Rubble Pup
Successful efficient Clusterfuck Day. Augusteenth in 2021.
Bonedigger, Bonedigger
Dogs in the moonlight
Far away in my well-lit door
May 2, 1863
Competence in the 19th Century was an income large enough to live on, (typically unearned, as in “he found himself with an ample competence and no obligations”). Later, competence became the ability to do something successfully or efficiently, like when we became human resources and competence was just doing our job. Somewhere back there we were still personnel and not citizens or customers. But this is the US in 1863. Dilger recognized the Dutchman’s wagon in front of Dowdall’s Tavern. Whole goddam rebel army coming this way, Dilger remarked in passing. I know, answered Indian pony with Dutchman’s voice. That was at Chancellorsville. Dilger rode off to tend to his artillery battery and Henry headed for Port Royal to tend to his patrons. A fight was about to begin, and Dilger forgot about Henry’s wagon.
H.V. Hess Lock Smith said the black wagon in thin gothic letters, like the letters found in a black Anabaptist bible. A tinker’s wagon of modest Pennsylvania Dutch black. Like Queen Victoria’s mourning dress. Like Dilger’s artillery and Henry’s wagon, both young men were competent at playing their respective instruments, but Henry and Dilger didn’t get to jam until Gettysburg. The Bureau of Military Information was supposed to be General Hooker’s idea. The Dutchman was a friend of General Schurz, and that’s all Dilger knew at Chancellorsville. Dilger moved cannons, and Henry moved capital. Spycraft was old as prostitution, and the letters on the Dutchman’s wagon were painted in gold. Henry’s business was now fast packet boats to run the great rivers upstream, his dock in Norfolk, machine shop in Harrisburg, and especially the theatre company.
Henry and the wagon were captured fair and square. General Early was in Frederiksberg, and old JJ Pettigrew would accept Henry’s fine Zeiss lenses (binoculars and telescopes) as well as other exotic gadgets as gifts (not bribes) of foreign goodwill … from some Hessian timber baron. Descended from Landsknecht mercenaries, competence kept Henry alive for a thousand years.
Call me Henry, the Dutchman advised Captain Dilger on 1 July 1863. Macht es gut.
To USAn Feminists in 2021
Feminism is a range of social movements, political movements, and ideologies that aim to define … outcomes for women that are equal to those for men.
The issue is Civility: formal politeness and courtesy in behavior or speech. Were the Suffragettes civil? Was Donald Trump civil? No. So what’s the difference? Feminists: we know who we are. If you say a man can’t be a feminist, I am not talking to you. Nor to any other chuckle fuckhead who would bandy about civility while the planet cooks and oceans die. The difference is in intent, not outcome. You can say Emma Goldman was a narcissist. You can say Abraham Lincoln was a racist. And you would be full of shit. Actuaries say moral certainty would be 80% full of shit. Close enough. Not wrong. That’s how any language works. It evolves. Due to selection pressure. Creeps say this, jerks say that. But it evolves. Intent. Not an outcome. The 19th Century should be viewed with a microscope. Civil War. Oxymoron. Verbal violence. Bullshit. The big picture is global warming. You know what that means. It’s fucking science.
The fucking intellectual practical activity encompassing systematic yerdle derdle blah blah. Study structure behavior yedda yedda blah physical natural dur de dur dur world. Observation and experiment. Fuck. WE ARE FUCKED. ALL. ARE. PUNISHED. See? Capital letters. In text. In a time when we shouldn’t be bothering with prepositions or pronouns, whadda we got on our new modern up-to-date smarty-pants phones? Emojis. Think about it. Conveying emotion. Not content. Intent. Not outcome- that’s a whole different thing. Internet. Artificial intelligence. Electricity. Porn. Let’s get busy and spread some pornographic emojis. They probably exist. Never mind. Intent. Not content. Content with all things mortal. The dude abides. And hey, dude, you’re a girl. So let’s forget about our parts and listen to the hole. Dark matter. Zero-point energy. Things largely unseen in the 19th century. Like germs.
Equality of the sexes. Civility. Formal politeness. Authoritarians insist on it, comrade. Or citizen. Or patriot. Brother sister. Read the name-tag. Smile. Be sure to mention the product. And Mr. Wheedle who signs our check for all this shit. Do parallel universes exist? In trade shows, markets or wars they do. Things unseen the mystics say. Bullshit the skeptics say. And both are exactly correct. Take offense if offense is intended, and do so at your peril. The amount of a particular constituent occurring in a substance may vary. Is them Rebs up yonder. Naw Billy shucked dem blues te git over de Jordan and rest in shade o them trees. And the 19th Century is close as the Middle Ages on that old Jew smart-pants sheet rubber thang. Now git off yer wobblety high horse an squeen em through that long spyglass o yern. Goddamit. Bluebutt fuckers. Cluck and fluster boys’ eyes reckon. And so it goes on a hot summer day, channeling Jubal Early. Civility? What’s that got to do with feminism? Intent, content. Like intent and outcome, too many things depend on too many variables when civility is a wet fart in a firestorm.
If we can’t keep it honest, we can keep it real. We practically have no choice.
waldopaper 
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