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Because enough is ENOUGH!

by Vanderleun on September 24, 2020

CALL FOR VOTES!

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PA Cat September 24, 2020, 6:06 PM

Obviously a sign made by an anti-Wisconsin bigot. He’ll probably get death threats from Packers fans.

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ghostsniper September 25, 2020, 4:21 AM

Stop, check it out, if the place looks clean and the proprietor is appropriate, indulge. You may be surprised, and you may make a new friend, that could be beneficial in the near future. Road side stands are a thing out here in the hinters and you’re missing out if you pass em by.

My neighbor Jim has a little field next to the highway about a mile from here and he grows the best Celebrity tomatoes in all the land, and only $4 for a small basket with about 6 in each. If you don’t mind the cat faces on top you’re in for some decent eatin’. GO Roadside Stands!

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Sam L. September 25, 2020, 10:21 AM

Tooooooooooooo much cheese will STOP YOU UP.

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Next post: More denigration and amalgamation of black women with black whores’ gyrations in PoleNation.

Previous post: Gucci: Where the bullshit meter is pegged at 500% and wrapped around the spindle

Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020

My Back Pages

Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host

“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

— BY ROBERT CREELEY