Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything … 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs … damned humans.
(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 05-25-19)
So a little less than a year or so ago I decided to have a bit of fun and do some writing and some singing (though I’ll put “singing” in quotes here just to be safe). It was at the time that Trump had nominated angry, partisan and unsuited, other than a back room oath of fealty handshake, Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court right after having bought off his mentor Justice Kennedy to retire. The Georgia Satellites and this tune just struck me right then as a good way to vent my frustrations as to someone as dangerous as the ignorant Orange being in such a position.
If you’re here then you know that I’ve built a few more tunes since then. You’ll also know that they all sound a hell of a lot better than that first attempt though “better” is up for interpretation.
Now, I’m really not one to get uptight about such things, or maybe I am as could be evidenced here, but that first tune has been gnawing at me to update it. So that’s what I’ve done, obsolete Windows Movie Maker in tow (Wow, I’m still not good at it…bear with the old dude).
It’s just a me not being uptight about it kinda thing.
Till I Check It Myself
Got a SCOTUS in my pocket going ching-a-ling-ka-ching
Wanna crawl up in his fine robes babee, give him some bling
And every time I do I ask the same old thing
I want your loyaltee, you judgees and you’ll get to kiss my ring
My SCOTUS, my own law, don’t just judge by yourself
I said, “don’t pass no judgement, till I check it myself”
Oh, Judgee Judgee Judgee you know to see it my way
You know that I’m your POTUS baby, you have to see it that way
Now I’ll tell you a story ’bout fake news and the now
I’ll say no truthee, no storee comes out without me any how
My SCOTUS, my own law, don’t just judge by yourself
I said, “don’t pass no judgement, till I check it myself”
You see I wanted law bad, and I was throwing it to Heck
Then they talked of Constitution, started looking for checks
I said Country it’s my law for the rest of your life
Press said no babee, BUT we’ll stay maybee if we story the strife
My SCOTUS, my own law, don’t just judge by yourself
I said, “don’t pass no judgement, till I check it myself” …
I asked in my last post if you would bear with me in the future when it came to my Beatles theme here in the Attic of Orange tunes on my way to an “Orange Album”‘s worth of them. Well, if you’re here then you’ve called in that marker. Don’t worry, I’ll get ya on the back end when I figure out what that means, I’m good for it whatever it is…I think. But I do know a guy who knows about a horse who knows a different guy’s horse who knows about a guy whose horse’s cat knows about a grayhound coming out of retirement for one last run. Damned rabbit.
A little one…
When He’s man-Boy Czar
When he gets even bolder flush with a flair
Oppressor soon bar none
Will you still apologize tell Dems to calm
As au-tocracy gets dropped like a bomb
When he ignores the rule of the law
And conjures William Barr
Will you still mock us for thinking he dang’rous
When he’s man-Boy Czar
(ooooh ooooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh )
His thumb you’re under too
(aaaahhh aaaahhh aaahhh aaahhh aaahhh aaahhh aaahhh aaahhh)
But Reds if you’d sprout some spine
To Checks and B’s we could be true
She comes in real handy jus-tifying the lies
When open does his mouth
She can spin a story dis-in-genuous
On Sunday rounds to State Tv press
Digging at real news pro-moting their fake
What Czar could ask for more
Stoking the fires, protecting the liar
Hucksterbee shoots and scores
Every day we’re treated to the latest power grab found corruption is his worst of fears
But Reds will not be brave
(aaaaa aaaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa)
Willed lapdogs at his knee, Lyndsey, Mitch and Dev
Looking for postcards sent from the ledge, any sane view of point
A Country wanting just sur-vive this despot play
America sincerely, wishing away
And hoping Or’nge crazy doesn’t take form
Democracy at the fore
Will we still still be, can we save hist’ry
From the man-Boy Czar
I know the Beatles have been a theme, maybe tiredly so at this point (I’ve tried explain that as best I can). Though this isn’t one of my favorites I still like it, it’s fun and lyrically I think it’s pretty good which is all that matters. Plus it’s still part of a plan. A grand plan? No. Just a simple one for my own version of sanity in this fucked up place as I work towards a full album of Beatles parodied Trump tunes.
