Author: Stephen J Frankenberry

A week or so ago, maybe the beginning of last week, or just the end of the one before, at one of the houses that I pass on my way home from work there suddenly appeared a large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like, with no real reason, well, no real reason that any passerby like me is going to know I guess. I know of no cartoon characters to associate with it, no kid’s shows that I am aware of (though if I were aware of any current kids shows as an older single dude with no kids and three cats that might be a worry) no holiday to tie it to.

I did for a quick second think of Fudgie the Whale but I don’t think a Key Lime version of such would have the same appeal. No, it’s just a large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like, sitting smack float in the middle of someone’s front ocean yard.

Now I’m sure there is a pop culture reference for this that I just don’t know and that there is a perfectly good reason for it floating there for them, maybe a birthday request from a youngin’’ or something.

“Hey Dad or Grandad, or Mom or Grandma, do you think you could put the whale in the front yard for my birthday?”

“Sure, and how abouts we just leave it there for a while?”

“Yay!”

Whatever the reason …

But every night since I first noticed this large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like and indeed unicorn-like as it is one of a kind it seems, at least to me, I have just laughed as I’ve passed it, just fucking laughed. Laughed at the sheer seeming random of it. Just laughed.

Dear house on my way home with the random large, smiling, light green inflatable whale with a golden horn, unicorn-like, floating in your front ocean yard,

Thank you.

I’ve needed that.

I know I’ve mentioned this before but I have these Zoom calls with friends of mine from the college days, a three best who help me find my center when things have gone askew which is quite often. I sooooo look forward to these calls, once a month or so, especially after what can be long weeks around here.

I told Lori she is my carrot.

One of the best parts of these calls is just the initial connect, a Lori face with a cat in her hair just to my left on the screen, a Tom to the center, then a Mark moving things for the view to a now Zoom room square, faces that remind of youth and the best of days or mistakes and lessons learned, of helping each other to grow up, sometimes forcing, friends that were found unintentionally but have been held all these years.

We talk of nothing … or everything, Lori of a bones told memory of anniversary’s and hurt this night with a bit of Crown in a tumbler’s fresh ice for the softening, Tom in his Tomness of trivia nights lost or of his wonderful blog about ghosts and frights and all things scary, (blogferatu.com), Mark keeping us informed on the news if we’re lagging or lamenting his numerous gigs with a Mark face that wonders why he has to have so many.

We talk of the fondest of memories, of college days and a Dr Bower poetically rolling square balls down hills while setting almost spent cigarettes to stand up on a podium with a smoke that still wants, back when smoking happened in classrooms, while reminding you of what was important in your work or lack thereof. Of a Dr Sipple who was a dad, the one you never wanted to disappoint and who taught you so much and the one to this day that you still hope to impress, just to let him know you still remember that importance. Of a Dessie who it was that kept the English Department together and who always had an ear amid her busy days for you to sit in the chair at the front of her desk.

You talk of Art, you always talk of Art, our collective ghost of a friend who could wrap a word within a word, give it a twist and then have it come back newly defined, you talk of him in deferential but angry ways “where the fuck have you been?” but then you remember that he loved a bit of intentional drama.

“Sleeping on the floor inside a bedframe, really?”

 “Disappearing?”

You move your camera to show a Mimi the Quirky on her bar towel just above your keyboard, a little Bella in her latest choice of one of your three PC chairs (cats got’s have choices) or just let it sit where it is to see a Cricket the Blind, with a swipe, swipe, swipe burying the food in bowls just over your shoulder. You watch a casual cat butt/tail pass in front of Tom’s hairy mug quite a few times, Lori moves hers to show you Jake asleep on the brand new love seat that was instantly dog commandeered the second she placed it in it’s spot, and if Mark is there you tell him it’s time to buy cat food and then get a cat to feed it to, maybe two.

Lori set the window at 5 hours for this Zoom call which I thought was kind of silly as who the hell is going to talk that long?

