Month: August 2025

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

Let me tell you about the pants.

First, I’ll tell you about my typical summer wardrobe.

But first, a side path.

The side path is that I suffer from edema. Maybe it’s the lymphatic flavor. Medicos are out about the source and cause. Addressing it means I wear knee-high support hose. They work, help, however you want to put it. However, I’m a vain guy and don’t want to be seen wearing them outdoors.

My standard summer clothing choice since I was a small child are short pants, or shorts. I’m not going out in them while wearing my support house. I’ve seen folks out there in that combo. I admire their courage. Did I mention that I’m vain?

All this means I had a new challenge: what to wear when the sunshine and air conspire to push temperatures into the 80s, 90s, and 100s, as happens here in Ashlandia in the months between May and October. Jeans do not work for me. They feel hot, sweaty, and constricting.

My wife said, “You should wear joggers.”

Suspicions roused themselves. What was that? Joggers? I know what they are. I’ve seen young people in them. And women wear them. I’m not a young person or a woman. However…

I began sniffing around joggers. Looking for garments which will meet my needs. There are men’s joggers out there, but they often lack pockets. I like having pockets, especially those of the pouch type on my front thigh, where I can safely and comfortably deposit my wallet.

My search culminated at Costco. There, as if in answer to my hopes, were Wrangler Men’s Tech Pants. Made of synthetics, they met all my other needs, and were priced to move at $22. I put them into the cart and tried them on at home.

They fit. They’re comfortable. And they look good without attracting attention. I am not fond of attraction.

After wearing the black ones for a few days, I purchased them in grey and khaki. My vanity is appeased, and my wife is pleased with my appearance. All in all, a small win-win for me.

2

The Haunting

Just ‘Cause

One must see this! Attribution is still unknown.

Donald Trump’s hand, and his secret shame, where Jeffrey Epstein keeps showing up. “Out, out, damn spot,” Trump has been heard to shout with a mouth full of burger.
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Wenzdaz Theme Music

Today’s music was almost “Smoke on the Water”. After a day that peaked at 93 F, clouds swollen with thunder and lightning climbed over the mountains to fill our valley last night. At one point, smoke coiled out from the pass north of us and hustled down the street, congregating in the valley like a well-organized demonstration. After a recce, I came in and told my wife, “It sounds like the drum section of a drum and bugle corps is marching down the street.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand what that means.”

“It means there’s a lot of thunder out there. Sounds like drumming.”

“Oh. I got you.”

The smoke surrendered, though. I never did learn a source.

Today is Wenzda, August 27, 2025. 84 F, a hazy blue sky hosts lurking cumulo thingies. Gonna get to the mid 90s F again. Thunderstorms are on the menu, but they sometimes run out before their time here. We’ll see how it flows.

Papi the ginger master of all he surveys doesn’t appreciate thunderstorms. They’re loud and ominous. He goes into the master bath to outwait them. After their passing, he heads back out to his floofdom. A bit south of midnight, cat singing commences. I go out to see Papi chatting up a black and white tux. The tux is dismissive of Papi. I’ve seen this one before. They weren’t real concerned. I asked, “What’s your name?”

That suggested a song to The Neurons. “What’s Your Name”, a 1977 southern rocker by Lynyrd Skynyrd, was pushed into the morning mental music stream. I protested to Les Neurons that the song refers to a ‘little girl’ who is a groupie. This tux was not anyone’s groupie. Being as obstinate as granite, The Neurons dismissed this objection faster than the Roberts Court rules in favor of the Trump Regime.

I’m encouraged by arguments rising out of Iowa. Democrat Catelin Drey defeated a Republican by 10 points in a state legislative contest. Okay, good news, but it’s too early for me to celebrate its significance too much. Trump still rules MAGALand and can do no wrong in their estimate. Much of what he’s doing, declaring that he’s the president and can do whatever he wants, is gut-wrenching to hear. Checking polls, many GOPers are quite happy with his declaration, continuing to support and cheer him on.

Meanwhile, much of his activities reminds me of the U.S.S.R. under Joe Stalin. Stalin’s means of governing involved one party and a police state. Stalin established purges based on his declarations that those he purged were ‘enemies of the state’ and ethnic cleansing through deportations. Any of this beginning to ring any bells when thinking about Trump’s efforts to control the media, imprison enemies, send the national guard out as a police force, and ICE disappearing people off the streets?

MAGAs and the GOP will never recognize or acknowledge any of this for the most part. They’re firmly in the ‘means justifies the ends’ corner, even if that means disavowing all the principles, tenets, and checks and balances our founders established when the United States became a nation. What is also distressing is listening and watching while so much of the established media downplays events. It seems like they fear Trump’s retribution to the point that they’re making themselves more and more irrelevant.

Well, coffee has arrived in the system. I hope peace and grace gang up and reward you with a beautiful day. Time to go write like crazy, at least one. More. Time. Cheers

0

A Personally Hopeful Dream

I’m dealing with sludge in my gallbladder. Basically, my bile has thickened. Some of it has likely turned to gallstones. These gallstones have apparently blocked some of my bile ducts. This results in my gallbladder spasming when it tries to deliver bile upon demand from the intestines. That spasm causes more pain than I felt from my kidney stones a few years back. The short-term solution is to avoid red meat and dairy fats, foods and substances that need more bile to break down for digestion. Long-term, they want to remove my gallbladder.

Last night I dreamed that I was with a young white woman. She wore a white toga clipped over one shoulder. I never got a name and didn’t look much at her.

My attention was focused on the scene before me. It seemed like a large model of organs. “What is this?”

She replied, “That’s your gallbladder and liver. See, there is your bile.”

