Day By Day

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  • Too Tall

    The Female of Species, by Rudyard Kipling. Just saying….

    • Toxic Deplorable Racist SAH B Woodman

      I need to find and buy a book(s) of Rudyard Kipling stories and poems. (Better than Angela Mayu crap)

        • Toxic Deplorable Racist SAH B Woodman

          But I like to have “dead tree” copies in case electricity goes down.

          • John D. Egbert

            Try abebooks.com . . .

          • Andy

            Print them out.

            Printers are everywhere.

          • Punta Gorda

            “…in case electricity goes down.”

            Get yourself a Jo.

      • Bill G

        His final stanza to “The Young British Soldier” reads:
        “When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains,
        And the women come out to cut up what remains,
        Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
        An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier.”
        As Heinlein put it, so simply: “Don’t let them give you to the women.”

      • MasterDiver

        Audible has several available. I have four on my MP3 player.

        Zar Belk!

  • John M.

    I’m thinking “Power to the people” the way an Electric Eel gives power to the fish… Another day to finish building a charge, then Fourth of July FIREWORKS!!!

    • Toxic Deplorable Racist SAH B Woodman

      “Power to the people”
      OH SHIT! RUN!!!!!!

      • WayneM

        Not sure if Javier’s programming included a version of Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics… the Morlocks better hope so…

        • Punta Gorda

          Asimov’s rules only apply to interactions with humans.

          • pyrodice

            “I wouldn’t know, I’ve only electrocuted communists.”

        • MasterDiver

          I think Jo’s logic may be a little fuzzy regarding Laws One and Two!

          Zar Belk!

      • Bill G

        Sucks to be them, right now.

  • formwiz

    Anatomically correct, I see.

  • No suicide runs, please, Chris. Even if she can be rebuilt….

    • Punta Gorda

      I second that. HV discharges do not warrant destruction of the generator.

      Note: In-Q-Tel has invested in companies that make directed lightning. Essentially generating a discharge channel by ionizing a path through the air with a laser then dumping a high voltage charge down the channel.

  • Kafiroon

    I know what happens when I say ‘Opps’
    This looks more like Ohh SHee…

  • Punta Gorda

    Happy dance…

    My first Reaper Pod is growing.

    (Last year I managed 4 dead super-hot plants)

    • Punta Gorda

      (Bhut Jolokia and Carolina Reapers.)

      • Ah yes, the Carolina Reaper. Fire AND flavor.

    • Toxic Deplorable Racist SAH B Woodman

  • Ah'm Jus' Sayin' Hee-Yah

    “The Reeds of Runnymede”

    (Magna Charta, June 15, 1215)
    R. Kipling

    AT Runnymede, at Runnymede
    What say the reeds at Runnymede?
    The lissom reeds that give and take,
    That bend so far, but never break,
    They keep the sleepy Thames awake
    With tales of John at Runnymede.

    At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
    Oh, hear the reeds at Runnymede:–
    “You mustn’t sell, delay, deny,
    A freeman’s right or liberty.
    It makes the stubborn Englishry,
    We saw ’em roused at Runnymede!

    “When through our ranks the Barons came,
    With little thought of praise or blame,
    But resolute to play the game,
    They lumbered up to Runnymede;
    And there they launched in solid time
    The first attack on Right Divine–
    The curt, uncompromising ‘Sign!’
    That settled John at Runnymede.

    “At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
    Your rights were won at Runnymede!
    No freeman shall be fined or bound,
    Or dispossessed of freehold ground,
    Except by lawful judgment found
    And passed upon him by his peers.
    Forget not, after all these years,
    The Charter Signed at Runnymede.”

    And still when Mob or Monarch lays
    Too rude a hand on English ways,
    The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
    Across the reeds at Runnymede.
    And Thames, that knows the moods of kings,
    And crowds and priests and suchlike things,
    Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings
    Their warning down from Runnymede!

    • Ah'm Jus' Sayin' Hee-Yah

      Also highly recommend “The Gods of Copybook Headings.”

