Can you believe this weather? I've left near a dozen clocks on the lawn and all of em stop running quick as you can say "unplugged". As a man with much reverence for time this frustrates me. I don't dilly-dally with......well, anything. You can take that to the bank, but it will do you little good, as you'll be offered not much more than confused expressions slowly shifting to a knowing pity-riddled disgust. It's hard to get around in this world.
Which brings me to lawn-ornaments. Let's talk about voting. Here, in your, as you'd have me call it, country, 1 in 4,136, 739 people wake up on "Voting Day", grab a jar, write the name of their favorite presidential-candidate on a maple leaf, kiss the leaf like it's their longlost infant, place it in the jar, place a lable on the jar reading "Snow Tires", and bury the jar in a comic-book derived compost heap in the backyard. After the thaw has broken in an unnamed Tennessee town and the sky is flooded with magpies nationwide people without vowels in their names retrieve the jars and burn them. Then money exchanges hands, coyotes are sacrificed to innumerable cruel gods and voila, you have a president! I can't vouch for the process, but the results vouch for themselves.
Final words: chrysanthemum, armistice, and vouch
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