Wednesday, February 05, 2014

It started like a concrete western.

Dark, cold and windy outside; the storm windows breathing cold air into the room from the gusty elements.

The phone rang.

Housekeeper was telling me that she wouldn’t be coming today.

But, Deary: I said, you have too.

Not I, said she, I have six inches of snow and it’s cold out there and you’re a long way from me.

I’m losing my mo-jo, cried I.

You are, indeed, laughed she.

And the upshot was she wouldn’t be coming until her regularly scheduled appointment two weeks from now. My plea of the cactus falling off the table was met with “the dog did it?”

Which wasn’t at all nice of her.

However, having met with my experienced expectations I carried on and found another late blooming story from San Diego, through Ypsilanti, MI.

Acting on a tip from the Michigan Department of Corrections, San Diego officers went to an apartment in the city’s Hillcrest neighborhood Monday afternoon and a woman fitting Hayman’s description answered the door.

Read more here:

It is worth the read, if for nothing else than the wonder of HOW.

The how is the wonder.

Which brings me to this:

An email got the IRS into the news. An email got Christe into the news. Several folks have gone to jail for various things, all derived from social media. And an email got the attention pointed to NSA, and denials started and it appeared that NSA was indeed copping a look at domestic chatter.

Big brother.

Big brother.

I don’t hate you yet, but you’re pushing it.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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