5 hours later, with Tom’s old dude stretches and hair rubs and Lori’s tumbler of crown and memory being nothing more than alcohol tinged water now and a Mark who couldn’t be here this night but maybe imagined he was to get through a day, I had to say it’s rack time.  

These Zoom calls are a tether, they remind.

They hold you close.

For some reason I’ve had this one on a shelf for a couple of months, don’t know why really. I thought I had run a draft of it by my Mikey Six for a “Mikey likes it or doesn’t like it” taste test but without much response … none actually, apparently we had run out of milk. But then I remembered that well, remembering isn’t necessarily the most reliable of things these days, freakin’ keys and glasses (back pocket top of your head dude) so I looked back in my messenger and saw that I had actually only run it past two of my six Mikey’s. So, I bought some more milk and ran it past the other four. I got one “that’s good Steve” which was enough for me so now I can at least tout this as “1 out of 6 Mikey’s agree” and post it.  

(my Mikey Six, by the way, are six really good longtime friends who have spent years learning how to tolerate me and pretend to be nice)

To Neil Diamond’s “America”.

America Redux

White

– 

We be claiming our right

In this our home

All others don’t belong

–

Place

–

Go came from and be free

Any disagree

I’ll show ya my favorite tree

–

But talk out loud we will remind

Our pretense is color blind

How can we be racist kind

Just flag and country we’re aligned

–

Got support of the like mind

In high places there where you will find

It’s Greene and Hawley and Boebert time

On our white they’ll never drop a dime

–

News

–

It paints us in the wrong

Ignores our patriot song

We just love country strong

Fight for white all along

–

Cues

–

We take them as they come

Blind to dumb just to be as one

From power to us armed pawns

We just want to belong

– 

Ron Johnson in his insane world

Cap riot not a real concern

Though black lives would make fears curl

Insurrection just a flag unfurled

–

Claim nothing was really seen

It wasn’t it seemed to be

You’re all taking this to extremes

I’ll tell ya it’s just part of dreams

– 

We’re just acting on base instinct

One fostered with four years of drink

Of Krool Aid orange flavored lies  

Asking cut democracy’s ties today

We pray

Today

Violently say

Hooray

–

Our country ’tis of thee

We were intent on a hangin’ spree

Of those who wouldn’t see

The real truth in our patriot dreams
–

It wasn’t what it seemed to be

It was hugs kisses and sittin’ for tea

We were just tryin’ to make him proud

–

It wasn’t what it seemed to be

It was hugs kisses and sittin’ for tea

We were just tryin’ to make him proud

Recently my brother, Nick (not to be confused with a Brother Nick who might be heading to a monastery or a commune) moved to Louisiana, a transfer from his Indian Point gig here. With it closing, Nick, not quite being done with his time, sought out a new place for the continue.

He dotted and crossed, sold old places and secured new ones, sent his stuff forward as stuff sent forward is always the best of plan if you can, as opposed to having have it be carried if it were a me as I’ve never been able to afford the send forward in any of my too many moves.

“U-Haul … friend … man … back … sore”  

He made plans for the trip from here, New York, to there, Louisiana, a one intended to be as stress free as possible, planned to take himself three days to do it. The main reason for this was that he has a Cherokee and a Smokey, cats he adopted and who are his “be” and would be his rock when finally in a new land where he could stand with this cat or two.

My sis and I kept up with him on his trip in the early goings, that first weekend as he left on a Friday, via group text.

“How’s it going Nick?”

“Where you at Nick?”

“How are the cats Nick?”

“We’re sure you’re good Nick”

“How are the cats?”

“What state are you driving through now Nick?”

“How are the cats?”

“Oh, Mississippi now, cool, how are the cats?”

“You’re not dead yet and you’re still driving how are the cats?”

Obviously, Nick’s welfare was our most pressing of concern but his two cats did enter the conversation.

He had even taken special note of the situation as to his furry charges, getting them checked and doc approved before his move with doc questions answered as to how to handle multiple days in a car/jeep stress that might come with a big, long ride move.

