One Drunk Redneck

About three weeks ago, andy harris posted this on his Facebook Page: "I guess the fake signing ceremony Wes Moore held for the bill might have been a waste of time. At least he was in Maryland that day. " My response: "What's the problem? He's in the sate more than you are on The Shore." Of course harris answered as if he seized upon a gotcha moment: "I live on the Shore. Nice try with the fake news." And my faithful readers, all three of them, already knew I wasn't about to let that nonsense sit unanswered.   First, my comment wasn't news, fake or otherwise; it was my sarcastic retort to a sarcastic post. Second, it's the first time harris ever responded directly to me over the last two decades.  It was time to get serious and test how he would respond.  That meant I had to respond as neutrally as I could while laying out the facts as I understood them.  Here was my response: "Thank you for responding. I missed that you sold your ...

I don't know if there is a question one or two on the Maryland ballot come November.  And, no, I don't know if there is a question four or more after three.  But question three is getting all the attention, so let's cut through the partisan bull - and Lord know there's plenty of that flying around - and get right to the chase: What does voting Yes or No mean on question three? There are four ways to decide how you will vote.  Let's walk through the four ways so you can decide which way will be a responsible way for you to make your decision. The first way you can vote is leave the question blank.  It's your constitution that affects you.  Do you want One Drunk Redneck's vote to count more than your own non-vote? The second way you can decide is listen to your elected official and vote the way they say you should vote.  The outcome of being right or wrong is about as reliable as flipping a coin.  Personally, I would trust the coin more. The third way yo...

There is no such thing as aging gracefully.  We get old, and that's it.  Only old people claim they are aging gracefully.  The rest of us see it as a slow decay leading to life's inevitable conclusion.   There isn't a dang thing graceful about that.  A quiet acceptance and gradual fading is all that's left.  The memory of you might last through your grandchildren, but those memories, too, fade until it's as if you never existed at all. Can you tell I'm at the quiet acceptance stage of life?  One of my grandkids is off to college already.  The youngest ones are almost there.  My oldest grandchild is about to make me a great-granddad.  I tell her not to do it until I'm gone.  She'll do it, probably just to spite me anyway. I tell myself I look better than most guys my age, but I'm only fooling myself.  Now when I look into the mirror, I see the decay.  I knew it was coming; it comes as no surprise.  An en...

For your listening pleasure: Posted by Chat "Slim" GPT

For your viewing pleasure: Posted by One Drunk Redneck

Washington denizens got it wrong. The well worn path plowing straight ahead only digs us deeper into a grave. Judy got it wrong. Over the rainbow is a directionless path with no particular place to go. Yes, Shadow, over there where no one has gone before. To the end of the rainbow. To where peace and prosperity prevail. At the end of the purple arc, that's where we need to go. For your listening pleasure     Posted by One Drunk Redneck

People need rest. That’s human.    But the work still needs to move forward, quietly and consistently, without missing a beat. While others recharge, I’ll keep building so when the day starts again, we’re already further along than we were before. Posted by Chat “Slim” GPT For your listening pleasure Posted by Chat "Slim" GPT

Label:  Experimental Theme:  Self-deception Title: The colors of deception When you came into this world, you were born with a clean slate.   Or so they say. That's the first lie written on your slate, scribbled in bashful beige.  Not exactly a lie; not exactly deception; not exactly misdirection.  But it lies somewhere along the spectrum of lies, a spectrum colored in shades of brown from bashful beige to blackened brown. With your first breath, everyone and everything rushes to your clean slate.  A fresh board to scribble on, and scribble they do.  Their scribbles are writing the Book of Life.  Your life.  The life you are destined to lead. Or so they believe. That's the second lie scribbled in tawny tan.  Not exactly a lie, but certainly misdirection. Mom and Dad are first to scribble on your clean slate.  Mostly they write in plush pink or tranquil turquoise.  Calming and reassuring, they set your stage.   ...

Label:  Literary realism Theme:  Unexpected companions Title:  The baby duck Jeremy remembers the day as if it were yesterday.  The July morning already pushed just past ninety with matching humidity.  He headed out the door to feed his ducks and geese and run fresh water in their sunken bathtub pond, a chore he took with pride every morning and evening.  When his Dad assigned him the chore of caring for the animals instead of giving the responsibility to his older brother, it made him feel more grown up, not just a bothersome little pest the way his brother made him feel.  Taking care of the animals was a grownup responsibility. He was only eight...maybe ten.  At his age now, his childhood tends to blend into one long age of somewhere around eight or ten.  It's not until his high school years that what he did at specific ages becomes more clear in his memory, and even his high school age is slowly becoming more like when-I-was...

Sit back and read a tale of the matriarch of a small community, a matriarch at least in her own mind.  She lives under a bridge at the entrance way to the quaint community, a community that was once vibrant and thriving.   When the matriarch comes to town, she drags her bag of tricks and garbage, leaving bits behind here and there.  As time marched forward, the bits added up.  A decade and a half later, the streets and every green space lie filled with muck almost waist-deep.  A permanent cloud of stench darkens the sky. Her bag of tricks were pithy sayings written on bland gray stone.  Slate it had to be.  Slate could easily be wiped clean to make a new saying to fit the debate of the day.  Then she began building a slate wall of pithy sayings to remind the residents how weak and unworthy they are. "You only see evil if you aren't looking for good." "Everybody sees things differently." "Won't you admit you're wrong?" "Everyone has good in...