And, as Marie Antoinette had, nice cups. In fact modeled in wax impressions for the old style wide mouthed champagne glasses. Custard on the other hand more like gruel than food unless mixed with lugubrious amounts of butter. Now that's cream! Butter creame. And with my Java Jo I have a desirous dessert.
But not when not slathered nor blathering about the issue will it wreak cause to couch this issue in cotton swaddling clothes. Municipal elections are afoot and the delirious drivel from most of them plying for your affectations amounts to more of the old, same as the thing before. What most advanced democratic societies need now are not yes-men and do-gooders, what we need now are harsh realists with no resistance to speaking truth to power.
Intraurbanites who stand and run for the caput of others in these arbitrary, non-collaborative, non- allegiant allegiances are due their kudos. Who would endure the anal gazing of reporters, the infantile behaviours at meetings, the pleas for alms from the poor, who has room to store the vast amounts of lagniappe from prospective developers, who has the blind wit needed to communicate with bureaucrats?
Not I. Then you? Do I hear the old college cheer as you strundle up to the captain of elections tossing your ten gallon in the ring? Are you one of those deemed to aid, arrange, benefit, support, yield, serve, please, gratify, convenience, humour, indulge, supply, defer, help, assist, and follow the pleas of everyone? Can you stretch your political umbrella open far enough to keep enough of us dry in the downpour of desires from the electorate?
Essentially if your busby is not filling with the fodder of support, then it is your obligation to get your sorry duffus out to the polling booth and scratch your EX on the spot! I know there is the old adage that if you don't vote then you have no gam to stand your complaints on. It is in itself the verisimilitude of the democratic system. After all, we don't drink tea, and Boston is some distance away.
If your medulla oblongata is stuffed with enough percipience to read this, or even log onto the interweb thingy, then get your keister out and scratch your mark on the spot.
Mine is mucked up but modular in its depiction.
Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.
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