He found pet friendly places along the way and planned accordingly.

Eventually our work weeks caught up with us though, Beck with some stuff that is pretty important as she does pretty important things and me with … ummmmm … hey! I have important stuff too … ok … well … and our group text faded into a Monday …

It became a no news good news thing, I guess, but we were lax.

Beck broke the silence, on a Tuesday, almost 9 days since the last text. You need to prod Nick by the way, he’s not one to reach out first as opposed to me and Beck who will wear pics and stories of ourselves in this group text at any time, anything that seems pertinently silly, like proud new clothes for the preening.  

Nick: I can’t find Smokey

There was a collective pause. An air let out. I know you can’t really tell such a thing from a group text, but it was definitely an air letting, it was there, you could feel it, more than just a pause for my air fryer making an air fryer potatoes done sound and me just taking an extra minute or two to set my dinner and grab some ketchup, or Beck being distracted with nephews and cats and a Mom and a dog but there was a palpable pause. It was a pause that comes with a something you don’t want to acknowledge.

Nick: He’s been gone since Thursday … and there have been tornado warnings and it’s raining a lot … a lot.

//////////////////////////////////////////

My parents bought their first house at the top of a curved driveway’s small hill in Mahopac, NY, a somewhat long driveway to an above that gave you the feeling of not being one of those houses in the development just down the road where everything was flat and driveways didn’t exist, just mere parking spots with basketball hoops, where houses were all the same just uniquely populated, sometimes attempts made to differentiate but still the same flat two story things with nothing driveways that, though they stood alone in their plot, were really just the guy next door.

But we had our place. A longish driveway that went up, didn’t sit flat, but went up and found a house tucked into some woods and rock with a front door that, though it opened the same as any of the front doors down the road, opened just a little bit differently.

For Mom and Dad that house came with 3 things. A mortgage, a five year old and a dog, a one named “Lady”. Seems whoever my parents had bought the house from had only one real stipulation, the dog comes with it. Now I’m sure that there are many examples of home purchases that come with strange caveats. You have to preserve the lake your house sits on, you can’t shoo away the crows on your roof or turn off the creepy music, your neighbor’s wife might occasionally search your basement with a flashlight when you’re not at home, but a mortgage, a five year old and a dog?

Maybe they couldn’t take pets where they were headed and were forced, heartbreakingly, to leave her behind. Probably the best of scenarios to remember such a thing, though it was surely more they just a didn’t want the bother.

But Lady was a sweetheart and the doggiest of dogs, no matter her ownership and she became my best of friends, my first step into a humans suck, pets not so much world that I would eventually gravitate to and live in.

Lady was an outside dog, not that she didn’t come in, mind you, and grab a comfy sleep spot, it’s just that that outside was her best of place . She loved our semblance of a lawn, patchy in spots or overgrown in others, dad was still navigating it to show friends on Saturday afternoons at Mom’s insistence (he would have preferred otherwise), she loved the woods the house sat nestled in for the nosing of leaves and staring down assorted squirrels and chipmunks and the rest, loved her place in the world that allowed her to chase things, to bark at things, ignore things that didn’t meet bark standard, loved a grabbing of some sun in the summer, she opened my eyes to an individual pets need to have their spot. And I didn’t even really know what a pet was.

Maybe they left her behind though because Lady had a penchant, no, an obsession with chasing cars and became too much the worry. This one I could understand if such were the case. Lady viewed, in my smallish mind at the time, cars to be the greatest of evils, things that needed to be runningly nipped and barked at, things to be stopped at all costs, things that tore at her very being of dog. “You’re faster than me, larger than me, angrily louder than me and you must be stopped. You are intruding on my ability to bark at what I would like to bark at or not to bark at.”

