Blogger might just shut me down if enough people complain. And as Valkyrie pointed out, there were probably a lot of teens who were disappointed after Googling “sex” and “XXX” and browsing my post yesterday.
But you see, I’m REALLY trying to distract the unwanted attention I’ve drawn to myself lately by posting about the, um... well... the “C” word.
I mean, did you notice the comment left by RobotJam? If you missed it, he said, “Duke, I'm not making this up but both our HP printers at work stopped working the day after you posted this.” (He was referring, of course, to my post of last Monday.
Then there was Christina, who alertly pointed out, “I think you're right about HP. Remember my story about the daily breakdown of equipment at my work? Every one of the devices that stopped working at a crucial moment was hooked up to a HP printer. Hmmmmmmm...”
Oh, and speaking of Christina, she called me yesterday from the side of the road in Tampa. Her minivan ran out of gas. She had called her husband Johnny to come bring her enough gas to get to a station. He packed up their baby (my grandson Trevor!) and drove (miles!) to her stalled car. Then he learned that the plastic milk jug in which he was carrying gas had a crack in it and had leaked gas on his car’s carpet.
By the time she got going again over an hour had elapsed. She drove one block, and there, just around the corner and out of sight, was a gas station. She could have walked, bought a gas can and fuel, walked back and been going again in 5 minutes.
Somehow, I’m sure, ALL THAT can also be ascribed to the resistential forces at work causing us misery and extra expense.
Ah, but there I go again! In my zeal to keep all of you informed of the conspiracy’s progress I have AGAIN drawn attention to my blog, and thus to my home, computer equipment, plumbing, appliances and vehicles.
I’ll stop now. Have you heard the Rodney Akins song, “If You’re Going Through Hell?”
If you're going through hell,
Keep on going, Don't slow down,
If you're scared, don't show it.
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there.
My point? Maybe if I quit talking about "it" now, it won’t notice that I’ve been doing so and I can come away unscathed.