Just another Tragic Tuesday
Monday is Manic, according to Prince (screw the Bangles).
Tuesday is Tragic, at least this week, because it was the day I got to mow the grass on my 1/2 knee and my hubcap. Was gonna use the riding mower, after having tires repaired and the battery replaced but no. I went to drive the damnable thing out of the out-building and it had flat tire. So I ended up having to use the push mower on all the grass. Now my hubcap is a throbbing piece of space junk floating around in what used to be my left leg and my 1/2 knee is down to a third.
Mowing season in South Carolina begins roughly in late February to early March and ends in late October. The only good thing about a season that long is that it serves to hone my Sithly rage to a nice fine point, especially if I accidentally find myself pausing on a concealed fire ant mound.
And this leads me to a theory I have about Gnosticism. I believe it originated in South Carolina. A reader out there may say, "But, Tin, how could such a wise spiritual tradition originate in a shitpit like South Carolina?" It's my understanding that one of the tenets of Gnosticism is that our current existence is considered Hell and it's our great struggle to attain the wisdom of Sophia so that we can claw our way out of the Demiurge's twisted reality. Since South Carolina is the Armpit of Hell, it would stand to reason that this would be the ideal locale for a group of Gnostic thinkers to come up with such a half-assed theory. I'm all for it, personally.
God may have shuffled his feet for the Crash Test Dummies, but he took a dump at some point in time and South Carolina came into being.
I'd hobble off to hell now, but I already live here, so I'm sitting my ass down and drinking some cold water while I glare at the pestilence flying past my head.
This fragmented PSA is brought to you by the number 3 (the number of times I twisted my ankle mowing the grass) and the letter P (for piss off).
Tuesday is Tragic, at least this week, because it was the day I got to mow the grass on my 1/2 knee and my hubcap. Was gonna use the riding mower, after having tires repaired and the battery replaced but no. I went to drive the damnable thing out of the out-building and it had flat tire. So I ended up having to use the push mower on all the grass. Now my hubcap is a throbbing piece of space junk floating around in what used to be my left leg and my 1/2 knee is down to a third.
Mowing season in South Carolina begins roughly in late February to early March and ends in late October. The only good thing about a season that long is that it serves to hone my Sithly rage to a nice fine point, especially if I accidentally find myself pausing on a concealed fire ant mound.
And this leads me to a theory I have about Gnosticism. I believe it originated in South Carolina. A reader out there may say, "But, Tin, how could such a wise spiritual tradition originate in a shitpit like South Carolina?" It's my understanding that one of the tenets of Gnosticism is that our current existence is considered Hell and it's our great struggle to attain the wisdom of Sophia so that we can claw our way out of the Demiurge's twisted reality. Since South Carolina is the Armpit of Hell, it would stand to reason that this would be the ideal locale for a group of Gnostic thinkers to come up with such a half-assed theory. I'm all for it, personally.
God may have shuffled his feet for the Crash Test Dummies, but he took a dump at some point in time and South Carolina came into being.
I'd hobble off to hell now, but I already live here, so I'm sitting my ass down and drinking some cold water while I glare at the pestilence flying past my head.
This fragmented PSA is brought to you by the number 3 (the number of times I twisted my ankle mowing the grass) and the letter P (for piss off).