We/she were Ok with this as long as she stayed up top around the house and didn’t venture down the driveway. I though, as some years went by, discovered some friends from school lived in that flat development with those nothing driveways and basketball hoops, discovered them on my bike once I learned how not to fall off this new found independence. When Lady realized that this was happening she took to following her boy but of course that took her off the hill and down to the road which, well, was just not a good thing. I can’t tell you how many times myself or me and my best friend, Ricky, who lived in another development just around the corner, had to turn around to shoo Lady back to the house before she tried to go another round with one of her rolling demons while tagging along. And I so would have loved her company on occasion for my idyllic rides around a wonderful suburban cliche but I couldn’t chance her obsession with her loud motorized windmills.

This obsession did not end well and I will tear up as I write this, do tear up as I write this as large trucks, all wheels on the right hand side of a tractor trailer, with a Ricky in tow on our way to his house, will always prove to be the greatest foil to a car chasing dog, who we noticed too late had followed us again, and who wouldn’t allow the monsters to disturb her view of the world or come between her and this boy of hers, possibly even cause him harm.

I’ve never cried as hard since. Not even for my dad.

/////////////////////////////////////////

Nick: My neighbor tried to grab him but just missed.

Me: Oh shit nick!!

Nick: Have flyers out. Downloaded the neighbor app and am keeping the faith.

Beck: Ok, so you have some word around?

Nick: Yes

//////////////////////////////////////////

My mother was never a one to have a cat be an inside one. Not really quite sure why. Maybe her English sense of order and proper wouldn’t allow, or maybe it was just the hair. All the hair. There were couches you weren’t allowed to sit on that you knew well “living room” being quite the misnomer but cats? Not so much on the knowing.

Sixpence the cat though? The large short haired Tiger who ruled our place? He was given a pass and well, if you were a cat in this house Sixpence was the one who you modeled yourself after. Would you ever live up to him as cat? No. But you modeled nonetheless.

He was the only one who navigated my parent’s second house, and my mother’s “house cat” reticence (though a Marmalade would come and hold her own) not up a slightly tall curved driveway hill this time, but a one on our own flat now of a road right out in front. A busy one. A one that gave me a lot of practice at my new found cursing, in this case at the cars that often went by way too fast. A busy one that, sadly, worked out poorly sometimes for the cats that didn’t model Sixpence well enough.

You never worried of whether Sixpence would eventually jump into your lap at the end of the day though, he just would.

“Long day being a cat Steve”

“No cars it seems?”

“No, apparently not. Lucky today”

“Good”

“Lap?”

“All yours”

Sixpence was the IT when it came to being a cat.

He died of natural cat things, no unseemly end courtesy of Lady’s monsters.

But he sits large in laps, has sat large in laps in our memories ever since and is the real reason (as well as Lady for me with a heart pull) why we harbor fur.

//////////////////////////////////////////

Still commiserating via text as to Nick’s lost Smokey, Beck and I feeling the dread after I don’t know how many days now.

Nick: Smokey is back!

Beck: What?!

Me: Dude!?

Nick: A neighbor just pointed out a cat in a bush. I put my hand forward and he came to me.

Me: Ahhhhh Jeez Nick! Right now?

Beck: Oh man that’s great!

Nick: He’s rubbing up all on me and won’t stop. I’m feeling a bit emotional.

Me: Cry the fuck emotional away! (damn that some projecting huh as I went for a full t-shirt tissue).

Beck : Yay!

/////////////////////////////////////////

I don’t really know where it came from with my Mom and Dad back then but my sister and brother and I are pet folk, specifically cat pet folk, though with my sis you have to throw a big ol’ Razzy dog in the mix. But maybe it’s just because Mom and Dad never WEREN’T. I’m sure there was a Fluffy or a Snowball or a Woof Woof somewhere in their past, a ones that survived busy roads or a one who just wanted to be, just wanted to be, nosing leaves and minding varmints and her boy, damning the cars.

But Nick has a Smokey all loving him back up.

Maybe the universe has an ear for a trio of sibling pet kindreds in a group text’s communal hope. At least this time.

I’ll check back with ya Universe.