…Mimi the Quirky apparently likes the number 4 preceded by a 7…ahhhh, cats and keyboards…maybe she’s trying to tell me something with these 4’s preceded by a 7. Your guess is as good as mine.
Meaning? Nothing. Just a pawed bunch of 4’s with that preceding 7 but it kind of fits with our current crazy. Complete nonsense, a cat and a paw on a keyboard, but given the right machine and the best of blind fealty I could make all those 4’s preceded by a single 7 mean anything I want. Mimi the Quirky could be King.
So as I work towards what I’ll call “The Orange Album” I have a few more tunes already in mind if you’ll just bear with me in the future.
Shill Barr Be, Hack Barr Are
William is new AG in this U.S. place
Bought and paid give Trumpy D a hand
Wrote a little White House pre-pared sum-mary
That he then touted as some truth throughout the land
Shill Barr be, hack Barr are, Trump goes on
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
Blah Blah Trump lies they live on
Hack Barr be, shill Barr are, Trump feels strong
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
Blah Blah Trump lies they live on
William takes a seat at a new congress store
Serenades a unilater’l will
To de-cide the findings of Mueller’s report
He echoes Trump words as he then begins to shill
Shill Barr be, hack Barr are, Trump goes on
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
Blah Blah Trump lies they live on
Hack Barr be, shill Barr are, Trump feels strong
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
Blah Blah Trump lies they live on
In a couple of years Trump has built a great de-vide
G-OP grunts blindly at his side
along for cruelest of rides
HA HA HA HA
Happy ever soon an autocrat’s new place
William lends the orange rule of law
The rest of us just watch as shit then hits our face
A narr-a-tive about this prez’s lawless place
Shill Barr be, hack Barr are, Trump goes on
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
Blah Blah Trump lies they live on
Hack Barr be, shill Barr are, Trump feels strong
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
Blah Blah Trump lies they live on
In a couple more years Trump tries play the game for long
Ju-dicial law in the partisan hand
Of William DOJ strong
HA HA HA HA
Democratic now not in this U.S. land
William lends the Orange office space
Redactions and conspiracies then take their place
And in the long run we are now sure less than great
Shill Barr be, hack Barr are, Trump goes on
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
La la Trump lies they live on
Hack Barr be, shill Barr are, Trump feels strong
BLAH BLAH BLAH!!
La la Trump lies they live on
And if you want for ruin
Sing tune of William Barr
When I first moved into my place here a little over a year ago, a two room apartment above a two car attached garage, I moved into madness. A glorious madness. Seven dogs and a myriad of cats to navigate all surely taking the temp of the new guy. Would he be cool I thought they all said, would he pet us, should we eat him (the big German Shepherd sisters, Eve & Senta), should I just continue to bark at him until he goes away (Pea), will he call us all by name, will he maybe even eventually feed us?
Well, the petting helped…then the feeding of course and, yes, I learned everyone’s name…a lot of names. I liked that there were a lot of names.
When you park your car here you do so outside of the garage just below my windows and you walk in through this garage into a mud room, the place here for the gang of fur. An old, wonderfully dog worn leather love seat and a metal crate, big enough for the big girls that decided not to eat me, a crate that’s not really a crate, more of just a comfy sleep spot with some blankets, stuffed toys and the occasional (dog) found empty pet food can. It’s also that innate human, first place in the door, shit to be piled on spot. I’m sure in earlier times this is where soon to be pelts, rocks, crudely fashioned though effective tools were layed in caves maybe while getting crap from the better half for just this. For stuff not being properly put away in their proper of places. Nothing ever really changes. This, plus the strewn extra large pet beds and it’s a really good room, a really warm room. It’s also, when it comes to the beds, a “who got here first” kinda thing, sometimes shared, cats and dogs alike, a little community that understands each other and something that has fascinated me because of such since day one. This coexistense. The mud room then leads into the kitchen, the heart of this place. I was a little reticent to go beyond this room when I first moved in as this was the main part of someone else’s house, someone’s else’s home. I wasn’t family, I was just the guy who should hang a hard left at the mud room and head up the stairs.
