the lonely bull

A discussion of mess hall food with no mention of saltpeter?  It was common knowledge that they were putting it in the mashed potatoes of our dorm food.  Not that any of us ate fewer mashed potatoes because it clearly didn't have much effect to note the nightly barrage of binoculars aimed at the woman's dormitory across the lawn.

When my Corvair rolled there were four of us inside which pretty well filled it up and the doc said that was a good thing because we bounced against each others soft fleshy bodies rather than the sharp metal of the interior.  

I remember before buckling up was mandatory.  You generally wouldn't buckle up if the driver didn't because wouldn't you rather have a concussion than be thought of as chickenshit?  I was glad when they made it mandatory, because than you had a good excuse for not wanting to have a concussion, you didn't want to get a ticket.

 

I can understand watching a ballgame with the sound off, but I don't understand watching a debate that way even if Mahler is having a marathon of his greatest hits.  As a veteran of the other two debates I have to say this one was not that different, although I would say that Trump's tantrums have been increasing throughout,.  The pundits were mostly saying the big girl, almost sure to win now, would play it safe, which is her nature,  

But maybe Dumbo was right, she is a nasty woman.  She couldn't help baiting the bear, or bull, I like the toreador image better, the raging bull.  Now who has blood coming out  of his eyes?   Her pantsuit should have had  a short jacket, and epaulets, and tons of sequins.  You know Dumbo's handlers had patted and rubbed and soothed him, and told him to just stay cool, just bring up these points, ignore the tasty worm, the swirling cape,  He plodded out, stood straight at attention like a third grader on the auditorium stage, muttered some of his talking points, his handlers must have been hugging each other,

But then she unfurled the cape, tossed the insult that cannot be ignored, actually in Dumbo's case no insult can be ignored, and Dumbo was mired in the dust and the mud.  On the computer that little thingamajig which showed how many men on base, how many outs, balls, strikes, updating itself in a herky jerky motion was showing more good news.  The Cubs, down 2 to 1 in the playoff series, their bats made of whiffle, suddenly came alive.  A rally here a rally there, up ten to two.  Meanwhile Dumbo, covered with dirt hoisted himself up to make that totally uncalled for, basically nonsensical, offensive to even his biggest fans, declaration that he would not accept the results if he lost.

The hour was late. I went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.