First, excuse the clutter here, all the random thoughts out in the open or the hidden or forgotten ones in numerous storage bins that at least make good cat bed window seats and, yes, the corners could use a bit of a dusting (a leaf blower would surely do the trick) but overall it is a comfortable spot and though I’m not the most social of guys the visits from you are welcome and very much appreciated.

I just wanted to thank you for taking the time and maybe even enjoying spending that time with some of my clutter and randoms and observations, songs, silly things, experiments, posts of cats, cats in posts, inane stuff or shit that just falls flat … sometimes hard.

This note, besides the thank you for stopping by, is just to point out something to you who may like what you read here, a something that I do too often when it comes to the postings and a something that is constantly pissing me off and causing great internal conflict (the parody tunes aren’t included in this note as they are always ready to go lyrically after they’re sung at my little work studio and then, in pieces, brought home here to the “Attic” for the edit).

Me 2: Steve, put the thought down. Put the thought down and back away from the keyboard.

Me 1: What?

Me 2: Don’t do it.

Me 1: Do what?

Me 2: Post this before you’re really finished with it. Don’t do it.

Me 1: But this one is finished this time.

Me 2: Really, you mean like that recent feeling old or not feeling old one? That one you added a good bit to and revised some of after the posting?

Me 1: Well … that one was different.

Me 2: How exactly?

Me 1: Ummmm … well you see that … uhhhhh … ahhhh … that one was completely different.

Me 2: Look, that one was just like the others and you’re gonna post this too early as well, but just by a day or two, you’re gonna get a few views maybe even a good number for you, be happy with the instant gratification but then come back to it tomorrow, maybe over the next couple of days and realize that there’s edits and adds you feel you need to make it better.

Me 1: Yeah?! You’re point?

Me 2: Well, dumbass, you ARE going to make it better, come up with a more “final version” and then be pissed off at yourself because the initial views, maybe even a like or two, haven’t seen the best edition of it.

Me 1: Hey, don’t call me dumbass!

Me 2: But you are a dumbass.

Me 1: People might come back and see the better version.

Me 2: See, I’m right, you’re a dumbass. You really think anyone is coming back to read this crap a second time?

Me 1: But …

Me 2: Look, just be happy some folks are around in the first place for the initial posting. Ya know, color me crazy, but how about that first posting be the one you edited with a fresh look or added to actually be the FIRST one they see? How about that for concept huh?

Me 1: Shut up Me 2!

So anyway, a note here to my Attic company. Yeah, some of these posts are better’ now, at least in my Me 1 mind, after a second look post-posting and some re-working. Now I’m not asking you to revisit, that’s up to you, I again, just appreciate your taking the time in the first place. Just noting it is all and well, I can be something of a dumbass in this jumping the posting gun regard.

Me 2: Told you.

Me 1: Shut up … twice, Me 2!!

Went to Walgreens recently to pick up a prescription and when the young woman behind the pharmacy counter asked me my name I said “Frankenberry – just like the cereal” like I always do to which there was just a kind of blank stare “huh?” response. Shit, dating yourself again Steve. When they have no idea of the cereal you’re referencing, where even showing them your Frankenberry tattoo probably isn’t going to help since they don’t know what the hell you’re talking about you will feel a bit old.

It is a cool tattoo though.

So yeah, I’m old, or older than I was yesterday when things seemed wide open, when I had dumb haircuts and bad clothes that I was proud of, when that oyster was there, when I didn’t start something new with “I’m old”.

I don’t really feel it though, sure, things creak, bending down comes with grunts and grabs at whatever’s close for the stand back ups, there are ankle cracks (I don’t think I’ll be sneaking up on up on anyone any time soon and I’d now be the first one discovered when trying to hide from the bad guys) I breathe a little heavier either from old bad habits or just the heavy sigh of the world we live in. Not quite sure of which. Both I guess, but I don’t feel old which I’ll take as a good thing, but I still am. Clocks are clocks after all.

