Ephemera (Newspaper, shmutt,, other stuff)

I found this imperfect copy in the recycle box while wandering around the secondary press room. The paper was established by one Leebeus Zevely on July 3, 1866. Its name is easy to understand considering the times (I wonder if it was pro James gang).

Best google info on the paper I could find is a short paragraph here.

The headline, "Fulton Man gets himself into more serious pickle", is not being cute about a home and gardening competition. The man shot a sawed off shotgun at a tour bus.

"The chances of Schmitz getting caught at that time were remote." However, he just happened to pass by a deputy on 63, and was clocked at 77 mph. Being recognized from a car chase last April, the banjos were cued and, as the paper puts it, "the chase was on."

The story goes on with lots of detail and ends with a surprise (for me anyway).

He got away!

Also, there is no mention of drunkedness, drug running, or any explanation of why he would begrudge a tour bus being in his neck of the woods. (No one was hurt, I forgot but just now remembered to add).

Meanwhile, here is the shmutt, this week.




Indigo. Yes, she seems to be glowering at the camera, I'm not sure why. To borrow (and muck up)the famous Thurber caption, no one is ever really sure what's wrong with her. When there's something wrong, I mean. Usually she is just so so excited to be here, thank you thank you i love you, I love you and you too, and she's tearing around revisiting us all like it's been SO LONG Muh! Muh! kiss-kiss. Please put your hand in my mouff i like that.

Her prevailing name this week is still "little twerp" or "little dog". Indigo isn't sticking, but it is official.

This is my birth month! I got three cards, one from Mrs. M. Ominous, one from Moise (who didn't even know it was my birthday. It was 'just a note to keep in touch'), and then, the last to arrive, from my mom.

I went "whew!" when that showed up. And then reflected that a Happy Birthday card from your mother, who suffered this hours long travail, ought to be sarcastic and mildly contemptuous. Happy fucking birthday, do you know you were ten pounds and spent your first year crying for me to pick you up and carry you everywhere??? Where's my card, eh??

I suppose Carlin or Seinfeld have already made that 'joke'. Sorry. BTW, I don't like those two, especially Carlin. I say so only to make one of you mad. But it's true.

"Ever notice how when you open up the bread you want to grab a piece from the center? Why is that?"

Because we want the freshest piece with the most purity, smart guy.