An English In Kentucky


















Monday April 1st 2019Tim Candler9


    Your gardener's Presidential Campaign has floundered. Our chairperson of the exploratory committee has been informed by the Kitten that there's something called a constitution, its all a bit vague, but apparently there's an insurmountable legal problem with my candidacy and I'd have to be something like 290 years old to even begin to meet the criteria. A bit of blow, not devastating, never been fond of the Ladybird tie, and fairly certain Presidents aren't allowed to wear kaftans in the White House otherwise all hell breaks loose, so yet more water under the bridge, why turn the compost pile when a choppy sea knows no friend, it's a rich tapestry the dialectic continues and I'll just have to tell the Mockingbird he's going to have to deal with the Brown Thrasher without the assistance of a team of Navy Seals. The Moles will be delighted, I was going to divert resources from the Space Force, plans were a little sketchy they had to do with setting up a think tank to investigate the possibilities of using orbiting sub-atomic weapons on subterranean mammals, which all goes to show how even a snowflake in good standing can very quickly become badly corrupted by even the very idea of power.



     In the meanwhile there might still be purpose within the arena of the Campaign Debating Season. Not an easy area, given a proclivity of character that for some reason or other prevents me from ever making it much beyond a debate's introductions, and for sure the first question for the debaters is traditionally sufficient to send me into a deep decline. I mean how hard can it be to come up with something that surmounts the ordinary and realistically embraces future possibilities. Nor are we talking angelic host, as a former candidate myself, I'm well able to accept the intensity of ambition, the underhandedness of a lust for power, the desire for adoration, the effort of looking artificial, but oh no, the direction of Western Thought might just as well be decided by wrestling in mud. Which of course it is, and there's no getting around it. So how do you even begin to like a candidate enough to trust them. I suggest simple questions that reach deep into person's idea of meaning. "Have you ever used a dilution of bleach to stop your feet from smelling foul, if not what is your personal cure for smelly feet." Whatever the answer, to me at least, it'll be most revealing. There was a US reporter who was finally able to interview the Persian Ayatollah Khomeini. One of her more vivid memories of the interview was after having to observe all the rituals of a meeting a powerful religious man, the oomph and gowns, she sat down before him, her first question in hand, and she could smell his feet. I forget who the reporter was.


Previous       Next