But there was a kitten. A little tortoise kitten who found himself in the midst of the chaos of established dogs and cats, a little trooper of a tortoise kitten who would not be denied his spot among this established. I found myself, one night, cradling him in my arms, rubbing a belly, lightly scratching an ear, but I also found myself to be doing it while sitting on the floor leaning against the kitchen counter just as my landlady, Celie, walked in from her day.
“He’s a cutie isn’t he?”
“He certainly is”
Not even a blink as to me being in the kitchen. I was Ok.
I thought about taking him upstairs with me at the time, a new friend maybe, for my Bella and Grayson, and I even named him that tortoise coat, “Turtle”, but he suffered some awful seizures, debilitating ones that were doing damage, some of which I tried to tame as best I could at the time with more cradles and soft words and quite a few tears, but there had to come a goodbye. He was though, I think, a sign to Celie that maybe this new guy upstairs was alright. He liked this kind.
The first time I got to feeding the kit gang there was almost, I thought, a suprised look on the faces of these numerous cats as they realized that there was a new human providing dinner. Not that they minded of course, dinner is dinner after all. I did it that first time as a way to say thank you to Celie for this new best of all little spots (there was another best of all little spots years ago but this one was different, more furry, more…ummm…better). Since then I’ve done what I can to help out, at least when it comes to the feeding and the minding, cat and dog alike, the kitchen heart no longer being a fear of overstepping. There’s a comfort in it.
There’s a sun room in the house. It’s in the back, through the kitchen and then the living room. It is a good place for cats replete with it’s own cat door for comings and goings inside/outside, especially for the front porch gang who know to come in for cat towers and plush beds and good naps. This is where I first met Cricket the Blind who is also mostly deaf. In my feedings of the gang all that Cricket was concerned with was trying to climb my leg to eventually get her head behind my ear. Food? It was secondary. When there came to be some company in this room I worried for Cricket the Blind and her unseen new roomie. I didn’t want her to possibly get hurt. So upstairs it was. Though her blindness offers some unique challenges, some maddening to tell you the truth, she’s been upstairs with me ever since, a year plus now. She’s got her human now and, challenges or no, I’m good with that. Try to balance challenges with a blind cat’s Spring’s breeze…I dare ya.
I know I’ve written of some of this before but Jill said “Oh, you’re fucked now”. That was the response to my latest Pet of the Week segment on Mix 97 eight years ago. The “Oh, you’re fucked now”? That was Jill knowing that I was unexpectedly and suddenly sold on this little fur thing sitting on my chest as I did my radio bit. She knew I was taking her home without first consulting my Maria, my better half then. Her name was Ella. Jagger, Maria’s son, all of eleven or so, knew that if there were ever another cat to come after my recently passed Benny his or her name would just have to start with a “B”, my only condition. My initial thought was to name her Blink, as to her huge unblinking stare, but Jagger, instead, came up with the perfect name. He just tacked that “B” onto the beginning of her already existing name. So there was a Bella. Smart kid.
On one of her trips to Florida to work on her house there Celie entrusted me with minding the gang as she sometimes does. Let the dogs out in the morning, feed the cats when I come home and wash a few pet bowls along the way. On this particular trip though, there were two kittens included in the minding, Tank and his new as yet unnamed pal. Tank had issues from the get go, had been handed a short deck but he persevered as best he could till the end. His pal? She was fast, so fast, and, thinking I’d go with a vehicle motif, I came to call her Go-Cart. I also came to bring them upstairs with me while Celie was away. It was one less thing to worry about. That brought my temporary cat total to 5. If there is a line by the way, five might just be it. All I was missing now was a mumu, crocs and a tub of ice cream while I binge watched “Hoarders”. Funny thing happened though, Bella seemed to like Go-Cart.
Ever since Grayson passed away so suddenly and heartbreakingly back in August I’d wanted Bella to have a new pal. She doesn’t like Cricket and she only tolerates Mimi but she’d already lost Shoes and then Gray, so I thought she could use another friend. I had tried that once already with one of the cats from the shelter, the incredibly vocal Gibson, and that went spectacularly unwell as Bella was scared of him, intimidated. Gibson has since gone to a good friend from work and has truly found his human in Eric. Things work out like that sometimes. This bringing the kittens upstairs though, in a sense, was accidentally perfect. Bella liked having a new friend, and a new friend with Celie’s Ok that I decided to keep. I also re-named her that original Bella name, Blink.