      • Coeurmaeghan

        My personal favorite. I recite it to myself often while walking with the dogs. I also like “When the Saxon Begins to Hate”.

        • Steve S

          Yes! Glad someone brought that to the fore! Also very much a fan of “Puck of Pook’s Hill”, a juvenile relating episodic tales from Saxon & Pict times to the Magna Carta!

          Idiots think Kipling as an Imperialist and the British Raj, yet he wrote Kim, of Mowgli and Recessional! He well deserved the Nobel Prize for Literature (1907) and the following stanza from Recessional proves it!

          For heathen heart that puts her trust
          In reeking tube and iron shard,
          All valiant dust that builds on dust,
          And guarding calls not Thee to guard,
          For frantic boast and foolish word—
          Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

        • Jefferson A Selvy

          My preference is “Sons of Martha”

          The Sons of Martha

          THE Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
          But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
          And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
          Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.
          It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
          It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
          It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
          Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

          They say to mountains, ” Be ye removèd” They say to the lesser floods ” Be dry.”
          Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd – they are not afraid of that which is high.
          Then do the hill tops shake to the summit – then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
          That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.

          They finger death at their gloves’ end where they piece and repiece the living wires.
          He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.
          Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,
          And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.

          To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.
          They are concerned with matters hidden – under the earthline their altars are
          The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,
          And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city’s drouth.

          They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.
          They do not teach that His Pity allows them to leave their job when they damn-well choose.
          As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,
          Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren’s days may be long in the land.

          Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat;
          Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that !
          Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,
          But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.

          And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessèd – they know the angels are on their side.
          They know in them is the Grace confessèd, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.
          They sit at the Feet – they hear the Word – they see how truly the Promise runs.
          They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha’s Sons !

  • Browncoat57

    So… you don’t actually have to BE “in orbit” to be sure…

    • Punta Gorda

      My grandson had an “I’m tougher” encounter with his future brother in law. My grandson produced a dried Reaper for him to prove it.

      He’ll never challenge him again.

      • Coeurmaeghan

        Behind the curve I am. Could you enlighten me re: dried Reaper.

        • Too Tall

          The Carolina Reaper is a cultivar of the Capsicum chinense plant. Developed by South Carolina breeder Ed Currie, the pepper is red and gnarled, with a bumpy texture and small pointed tail. In 2013, Guinness World Records declared it the hottest chili pepper in the world, surpassing the previous record holder, the Trinidad Scorpion “Butch T”. Other varieties may be spicier, such as Dragon’s Breath or Pepper X but are not officially confirmed with a Scoville scale higher than the Carolina Reaper.

          • Coeurmaeghan

            Thank you. I thought it was some special name given to some special event. I should just have tried to goooogle it but don’t like using goooogle.

  • Bill G

    The minds of these “protestors” aren’t grounded in reality.
    We’ll find out if their bodies are. They might find a temporary job, as a conductor.

    • Toxic Deplorable Racist SAH B Woodman

      CHHOOOOOO CHOOOOOO!!

  • PaulS

    Well it looks like things are heating up.
    Uh-oh!

  • Make them sparkle, Jo!

  • Pamela

    Sounds like a “Let There Be Light” moment

    • JavaMan

      Ala “Dark Star”, for sure

      • THAT was a pretty good film, if rather underrated.

  • JTC

    We’ve been saying it forever here in the circle jerks (not that bad a thing with the ladies of the Ranch performing in the center ring 🙂 ), but from a black los angeles naacp civil rights lawyer/activist in a feature by Newsweek?

    https://www.newsweek.com/why-black-lives-dont-matter-black-lives-matter-opinion-1515183

    It will get shouted down and drowned out of course, and the dude might not survive the blowback, this is certainly not a turning point. Still, it is a moment of truth…a rare thing these days.

  • interventor

    Watching President Trump give a Cry to the Heart coupled with a To the Barricades speech. I’ve been hoping for this. It’s, not the beginning of the end. But, rather, the end of the beginning. With props to Sir Winston.

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