Mid-Ga, everyone laughed til the flood…
Sonny needs to get Doc in his inner circle of rainmakers…
BTW, how old were you guys & gals at CL in 1994?
.
October 17th, 2007 at 11:08 am
Victor, I was 63 in 1994. While the Lord did drop me in a parched land, he has blessed me with a youthful appearance. I’ll take what I can get.
October 17th, 2007 at 11:11 am
Darin, I hate to sound like a self-help guru, but you’re part of the solution as well. Conserve water, look into retrofitting your fixtures, and get vocal and involved in what’s going on around you.
October 17th, 2007 at 3:59 pm
Good point; the solution isn’t in appeasing an angry god - it’s in tackling the problem head-on in a rational way. Short and less-frequent showers help, as does wearing clothes a couple of extra times before washing them (unless they’re just, you know, gak nasty).
Honestly, every time I turn on a tap now, I’m aware of the water flow in a way I never was before. And I’m totally weirded out by this irony: after having recently been enlightened & frightened about the plastic waste involved in using bottled water vs. tap, our current situation is making a pack of Dasani look like a viable option.
October 17th, 2007 at 7:10 pm
Dang Thomas, you write like a young whipper snapper. Let’s don’t discuss the age thing too much; when i told everyone in Bbib county that my 11th annual, surprise 39th birthday party was actually my 50th, my dance card options dried up faster than a wooden shoe in the sahara.
October 18th, 2007 at 9:23 am
So that’s why Thomas makes sense…..
Victor, obviously those Bibb County girls are better at math than the check cashing chick in “The Blotter” today. It also means they don’t understand the value of us older men. It’s like Jeeps and Harley’s….if I gotta explain it, you wouldn’t understand….. haha same goes true for women over 30…. if I knew then what I know now I would have been dating them when I was in my 20’s
October 18th, 2007 at 10:50 am
Dale, never fear, all that’s fixin to change after this mind alterting minstrel of a short story hits the blogsphere, there is hope:
it’s in the comments section of this article that may inspire the bank teller to greater heights but she’d have to move to Bbib County first:
http://www.macon.com/198/story/163353.html
October 18th, 2007 at 11:51 am
It is imposible to be a poledancing hottie and be named Mathilda. It goes against all stripper rules.
October 18th, 2007 at 12:13 pm
One of my dogs is named Mathilde.
A fine little bitch, but pole-dancing hottie she ain’t.
October 20th, 2007 at 12:38 am
The main character just got outed, her name was based on Andisheh’s Mathilde, bring on the lawsuits. Here is her pic, i think she’s fixin to outsmart a bufallo.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/andishehnouraee/1591673165/
October 20th, 2007 at 10:24 am
yo andisheh, can we just have a jury of our peers? this is as good as it gets bro, we’re in trouble…
Weekend Humor, Sex & Concrete for the Road Warrior Gang
Let’s make Forensic Government Auditors sexy like the CSI gang… i.e.:
Mathilda, a dedicated, Bibb County forensic accountant by day, bikini bar pole dancer & blogger by night, part time masseuse & tattoo artist on the weekends, was racked by guilt as she pondered the single page document, containing the bridge, concrete composition formula. CNN was showing picture after picture of the victims of the Tom Moreland-Donato Altobelli-Harold Linnenkohl- Glenn Richardson-Tommy Olmstead-Bob Fountain-Elmo Richardson-Charlie Bishop Bridge to nowhere, collapsing into the Atlantic off the coast of Jekyll Island.
Mathilda pushed her long brown hair to the side, pulled out her tassel whip and thrashed her back three times for letting that little twisted nose, napoleonic good ole boy intimidate and back her down when she raised questions about the weakened concrete mixture formula, which was reported by an office clerk in Alabama, who was a fellow bikini bar pole dancer by night, in a club that was indirectly owned by a prominent member of the Chamber Maiden Club of Middle Georgia but was shielded from view by the Second Ever Female Secretary of State’s Corporate non transparency rules, just like the laws that forced her to shield her first amendment womanhood at the bikini bar.
Mathilda’s deep blue eyes were conflicted. What was a Millenium woman to do? Where were her priorities? She realized she didn’t know the reflection in the mirror anymore. Who was she, what did she stand for? Forensic accounting, pole dancing, massage, tattoo art, conflict cover up makeup, fragrance, eyeliner, lead based lipstick?
Since the new and improved anti ethics and anti whistleblower laws, Mathilda would need to hop-skip-jump, post haste and choose between the multitude of Title Pawn stores on PioNono Avenue, which no one could pronounce, to take out a loan, to hire an attorney, to expose the secrets behind the collapse of the Tom Moreland-Donato Altobelli-Harold Linnenkohl-Glenn Richardson- Tommy Olmstead-Bob Fountain-Elmo Richardson-Charlie Bishop Bridge to nowhere.
Her plans to become a Mother through anywhere-but-Georgia, artificial insemination would have to be put on hold, unless she could convince Vernon that he needed a christened child, on the campaign trail, as he ran for Lt Governor of Georgia…