Now, I’m sure you know I’ve had a few cats over the years, all, until recently as I’ve mentioned, starting from the kitten stage. Bob back in Grad School, my first cat on my own who sadly didn’t make it out of my apartment fire back in ’89. I obviously did, just barely…thank you again Bill Pearis for what surely, then, was just a mundane phone call. Then Benny and Merlin, a Christmas gift to myself and my then new wife, Danielle, in a marriage that didn’t last very long. I kept the cats and a couple of pieces of furniture. Still have the nightstand 24 years later as a matter of fact, awkward though solid well made thing that has never fit quite right in any room but has suited me well, nonetheless, all these years. Merlin lost a fight with a car back when I left Dayton, Ohio and then Pittsburgh to move in with Mom in New York for a little while, post divorce, before I then moved to Florida to clear my head, get some sunshine and hang with my favorite cousin while working with her at a Disney resort where I would occasionally don tights and a big-ass plastic head for the kids and Saturday breakfasts. The other half of that pair, Benny? He was with me for 16 years and 15 different physical addresses. A true companion and constant when I needed one most. The very definition of friend. Then there was my boy and constant sidekick Shoes who’s pregnant mom adopted my brother and sister and I when we shared a house after I moved back to New York from my Disney adventure. Eventually there was the above mentioned Bella, then Grayson, my greatest save and worst heartbreak and the now, Cricket the Blind, Mimi the Quirky and, well, Blink. Bella and the Unintentionals.
If only Bella played guitar.
Of all the kittens on this list, there was none quite like the addition of Blink. The energy, the humor, the excitement at my come homes and her bounding down the stairs to greet me was something I had really never experienced with the rest other than Shoes who always knew the time. My coming home was kitty Christmas every day with Blink. I also know being a little bit nutty is part of the kitten job description. But Blink? She took to that job requirement with utter abandon, with a fervor I hadn’t seen in all my years of being a cat dude. Nothing on any counter or table top or nightstand stood a chance. I’d also never had a cat that was not only NOT scared of water but who thought walking into the back of the shower while I was in it was just par for the course. It absolutely fascinated her. I looked down one morning, after just rinsing my hair, and there Blink was, at the back of the shower with a look that just said “what?” A Matthew Modine at the end of “Birdy” kinda thing (one of the greatest films ever by the way…or at least for me).
Well the wonder that was Blink is gone now god dammit, her name being so sadly appropriate as it was seemingly just a Blink that she was with me here in this perfect of little spots. Not even 6 months. Not even quite a year old yet. Feline leukemia. Fucking fast working bastard too. Just this past Monday she was on top of the fridge, just like Grayson, slapping at my head and being so proud to have figured how to be eye to eye with me. Funny, like a little kid who wants to constantly check their height on a door frame to see if they’d gotten bigger, Blink was always sizing up a new high spot, the towel cabinet in the bathroom, the counter at the kitchen sink, the living room cat tower, that afformentioned fridge. I gave her a bit of assistance with empty litter bins for her to hop on and then up, but she seemed so happy to have thought she figured it out herself, to have figured out how to be “big”. Then Tuesday morning she ignored her breakfast, then that evening her dinner and eventually it was all she could do just to grab her favorite cat bed. Monday, fridge head slaps, Sunday goodbye. And I was so looking forward to the weather breaking, like this weekend, so she could grab a window’s breeze for the first time. Well, at least she did, for a moment.
After her going down to the shelter on Wednesday for a blood test and to be looked at by the doc she came back to our best of little spots last night. Thank you Celie for that. She needed a last couple of nights in HER place, in her cat tower. Yes, one of those spots she was so proud to conquer in her quest to be big.
