Sippican Cottage

Musical Ruminations Engendered By The Sighting Of A Shirtless Juggalo Hitchhiking In Western Maine

(I’m a) Shirtless Juggalo, and everywhere I go,
People see my man-boobs swayin’
Moshing every dance, wearing cargo pants
Oooh – Faygo sprayin’

There will come a day, ICP will pass away,
What will they say about me?
When the end comes I know, I’m a shirtless juggalo
Whoop whoop on, without me


(’cause) I ain’t got no Goth chick, no Goth chick,
No Goth chick, cares for me,
No Clown chick, no Punk chick
I’m emo and lonely, emo and lonely, emo and lonely
Won’t some sweet Juggalette come and take a chance with me?
I need a ride bad.

(much, much more along these lines, which I will mercifully spare you)

To Work Alone (But I Repeat Myself)

[Editor’s Note: Something like three years old, this one is.]
{Author’s Note: Something like Yoda, that comment was. An editor there is not}

I work alone.

Not always, of course, but generally. This was not always the case.

I’ve worked in about every kind of work setting. Mill building. Clean room. School. Office. Concrete block building. Ditch. Shed. Barroom. Boat. Hospital. Home. Above ground. Below. Hot. Cold. Dry. Damp. Boring. Terrifying.

The vagary that makes any setting go is the other people. And now there aren’t any.

I’ve been responsible for hundreds of employees at one time, and just a few at others. Hundreds of employees is much easier. When you only have two, and one is named “Rob,” and you find out that “rob” is a verb, not a noun, you’ve got a fifty percent failure rate. I had a guy constantly found sleeping at his workstation “working” for me once. He was just one in a hundred. No big deal.

But to work alone is to be your own annoyance. You’re the laziest, stupidest person present. There is always a person to encourage sloth — you; but there is never anyone to shame you into holding up your end. You’ve got both ends. And the end in the middle.

Sometimes, the light is good. The tools are sharp. The wood is flat. The mosquitoes are on vacation. Your shoes fit. There are no splinters. Whatever you look for is on the shelf. The dimensions add up. Vivaldi comes on the radio. The money comes. The floor is swept. Nothing is late. The phone does not ring unwonted. The blade does not wander.

And when all that happens…

How the hell would I know? I’d settle for two of those things at the same time. I’m all alone.

Circus Is In Town

The clowns are in the audience now. Serious business onstage.

Tag: juggling

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