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 heeding calls from residents despite no evidence of any impropriety in the county's results.

 No evidence of widespread election fraud has been found in the U.S., despite calls from  Trump and some supporters. State and federal judges have dismissed more than 50 lawsuits over election results.

These statements are ever present on CNN and the lamestream media whenever they discuss that audit nonsense, kind of like that under God phrase in the pledge.

I think it was their absence in that film clip that first led me to think that it was produced by Sinclair.  And whatever happened with that twerking thing?  I just googled it, and nothing since it broke on the 8th.  Maybe those Freedom Fighters should be looking into that.

I know nothing about chimneys, certainly nothing about dampers. nothing really about flues, except that they have something to do with chimneys, but then neither do that rental agent or Catfish.  I have other stories which I may be posting.  So exciting to have actual readers.

And here it is:

It wasn’t all that bad.  Itch didn’t lose any teeth or anything.  He had a shiner, a big one for a couple weeks afterwards, and a fat lip. George told him he could take a couple weeks off, until he looked more presentable, even offered to pay him for it which was not like George sharp businessman that he was, watching every penny.  But I have to say that he was tickled about his team winning the championship.  It was like he had always been an outsider, the Chinaman.  Sure he had this very successful restaurant and had a seat on the Campus Town Board of Merchants (though he never went to their meetings, “Buncha azoles,” the way he always described them and I figure probably accurately), but it was a Chinese restaurant after all, the kind of thing you would expect a Chinaman to run.  But to have the champion softball team, well that was something else. He even had it added to the menu, a little typewritten piece of paper stuck between the menu and the plastic cover, “Home of the Tuesday night softball league champs.”

 He was tickled I tell you, and that was probably why he offered Itch those couple weeks off.  But Itch wouldn’t take it, didn’t mind showing up behind the bar with that shiner and fat lip, was proud of it if you ask me.  “I knew I was going to get my ass kicked,” he’d say, kind of like he was making a little joke on himself, but then he’d add, “but I had to do it.”  And he’d say that last part dead serious, like in a cowboy movie.

 And you have to wonder, I wondered, why did he have to do it?  What was the point exactly?  Well he had to be a man, and you have to admire that, and I did.

 But you know what did it was that Gina crack, that thing about my breaking my back and him having a clear shot at Gina.  That’s what made him do it, walk out into the valley, so to speak.  Up to that point, you know he could tell that this whole argument was stupid, that Ron was baiting him and he was kind of playing along waiting for the chance to slide in some barb, but as soon as Ron mentioned Gina he was up like a ramrod,  His honor, his Lady, like in some knight movie.

 And Gina knew it rightaway.  I could tell even really drunk, laying back on the couch, my arm around her, she stiffened right up.  There was a crowd following Itch out, basically telling him not to do this, and I was with them, trying to talk reason into him, but she stayed behind, sat on the couch staring straight ahead.

 But she was there quick when it was done, cradling his bloody head in her lap, and I’m ashamed to say that what I was thinking was, Oh shit.

 Well that was the end of that.  Nothing happened real sudden, but she didn’t stay over that night, she never stayed over again.  Maybe a week later we had the long talk, mostly her doing the talking, big salty tears on her part, me I licked them up at one point, thinking well maybe, who knows, maybe we can get something out of this tender moment. Wasn’t going to happen.  Just as well I guess.

 And I had the talk with Itch.  A short one, out on the ballfield, playing catch, I don’t know why, just a late summer day, still warm but the sun setting sooner than you would expect it to.  “You like her?” I asked because I felt I was expected to, and he said he did, and so what are you going to do?

 Ron, you know, they put him in cuffs.  Tammy.  Apparently he’d kicked their unborn baby to death, and she’d fled up north to Michigan and they’d finally come down and arrested him.

 I didn’t last long at the Big Job once Ron was gone, lost my choice job and was sent back to the dirt patrol on Big Red’s team and just quit.

 So that was it.  I had nothing left.

 So where do you go when you have nowhere else to go, where Itch said you go so long ago, home where they have to take you in.  Home to the Seven Eleven I suppose where with the benefit of the knowledge I’d gained, I’d know to keep those candy bars spanking clean.  How much effort does it take really to wipe that damp rag across their happy faces, what was the guy paying me for anyway?

 I had everything packed up at Catfish Estates, not that much it turned out because a lot of it was wrecked and all, and I was just walking the streets one last time.  I crossed in front of Carmen’s and past that, the crumby little house where Claudette had the upstairs apartment.  I stepped across the mossy flagstones and to the doorbell.

 There she was, Claudette Bronski.  Splotched and faded and crumpled, but written carefully in that nice handwriting that she had, she was a little proud of that I remembered, her handwriting,

 “If you can’t write well, you might as well write pretty,” she’d said one night, kind of down on herself after she’d gotten some rejection notice.

 “Well sure,” I’d said, just kind of being the good boyfriend, coming up behind her.  She had this little writing desk, that’s what she called it, dumb little table with fancy legs, where she composed her poetry, and I’d massaged her shoulders a little like I knew she wanted me to.  But I was just thinking of making her feel nice, calming her down a little while my eyes were fixed on the little flagstone walk to the sidewalk, down the sidewalk, down the street, and down to the Great Wall.

 But I rang the bell, pushed the button, just to, I don’t know, just because I was leaving, just to say good-bye I guess, nothing wrong with that.  Nothing.  I was about to walk on when I heard some motion behind the door, and there she was.  She didn’t look so hot, blinking in the light, holding unto the doorjamb, like for balance.

 But then she saw who it was and she gave me a big smile. “Catfish?” she wanted to know, and I answered “Here I am.”