Blink, we were supposed to have so much more time, a so much more YOUR time and I will so miss you, miss sharing bits of my dinner, miss yelling at you to to stop treating the things on my awkward though solid nightstand like enemy combatants, miss you laying on my arm under the covers at night while you kneaded my shirtsleeve. Blink, one of my unintentionals, who brought me so much laughter, joy…peace. Hopefully you recieved the same in your short time. I’d like to think that you did.
I don’t go out much, ever actually, which I’m perfectly fine with and you want to know why? Try topping a Friday night like this, in a perfect of little spots, while computer scribbling a few words or playing with some sound.
At least yesterday was laundry day. She SO loved laundry day.
I don’t know if this has been posited yet, probably has somewhere, but I’m curious as to what arrangement was worked out between Donnie and DeVos for her to agree to look the REALLY bad guy by cutting the budget for Special Olympics so he could then White Horse-It in to save the day and give the appearance that he’s a good man who cares. Especially when the infamous neo-Nuremberg rally video of him mocking the disabled popped it’s head up again recently. I mean, obviously, no one is actually going to cut the budget for Special Olympics as the optics of such would just be awful, so this was completely manufactured, propaganda-like, in an incredibly transparent attempt to burnish his image. Plus, the budget for Special Olympics is relatively small, less so, for example, than the estimated cost of Trump throwing himself a fascist admiration baby general military parade party, so no one is buying it.
Now, to be fair, Betsy DeVos cutting said budget on her own wouldn’t be completely out of the question as she is just a shit of human being but, again, I’m curious as to the arrangement. What did DeVos get in return for falling on the sword of public outcry so that Trump could appear the hero? Or maybe this was Donnie the Don just calling in that favor, mob boss-like (it’s how he operates after all) that DeVos has owed him from the beginning, since he nominated her for this bought education post that she is astoundingly unqualified and unsuited for that then led to one of the most embarrassingly horrendous confirmation hearings in the history of this country, hearings that in any sane non-trump reality would have had her unanimously rejected with an added recommendation that she be soundly mocked 24-7 for her stupidity. Or maybe it’s just a bit of a smokescreen to throw us off the fact that Betsy has added 60 million dollars to the budget of suspect charter schools that operate with no oversight and with surely most of that earmarked for Christian indoctrinary factories.
Well, whatever the arrangement and some of the reasoning was, we know one thing for certain. #DonnieDisaster’s propaganda machine is working overtime, hell, we can see that now as they spin the Meuller report, asking us to trust the State News word of a shill AG’s hastily trotted 4 page “exoneration” of the President even though he clearly had no time to actually read the full report, even with all the Russia connected indictments, an AG who feels the President is above the law and who’s 19 page memo from a short time ago decried, in part, the constitutionality of the investigation and whether a President can be indicted in the first place and what should have had him recusing himself from the whole thing the second he was confirmed all while trying to do everything they can to keep anyone, including congress, from actually reading it in full, all 400 or 700 pages of it, or at least until they’ve redacted most of it. Maybe even destroying some.
This will only get worse (history, apparently, hasn’t taught us much or maybe it has depending on your perspective and to what lows you will go to recreate it) and even more painfully obvious as we get closer to election day, well, more painfully obvious to some of us anyway.
When I was a kid, my first girlfriend was the Beatles. Mom even approved of all the time we spent together, and it was quite a lot (no kissing by the way…I knew Cynthia Lennon was hot). I thought, in my kidness, that her approval had to have come from her, of course, knowing them personally. She had emigrated to America from their equal small England right around the same time as Ed Sullivan and just before she met “Joe Frankenberry from New York” and then there was a me. They shared accents so they must have known each other right? I mean, how could they not?
So the first album I ever bought was Live at the Hollywood Bowl…check that. The first album I ever bought was the Star Wars soundtrack, Rexall Drugs, Mahopac, New York (pronounced Mayo-Pack for anyone that might be reading a Ma-Ho-Pack into this and getting all huffy) right across from the lake and just down the street from Rodack’s, home of the finest post you made it through church nods again treat sandwiches known to man. That album cover would soon be the repository of all of the stickers I collected from the Star Wars card packs I spent way too much of my paperboy money on (yes, I lived a time of paperboys). I somehow thought that buying that album and those cards might get me a bit closer to that magical galaxy. It was a little dissapointing.
