Worms Turned; No “My Jesus” Today

 

So. I had plans to have an easy day of it today. I was going to print a commentary from my best compost customer out to Mooners Compost Plant. And don’t go getting all pissy with me because I don’t put an apostrophe in the Mooners part of my company name. I tried it both with and without, and without fits best with our logo.

Did you know that the word “logo” is the logo for the word “logotype”? The definition of logotype is, “… a single piece of type bearing two or more letters or symbols …”. This particular definition causes concern for me that the dictionary is seriously fucked up. If a logo must contain two or more letters, then “W” is not a logo for a big luxury hotel chain, and “S” can’t be a proper logoization for Superman. Logofication, maybe.

Who wrote the first dictionary? Where did they get the authority to tell the rest of us how to speak? My guess it was a woman, a queen or maybe a king’s concubine who first felt the need to write definitions for words. They would have enough confidence to talk back to the king when he said confusing things, and correct the King’s English. Except it likely wasn’t an English king. Maybe Egyptian or Assyrian or Persian. You know, somewhere there to the Cradle of Civilization.

Anyway, my friend and compost customer had asked me to print a commentary he wrote titled “My Jesus” and I agreed to print it here. He has grown concerned with the hard stands his church has taken in recent years and he wanted to speak out. He’s a Deacon in his Baptist church, and maybe the only Baptist Deacon I can tolerate long enough to sit and have a meal together. He is open and honest, thoughtful, and caring.

In my opinion, he’s not a real Baptist. Real Baptists are opinionated, close-minded thoughtless fascists. I was raised in the Baptist church and I have the hard-earned right to think that.

Have you noticed that my ADHD has been mostly under control lately? I don’t ramble and prattle on about silly shit very much, and my digressions are few and far between. I wonder why. Maybe I’m maturing, learning life’s lessons at last.

Maybe I’m delusional.

Whatever, I was going to have an easy day of it here to bloggieland and print his “My Jesus” thingie before taking the Squirt and Eighty-three the cat fishing. I have the cooler loaded with Carta Blanca beer, and the three of us were out early to dig some worms. Those two are a trip when we dig for earthworms to use as fish bait.

I seeded my gardens with many varieties of earthworms– red wrigglers, night crawlers and more. Having as many varieties of worms as will flourish makes for better, more productive soil. Having a broad spectrum of choices likewise produces enhanced silliness when harvesting them with adolescent cats and dogs.

I grab a pitchfork and a bait bucket and whenever we head out to the veggie garden to dig worms. I use the fork because it doesn’t chop the worms into worm parts as I dig. I’ll choose a shaded spot in a furrow between plants so as to do minimum disturbating of plant roots. Minimum disturbations?

When I flop a big forkful of soil over and expose the worms, all hell breaks loose. I’ve got Squirt trained already, so the little dog grabs worms by the tail and flips them into the bait bucket. In a frenzy. The cat is new to the worm harvesting business and she can’t quite decide what she thinks of worms. “Tool, or toy,” was Eighty-three’s question to me, as interpreted by the Squirt.

I had to think about that one before answering. As I’ve matured I have become more thoughtful when parenting. “Well, I guess either, or both would be my answer. It’s OK to play with them before we use them for bait,” I told the cat. “Just try not to hurt them with your sharp teeth or spiky claws. You will have to eat any you kill.”

I have recently learned why so many people de-claw their cats. I’d never do it, just saying I understand the logic. But I’m digressing.

My buddy called me last night and asked me to hold off on printing his thingie. He’s worried that people from his congregation will read it and be upset. I asked him wasn’t that the point, and he said to me, he said, “My point was to make my point, Mooner, not to upset my friends.”

So, no My Jesus today, but you’ll get it sometime. My buddy is a good man with sincere doubts about his church. He’ll give me the OK in time. I guess I can look at the bright side. It just took me 800-plus words to tell you I’m not printing My Jesus, and I’m going fishing with the funniest pair of fishing buddies a man can have.

Manana, y’all.

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5 Responses to “Worms Turned; No “My Jesus” Today”

  1. admin says:

    Lassie. Welcome to the land of loonies. But whatthefuck is a “feeshing”? Is that one of those South African dances, or is it, rather, a Scotch-induced aberration? I checked out your site and it’s a scream. Folks that like my shit will love yours. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

    Come again soon me wee darlin.

  2. admin says:

    Lassie. OK, duh!

  3. Squatlo says:

    I just stop by the bait shop and buy a couple containers of nightcrawlers… the only time worms are easy to find is when it rains and they come crawling down the sidewalk looking for high ground, and I don’t like to fish in the rain.

    My Jesus, eh? I’ll set my DVR.

  4. admin says:

    Squat. If your garden ever dries out you’ll have oodles of worms. The compost you spread will attract and grow them like crazy.

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