I am the means until the end. I move a mountain with my hand.
Monday, 24 January 2011
I hereby swear to slap Neal Stepehehehenson across the face with either a handy copy of Snow Crash or my bare hand should I ever meet him. Unless of course I do meet him in which case I’ll merely inform him of the long lost vow herein; admit it was just bravado and I’m full of shit. Then look around a little and punch whomever he’s with.
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That's a lot of toilet paper and wiping being done every damn day. Pobre hombre...
Anyways Sed, I know that several of the things I've posted in this here Chalkboard were definitely the result of alcohol or other undisclosed substances, and that you're smart enough to know whenever that happened (maybe even right now!). I hope that you don't take that as a sign of disrespect or slight...I just don't always find ways to communicate or reach out when stone-cold sober.
In any case, I do want to ask your honest, sober opinion on the following question:
Do you think Donald Trump will face any kind of serious Impeachment effort in the coming months? Are you in any way/shape/form inclined to think it would be a good or useful thing, long term, if something like the most robust and documentent impeachment effort and ouster of a sitting American president were to take place? Why or why not?
[You're the only friend I have (sadly) that would actually take up a conversation like this seriously. We've touched the subject before but it was way before the DOJ got it's fingers on people like Manafort and Flint, and before all the latest insane Tweets...]
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A long time ago a Man met a Satyr in the forest and succeeded in making friends with him. The two soon became the best of comrades, living together in the Man’s hut. But one cold winter evening, as they were walking homeward, the Satyr saw the Man blow on his fingers.
“Why do you do that?” asked the Satyr.
“To warm my hands,” the Man replied.
When they reached home the Man prepared two bowls of porridge. These he placed steaming hot on the table, and the comrades sat down very cheerfully to enjoy the meal. But much to the Satyr’s surprise, the Man began to blow into his bowl of porridge.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“To cool my porridge,” replied the Man.
The Satyr sprang hurriedly to his feet and made for the door.
“Goodby,” he said, “I’ve seen enough. A fellow that blows hot and cold in the same breath cannot be friends with me!”
Take that, subspace.
