Call me lazy, but I’m going to have you do the thinking here. So many topics, so little time, you know. I’ve posted about 1,600 of these little essays with nary a word from my readers, from you. It’s time to saddle up, Buckaroo. Time to delve into all that pent up thought energy, open the gate, and ride that bronco—sorry, bronc—out of the stall and into the arena of expressed thought. I could list the possible précis for you, but you need to go into the barn of your brain and pick a horse to ride.
Hold it. Darn, your horse probably just pulled up lame. Not to worry, Old Three-hooves is available, already saddled and bridled, leaning against the side of the chute and ready to go, to mosey out into the public eye, supported on that one side by a wheelbarrow pushed by a rodeo clown Just a warning, however, depending on the topic, Old-Three-hooves sometimes leans left and at other times leans right, rarely balanced, but when he is, he just trots in circles. But I know you well enough to trust you’ll know how to compensate. Here, take the reins—and no, Left-leaners ready to jump to conclusions about border guards, they aren’t whips.
Writing one’s thoughts is a comfortable and safe way to enter the public arena if you ride a docile or lame animal. No chance of injury to the writer on an old trotter ready for the glue factory, ready to be stuck in perpetuity, confined in the chute of narrow thinking, and nevermore to buck a bad rider. Confinement of thought seems to be the irresistible compulsion of the times; ride what’s tame; injury is certain if you don’t. Sit on your lame horse in a chute. There’s danger in the riding, in the bucking.
The bravest roughies mount bareback wild horses. Those who worry about their personal safety stay out of the rodeo ring.
Hold it. Darn, your horse probably just pulled up lame. Not to worry, Old Three-hooves is available, already saddled and bridled, leaning against the side of the chute and ready to go, to mosey out into the public eye, supported on that one side by a wheelbarrow pushed by a rodeo clown Just a warning, however, depending on the topic, Old-Three-hooves sometimes leans left and at other times leans right, rarely balanced, but when he is, he just trots in circles. But I know you well enough to trust you’ll know how to compensate. Here, take the reins—and no, Left-leaners ready to jump to conclusions about border guards, they aren’t whips.
Writing one’s thoughts is a comfortable and safe way to enter the public arena if you ride a docile or lame animal. No chance of injury to the writer on an old trotter ready for the glue factory, ready to be stuck in perpetuity, confined in the chute of narrow thinking, and nevermore to buck a bad rider. Confinement of thought seems to be the irresistible compulsion of the times; ride what’s tame; injury is certain if you don’t. Sit on your lame horse in a chute. There’s danger in the riding, in the bucking.
The bravest roughies mount bareback wild horses. Those who worry about their personal safety stay out of the rodeo ring.
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