Failing to Flail July 25, 2021 I came out for a walk around to stretch, leaving the sanctity of the huge fans (appropriately named Big Ass Fans). I was swarmed by gnats and or no see ums who explored all of my entrances and exits and I believe maybe created a couple more. I blew. I swatted. I repeated the process faster and faster until I flailed. I flailed like the flailers of Flairsville. I was one of those advertising innertube flailers they place out in front of pawn shops. It was torment. Not exactly hell but you could flail it from here. There’s an old saying my Old man used to say all the time that goes “I didn’t know whether to scratch my ass or wind my watch..” Now I know EXACTLY what that means. By the way, the Bacon are getting their butts beat 17-1 after 5.
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Tajin. I was informed about this seasoning in my late 50s. I am presently in my late 50s. My autocorrect won’t let me spell it, and replaces it with ‘taken’. All my family is taken with taken. I mean, Tajin. I believe it’s pronounced like Tuh-hEEn, but I’m too old and tired to care. Have I tried it? Yes. On what? I don’t recall. How was it? See previous answer. I’m not against spices. We’ve an entire cabinet full, most of which are hidden beyond view and reach. For example, I am cultured enough to know that celery salt is good on Hot Dogs and Frank’s Red hot goes good on everything. That’s about as sophisticated as I get. So, the reason I write this is because yesterday my granddaughter, the effervescent flailer Georgia Rose, a wascal amongst rascals, was eating an avocado ( how an avocado made its way into my house is another story for another day but this is yet another item I do not eat- knowingly) —and Georgia says to me “George,...