Pansies and Other Observations

There's some flap about a Clinton supporter who said that she was not a "pansy". Apparently, pansies are pissed about this, presumably because they count Senator Clinton as one of their own. Wait, I'm now being told that pansy is an anti-homosexual epithet. That makes way more sense, now that I think about it. Technically, Senator Clinton is not a pansy. Wrong kingdom. Clinton is an animal. A pansy is a plant.

I love pansies. They are the first flower you can put out in the early spring. They will survive even if they get snowed on or frosted. They are beautiful and hardy and long lasting. If I had to be identified with an annual, I would be proud to be identified with the noble pansy. If I were gay, and I am so not gay, not that it would be bad if I were, which I am not, I would embrace pansy as a label.

I voted in one of those Daily Kos polls about whether John Adams should have his own monument in Washington, DC. I voted no, but at that point the yays seemed to have it, not that it matters. No more monuments to presidents, please. Presidents suck. In fact, let's tear down the ones we have now. Or rename them as monuments to monument-worthy people or things. Let's make the Lincoln Memorial a monument to the dead in his warfare on his own people. The Washington Monument should be the Great National Wanker, a monument to turgidity.

I thought about the penis theft panic in the Congo as a business opportunity. I could claim to be a penis restoring sorcerer and, for a fee, fix the penises that were "stolen" or shrunk by those other sorcerers. I don't reckon that the victims of penis theft in the Congo are exactly rolling in it, what with being incredibly stupid, so I'd have to have a volume business. Also, I would want to do it remotely lest anyone confront me with the old "sorcerer, heal thyself" accusation. It's not that I'm freakishly small in the genital department; it's just that it assumes a conveniently compact form when not in use.

I ordered some anti-heron decoys over the internets. I got some fake fish (the heron will attack them while my real fish hide), a fake alligator (the heron will think that global warming has expanded the gator's range), and a fake heron (the heron will think the territory is already taken). Mrs Vache Folle reckons that the heron will see the fake heron and the fake gator in the same pond and feel obliged to warn his conspecific from the danger posed by the gator, at which point he will learn that they are decoys. I am banking on the heron's being doubly deterred by the tag team of conspecific and dreaded predator all in one pond.