But the first REAL album (apologies Mr Williams) I ever bought was the Beatles Live at the Hollywood Bowl. He doesn’t know me but a “Speilbergian” suburbia was inspired by myself and countless other then kids as I rode my bike to Mammoth Mart, too many miles and years away today but a mere blip for us back then, with one intent. Come home with that record. I rode, one handed, all the way back to my bedroom using that extra hand, outstretched, to hold that prize away from any possible bike’s bounce handlebar/wheel damage while also cursing any car that passed endangering such. It was surely around this time when I did, eventually, get that prize to my bedroom, and because of my endless replays of “Twist and Shout”, “Ticket to Ride”, “A Hard Day’s Night” and the rest, that Mom probably wished she had discovered vodka.
I bring this up only because I’ve built a few tunes here in the Attic courtesy of the Beatles. Unintentional really…to start. Maybe it’s because I can “sing” them a bit easier knowing them so well, maybe it’s because I’d like to think the “lads” would agree with my tuned sentiments, maybe the songs sort of lend themselves or maybe it’s just because this was the time I wish I could go back to, a cliche’d innocence, when mom and dad, when all of our mom’s and dad’s trusted us, trusted us out there on our bikes, trusted us to be smart and be ourselves without worry and when the future didn’t look so dim, when our present then wasn’t as fucked up as this current now.
Language, I know…sorry Ma.
So another tune, another attempt to keep sane in an insane world.
Trump D In The Lie With Zirconia
Picture yourself in a swamp where truth quivers
With Orange tinged lies and white chocolate tries
A Senate adores you, you gloat in the glory
Of lapdog and sycophant cries
Cult like adornments white lettered on red
Witlessly cover their heads
Cast for the dumbest with blind in their eyes
And you’ve won
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Ahhhhhhhhh….
Trump dumb dumb down to a negative measure
Where marshmallow people cry victim’s sad sighs
Backwards they go at behest of their master
Where white anger’s dumb it does rise
News outlets try all while ducking their heads
From Orange shouts looking for blood
But still Nielsen calls with their 30 coins pay
And they’re done
Trump D in the Lie he’s not heaven sent
Trump D in the Lie Sarah go get bent
Trump D’s GOP’s on a Hell descent
Ahhhhhhhhh….
Picture a sad orange cream sickle nightmare
Where real is accused of being the lie
Actual lies are then trotted state news style
A Fox truth democracy dies
Trump D in the Lie he’s not heaven sent
Trump D in the Lie Sarah go get bent
Trump D’s GOP’s on a Hell descent
Ahhhhhhhhh….
Trump D in the Lie with gold’s foolish
Trump D in the Lie with 49’ers
Trump D in the Lie with alchemy
Ahhhhhhhhh….
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Ahhhhhhhhh…
Mother and I wanted to let you know that that wheelie you felt the need to perform alongside a gentleman’s car from one traffic light until he pulled off just before the next (maybe a quarter mile or so) where he stopped for a to-go from Popeye’s for his dinner?
It was quite impressive, as juvenile feats of stupidity go, especially as the kids may like just that sort of thing these days. We don’t know, being old an out of touch of course as you always remind us. Ahhhh, youth. But, at least, keep wearing that helmet son. We know it may soon come in handy though we pray not. We love you after all.
The gang at Popeye’s, when the gentleman relayed this quick story, while ordering his 5 piece, mild not spicy, spicy hasn’t sat well lately, all agreed that your worried manhood shouldn’t hinder you from future displays of the same such stupidity. They may even offer an extra piece of chicken for the laugh. But again though, the helmet, please, always the helmet. We’re also SOOO relieved that you didn’t fall after that tire hung in the air for such a long stretch. But at least you can sleep well knowing that that gentleman’s car was small. It might not have been that much of a bump…bump…anyway, if things had gone awry.
Don’t forget to continue to send us postcards from stupid by the way. Your mother and I treasure them. And your handwriting has gotten so much better.
XxOo
Ps. Please, in the future, try to impress someone other than an another gentleman in an unimpressive car. Your mother, and I, would love grandchildren.
Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything ... 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs ... damned humans.
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