I write some words at a blog, sometimes sing them, a sanity saver spot that lets me put them together, hopefully in some meaningful way and keep me going, help me feel as if I may have stories to tell that might be of interest to some, maybe create an image they can relate to, bring a smile or laugh or maybe the tap of a toe or two but the old persists, knocks on my door on occasion to remind, to tell me things.

Time: I’m a bit of a bitch right?

Me: Yeah, you are.

Now, this isn’t to be maudlin, bemoan the why’s and rail against clocks, I’m fully aware of time, but I still don’t feel it and I’m glad of that.

I’m still going at it with cats and a comfortable roof over a comfortable bed, though too often a one for the most furtive of sleeps (something the cats help ease) but still with vivid nightly dreams that are always colorful and hectic, sometimes sinister and menacing but also sometimes pretty and hopeful but all adding things to the noggin’s repertoire. I know that at my age I’m not my father at his same, I’m younger, I laugh at things he would never have laughed at though I might force it upon him in memory, “that’s some funny shit dad … really”.

I’m old Dad, but I’ve reached that spot where you always were in my mind, but only numerically and I’m just trying to take next steps. An evolution. I don’t feel old Dad, like I think you did of yourself sometimes, though these damned clocks keep trying to tell me otherwise.

(next step … ankle crack)

Son of a bitch.

What is production guy high five yourself geekiness?

When editing a recent podcast of a good friend notice a spot where the author he’s interviewing, reading a portion of a novel of hers, has a bit of a glitch in the recording from the end of one sentence to the beginning of the next seemingly losing the word “he” in the process, something that just won’t sound right without a fix. You, remembering you heard a couple of “he”’s in her read earlier, go back and find one of them from the middle of another sentence.

Work then to make it sound seamless.

Shit made my day.

Yeah, production guy high five yourself geekiness.

Small things.

You know one thing I truly hate are websites that periodically tell you that you must change your password and now usually to something with so many requirements you have to stick googly eyes to your already actual googlying eyes just to really express the almost cartoonish nature of it.

Look, these days it’s enough to remember the things I need to remember on a daily basis just to function, where did I leave the keys, when was the last time I washed that towel, 2 shoes or 1, how many cats do I have (I thought it was 3 but I’m counting 4 today), pants … I don’t need the added addition to my overworked noggin of a new password “for my security” to remember, especially at accounts that no self respected hacker or even simple online voyeur is going to have any interest in.

Credit cards, my checking, my Chewy dot com? Sure, some havoc could be wreaked there especially in my recurring order of kitty litter but my work payroll/timecard website? Really?

Blackhat #1: Dude!? You’re not going to believe what I did today.

Blackhat #2: Hacked the Pentagon again? Pushed McCarthy, Cruz and Gaetz to the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted? Ransomwared a pipeline? Moved a satellite?

Blackhat #1: No, I hacked into some Frankenberry guy’s payroll site and changed all of his clock in times from 9 to 9:15. He is gonna get one STERRRRN talking to I’m sure.

Blackhat #2: Oh, nicely done!!

Virtual high fives.

I mean seriously the only thing that’s gonna happen if someone accesses my payroll account is that they’ll see my salary and cry, though, that could be a good thing I guess as they might feel so bad that, through their tears, they’ll start a Go Fund Me page or something.

Blackhat #1: Ya know, we should do something for that guy.

Blackhat #2: We should. I don’t know how though.

Blackhat #1: Ummmmm, dude, we’re hackers?

Blackhat #2: Oh right.

No, changing my password should be an optional thing. Send me suggestions to try and prove you care, remind me my keys are on the kitchen counter under a Pirates hat, that that towel is gross, it’s 2 shoes (each foot numbnuts), you only have 3 cats so counting 4 could be a concern, pants are good and just leave it at that alright?

My password is just fine.

Dad: (outside voice in the car) Oh, Stephy, your mother would like it just as much if you just made her something, made her a card, you know, draw her a picture and make her a card, with lots of colors. You like to draw. Tell her how much you love her. (inside voice) sorry Stephen but we’re NOT going to the jewelry store.

