Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Cool, not cold. No ice, that is all gone and it was fairly light.

The teen-age children were out in P/U trucks and on four wheelers trying to cut donuts and power slides. Some had lights on and some didn’t. I didn’t know that lights were optionl on public roads at one in the morning.

I kept waiting for one or more to turn over, but none did. Pity.

I tore a muscle (proving that I still have some) by slipping on the ice and grbbing an up-right. I have no excuse for being out on the ice walking about, not really.  I suppose I didn’t have my lights on either.

The Democrats  wallow in self pity. The Frump and family appear to be covering their asses in the foundation as fast as they can shovel. She is playing the pity me card well. The first thing you know she will be attending the festivities for Trump and being gracious.  But first, cover the crap in the Foundation with dirt.

Still it is a kitty litter box and hasn’t been clean for years.

What I would like to know, is simple. Who or What woe the Blacks up to the reality of the Democrats being a nemesis  rather than a friend of the race. What massive idea jabbed them in the butt and actually sparked an original thought in the mass “poor slave ancestor me.”.

Maybe in another hundred years one will be able to carry on a conversation with a black without worrying about injuring their preconceived.


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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