Can we please activate the Z-ray, or whatever, and right now, puh-leeze, so the nation will take a break from being so incontrovertibly insane? We find re-fishing these foul and fetid political waters disgusting.  We really dislike disturbing the decorum with, well, anything Santorum.

But, Mr. Ricky can't seem to shut his face, has to bite at the air everywhere, like a crazed snapping turtle, trying to find a flipper-hold, trying to get a hold of something.  So, here we are again, trolling these waters, holding up some more trophy whoppers we've pulled out of Liars' Lake.  Mostly, we're just perplexed at the run of little fish in this big pond.  Don't let any of this slop get on you while you're taking the pic.

In the song, it's ten lords a-leaping.  Outside that tune -- where people live remarkably full lives without hens, swans, geese, turtle doves, and partridges underfoot -- it's seven billion or so left a-leaping today, almost the whole planet now doing it, and doing it by decree, called a bull, by a pope, long ago. So, Happy Papal Bull Day!

Pope Gregory XIII gave his name and breath of life to the Gregorian calendar we now automatically use, back in February of 1582.  It built its fanbase from there, eventually becoming the accepted secular calendar for the western world -- slow adoption and Protestant Reformations not withstanding, in which papal edicts were given cold-shouldered snubs.

Georgia's not been herself lately.  Could be from hitting 280, being born way back in 1732, last of the lucky 13 colonies to get going.  Georgia lately seems liable to put reading glasses in the 'fridge, and the milk jug into the oven.  Haven't seen the cat lately, but the clock's in the catbox, and the newspaper's right here, in the microwave. Hmmm. Something's not right.

Of course, there are all sorts of reasons events might seem inexplicable to someone not acclimated and acculturated to the art of goings-on in the peanuts-pecans-and-peaches state. Some things defy the ordinary belief that we all have our own peculiar ways of doing this and that, and that one should make some allowances for that.  Here's one comes to mind:

Ever get something caught in your throat, you don't know it got there, it won't loosen its grip, and there's a split-second of eternity, in which there is instinctive fear, a panic-button reaction?

Yeah, well, it happened here, just last night.  The offender in question, generally so, was American Exclusivism, we'll go ahead and call it -- the capacity, unlike other sovereign nations, to be fully and totally, flaming-bat-guano, flat-out insane: psycho-religio-socially so.

We've moved on from the banal fiction of artificial elevation of American Exceptionalism, created by simpleton decree, and continually-called such by dangerously deluded political gangster types.  Welcome, now, to the writ-large, Dali-esque diorama of Exclusivity.  Welcome  into the fractured realm of religious terrorism of the first order and degree.

News comes and goes, ebbs and flows, sails in and out of view.  Some we hang onto, almost tethered by rope, others slip loose in daydreams or in fuller sleep.  They are daily ship's logs, these reports, raindrops that sprinkle on us, way out at sea, where moisture takes whatever landfall it can find:  The news, only a little spray from the bow, a bit of wet on the face -- nothing to warrant change in direction.

This is why the rogue wave, tall as a small planet, hit with no warning, struck a cracking blow amidships, nearly broke it in two -- only out trolling for news when the skies tore in half and the ocean threw itself down, pitched and buried everything alive in a sea cave, below, way, way down.

Stop making sense with Republicans:  Studies are showing you're just wasting your time, trying to be reasonable with this group of humanoids in our family, all the while hoping facts will illuminate the path, facts will help turn the corner, facts will help reveal the righteous path we all need to walk.

Ain't gonna happen. Clouds won't be parting, there will be no shafts of penetrating sunlight appearing on non-fact-believer foreheads, no sudden appearance of brightening light bulbs overhead, no swirls of St. Elmo's Fire ambling through to expose Republican minds to instantaneous and thunderstruck activation.