Leaning over to examine it more closely, I took in the many pebbles in the sludge that was my bile. “You made a model of my gallbladder and liver and filled it with sludge?” I was amazed and amused.

“No, these are your actual parts.”

As I digested that with surprise, she said, “Now watch.”

Hand flat and open, palm down, she swept it slowly around my organs. As she did, all the pebbles just vanished. My bile turned from sludge into something more fluid.

I was agog. “How’d you do that?”

She replied, “You’re all fixed.”

Dream end.

Yes, if only it was that easy, right?

5

Twozdaz Wandering Political Thoughts

Listen to this. This video presents us with the results of a beautiful, beautiful mind at work, probably one of the greatest minds ever, communicating as only it can, delivering such beautiful words. It’s probably, and I don’t offer this lightly, no, I do not, but this is probably one of the greatest Offal Office demonstrations of thinking and speaking ever made in the history of the entire world, in the history of the entire universe.

PINO TACO is speaking on the matter of burning the U.S. flag. His grasp of history and rhetoric is so beautiful, it’s amazing. If I was there, I would tell him, “Mister President, that is one of the greatest and most beautiful speeches I’ve ever heard.”

Well, except, of course, in a pre-school class. I have heard pre-school children make more sense and do it more beautifully. Many children just learning to speak make more beautiful speeches asking for a glass of water. They make more sense and enunciate more clearly than this blithering dolt in the Offal Office.

When it comes to speaking, Donald Trump is not John F. Kennedy. Nor is he Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, or Abraham Lincoln. He will never be known as a great thinker. Nor will he ever be known as a great orator. He will, as this speech demonstrates, be perpetually derided and ridiculed as a bumbling bloviator except for the legions who pucker up and bend over to kiss his ass.

Oh, BTW, shortly after Trump fumbled through his wilted thought salad, someone burned a U.S. flag. The person was arrested for starting a fire, but not for burning the flag.

Protester Sets Flag Ablaze Outside White House Hours After Trump’s Order

No riots were reported. Of course not. TACO was lying.

As usual.

6

Regulars

I am a known coffee-shop regular. The manager gives me a wave and a grin as she deals with the guard picking up the previous week’s take. I put in a fake order, an oat-milk iced siracha dusted with chocolate. The barista laughs. My usual order already awaits me at the pickup station despite five people in line ahead of me.

My favorite corner table is available. I’m soon in the writing realm, pretending to be a famous novelist. Habib approaches, bag in hand. “Michael? Cinnamon.” I don’t catch the other words as a wave of sound takes them out to sea.

I know it’s not mine. But I know another Michael is here. He’s one of five other regular Michaels I see coming through.

“No, it’s Michael’s,” I tell Habib, pointing out the other Michael. The other Michael waves and then gives me a thumbs up. Habib pivots his way.

This is how it goes in the life of a regular.

0

Choices

Maurice was the new man. Looked like his birth gender might have been different. Or maybe he was just a beautiful man with some exquisite feminine elements. Either way stirred me into intrigue.

He glided us through the identification protocols. I played nice. The others punish you if you don’t play nice. Outside of this establishment, they’ll pound you until death gives you a smile unless you play nice. Death and I played tonguesies a few times before that lesson found a way through my paywall.

Now to business, Maurice orchestrated a beautiful smile my way. Wonder if all those beaming white chicklets were real and natural. Such aquamarine eyes, too. Wars nicely with the glass-smooth mocha skin. Ah, to be wrinkle free. Like that matters to such as me.

“You have two outstanding attributes which might be available to you, Mickey,” Maurice purred. My mind surfed a mental register of attributes and awaited further info. “Invisibility and timetravel are both possible for you, but only one or the other.”

My mind jumped, flipped, and twirled like Simone Biles. Invisibility is the second-least attribute found in people. Time travel is queen of the rarest. No wonder pretty Maurice was here chatting me up. “Wow,” I said like a hayseed blown in on the wind. “I’d like being them.”

A professionally contrite expression landed on Maurice’s beauty. “I’m afraid that you can only be one or the other.”

“Oh.” I poured sadness into my gaze. “That’s a bummer. I thought it’d be so great to be an invisible timetraveller. Just think of the fun.”

“Yes, the opportunities which present do boggle the mind.”

LOL. Only salespeople talk like that.

Maurice ran me the drawbacks and bennies the program provides with those attributes. I made noises and expressions like I paid extreme attention and contained excited interest. I knew from farm skuttle that every attribute has drawbacks. As Maurice delicately phrased it, “Time travel unfortunately damages the cerebral cortex, amygdala, and hippocampi. Being invisible shreds muscle mass and does nerve damage.” He went on with greater clinical details without graphic explanation about how long it generally takes to do these things to people with those attributes.

My mind had already harvested those details and was racing through previously exercised pros and cons in the two choices, searching for the answer, which attribute will be the Amazon Prime delivering my freedom? My shackled co-inhabitants in the farm all punched in with seasoned reasoning about the attributes and freedom. We did it with all the attributes. Nightly ritual. No matter, as Daisychain always said as the bottom line, “You might think you’ll get out, but they will bring you back.”

Someone always put in the addendum, “Or kill you.”

We always laughed with deathly glee. Like being killed was terrible.

Yes, we were ignorant about how terrible things could be in the Farm. We didn’t know that they protected us from knowing.

So, like others, thinking myself more cunning than our masters, I answered Maurice’s ultimate query with suitably guarded hope, kidding myself that they didn’t see right through it.

“I’ll go for timetravel.”

Because I didn’t know that, yes, there are people who can both timetravel and be invisible.

They were the ones who began the program.

I was soon to meet them.

0

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