Me: But Daaaad, I want to get her something nice and she likes earrings, the long ones, can’t I get her some earrings?

Dad: (outside voice) Well I have to stop for gas, you can pump if you’d like.

Me: Can I?!

Dad: (inside voice) nicely done Joe (outside voice) Of course, I need to be filled up for work on Monday and you can make sure of it, then we have to stop at Red Mills for a few things your Mom wants us to pick up for dinner tonight.

Me: Then maybe to the earring store?

Dad: (inside voice) damn he’s good (outside voice) Well that’s a little bit out of the way and we don’t want to be late for your Mom right?

Me: No, I gueeeess, she’ll get mad. Tomorrow maybe?

Dad: (outside voice) Well, tomorrow is already Mother’s Day plus we have to get the things she wants and then go to church and then come home for din …

Me: Ooohhhhh Chuuuurch?!!! But it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow!!

Dad: (inside voice) sigh. (outside voice) Church doesn’t think about things like that, you still go no matter what day tomorrow is. I’ll tell you what. We’ll pick up a few things your Mom doesn’t know about.

Me: Like what?

Dad: Some color markers and some paper, the big paper so you can make her that card, a really special one. Maybe even some other things to add to it. So much better than earrings

Me: Really?

Dad: Oh, Yes

Me: One of the ones with so many colors? The big box?

Dad: Yeah, but just between you and me of course.

Me: Oh … of course … of course? … oh of course … Yes.

Dad: (inside voice) whewww … wow, I hope Red Mills has some flowers.

 

Not quite the same Ma, but Happy Mother’s Day. You too Sis. Love ya.

 

I think moving forward I’m just going to call them my “karatorials” or “Franken-songials”, though that’s a little ungainly (you can add pretty much anything to “Franken …” by the way, believe me, and quite a few iterations of such over the years have been none too flattering ).

Whatever, just my editorials here via a karaoke tune or two.

Here’s another, this one to Adam Ant, a little voter suppression thing.

Goody Goody Crow Rules

Gov Kemp grabbed a big pen

To support the Big Lie

Election integrity, integrity

Ignore that GA’s was fine now

–

Was su-posed gold standard

For others to try

Try and live up to, up to

It was even a point of pride now 

–

Ya can’t choose, we choose, voting rights you lose

Ya can’t choose, we choose,

Suppression wins you lose

–

Make vo-ting harder, what will you do

A tougher vote, we say, what will you do

None too subtle the game they play

Jim Crow says hey y’all by the way

–

Say thanks to Joe Manchin

Repubs inside joke

Won’t let us bust the filli filli  

Bi-part will surely take note take note

–

As everyone laughs at

His naïve to extreme

The Pollyanna world he loves hope  

Is in a parti-san long boat

–

Ya can’t choose, we choose, voting rights you lose

Ya can’t choose, we choose,

Suppression wins you lose

–

Make vo-ting harder, what will you do

A tougher vote, we say, what will you do

None too subtle the game they play

Jim Crow says howdy by the way

—— 

GOP knows too well now

There ain’t no fair fight

Straight up they lose every time now

People vote they will always eat crow

–

They’ll try to sell you

A bill of false goods

About getting back to honest, honest

But based on a cult’s lies big lie

–

Now this ain’t no token

They’ll take the deride

Knowing full well, too well now

The orange is on their right side

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Make vo-ting harder, what will you do

A tougher vote, we say, what will you do

None too subtle the game they play

Jim Crow says howdy by the way

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Make vo-ting harder, what will you do

Cuttin’ back Sundays what will you do

None too subtle the game they play

Jim Crow says hey y’all by the way

–

Make vo-ting harder, what will you do

Lose drop boxes, what will you do

None too subtle the game they play

Jim Crow says howdy by the way

–

Make vo-ting harder, what will you do

A tougher vote, we say, what will you do

None too subtle the game they play

Jim Crow says howdy by the way