I don’t know how many nights I have heard crickets in my life. Obviously, a lot.

It is the next day; Quentin called just as I finished the above, one-line paragraph. Yes, you were spared any nattering on about evening and the sound of crickets. But, when I went to sleep, I dreamed about baby-sitting a toddler who needed to be watched every moment. It seemed like a long night.

Today is supposed to be hot and muggy; if the forecast is still in effect, we will have storms. But the weekend, is predicted to be very pleasant, with nights in the 50’s and highs just above 70 degrees.

Der Bingle has had poison ivy on his face – a bad case, judging my the pictures he has sent me and by the “shot in the butt” in addition to steroid tablets. His brother, to whom I forwarded the pictures, has already announced he is going to dress up as Allergy Der Bingle for Halloween.

Of course, that wouldn’t be as scary as wearing a Joe Biden mask.

Guess what type of mood I am in? Well, it would be a good one if I could use shock collars on befoulers of the improved environment. So, on to other topics.

Why, I believe I have gone brain dead. I can’t even rally a good rant about sanctimonious people; I suppose, if I don’t come round soon, I will have to defibrillate myself or have someone whisper “Joe Biden” in my ear. Aha, I couldn’t stop myself from visualizing that smirking grin of his and I can feel my spirits stirring. Boy, would I like to clean his clock. Mop the floor with him.

I need a Joe Biden foam rubber stress doll – a full size one. I won’t use the word “wo*dchipp*r” because I don’t want to trigger any scrutiny – although I’m probably only one of a great many who can see how it might naturally come to mind when thinking of JB.