Hammer Mill Days

Leave me alone, Charles. Can't you see I'm trying to sleep? It's obvious, for chrissake ... I just called you Charles, and I don't even know anyone by that name. So I must be effing sleeping, right? Charles? Oh, hi. Fell asleep in my cozy broom closet. We are still in our highly restricted corners of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill as local venture capitalists eye the joint from stem to stern to see if it has any potential to make them serious bank. (I think there are more opportunities in the stem than in the stern, but I'll let them find that out for themselves.) It's like they have glass heads; I can see them picturing some knitting basket of a store, maybe a Hickory Farms ... if such a thing still exists. (I remember stealing samples there as a kid. Strange, because I wasn't even hungry ... still, it was a good find.) So, yeah ... they'll probably sweep us out of here like yesterday's floor scum in a few months. Unless, that is, we come up ...

As is his common practice, Trump has been gesticulating wildly this past week, choosing Easter Sunday to crush the hopes of DACA recipients across America (many of whom consider Easter first among holidays), announcing tariffs practically at random, and threatening to send troops to line our southern border (as northbound crossings are at a 46-year low). I seriously doubt the National Guard will be stopping Norwegians at Nogales, so note to all those disgruntled citizens of Oslo who want to leave free healthcare and university-level education behind for a chance to live in the land of the free: don't even think about it! The shit storm is usually a smokescreen, a bit of grimy flash powder to distract most of us from what the administration is actually doing and to excite that grisly some of us who get off on targeting dark people. When the president hammers hard on his core themes, you know he's worried about something. I'm expecting a major attack on Muslims soon - mayb...