So, reports of flooding or incipient flooding throughout the state, the rivers already high, and another three days of rain and possible snow forecast.
Gives "swamp yankee"* a whole new meaning, doesn't it?
*New Englanders divide themselves into two groups: swamp yankees** (Southern New Englanders) and hill yankees (Northern New Englanders). That is to say, when we can get the hill yankees to admit that swamp yankees exist at all.***
**In the rest of the world, a Yankee is somebody from the USA. In the USA, a Yankee is somebody from north of the Mason-Dixon line (what George Carlin calls the Manson-Nixon line). In the North, a Yankee is somebody from the Northeast. In the Northeast, a Yankee is somebody from the six New England states: Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.
In the six New England states, a yankee is somebody who eats pie for breakfast.****
***But they can bite me, because we have Mark Twain in our corner.********
****Apple pie.****** With a slice of sharp white cheddar.*****
******Or sometimes peach or strawberry rhubarb. But that's cheating, and you don't get cheese with that.
*******Because we think it's funny to adopt ditties that the brits made up to mock us as self-identifiers, yes. Yankees are also deeply ironical.
And now that tea is made, I really need to settle in and get some work done.
1009 words today on a new short story, "Black is the Color," about a PONY. That EATS PEOPLE.
Yes, THAT pony.
The first writing I've done since the fanfic on April 2. I feel less like a complete waste of breathable oxygen, at least.
In related news, word knows "caparison." And my hairclip just exploded.
The revenge of Cat v. Monkey
Monkey: Cat, get off my face.
Cat: But Monkey, I'm bored!
Monkey: I would bite you, but I don't want a mouthful of fur.
Cat: Still bored!
Monkey: You couldn't be bored if I bit you.
Cat: You never take me anywhere. You don't love me anymore. All you do is work. Work work work. Why don't you bring me another monkey to play with? Like the red monkey, she was fun.
Monkey: Cat, get off my keyboard.
Cat: Eeerow. Fssht. Kk-kkk-kkk.
Monkey: Nice Kif impersonation.
Cat: Thank you.
Monkey: Cat, get off my knee.
Cat: Is there no compromise that's good enough for you?
Monkey: I want more tea.
Cat: I want a summer home in Key West, but you don't see me complaining.
Monkey: I could ship you there. Nobody would notice one more cat at the Hemingway estate. And you'd have lots of new friends, who travel in prides and probably don't like outlanders.
Cat: Monkey, you're not funny.
325.6 miles to Rivendell, or will be after I get back from the gym.