Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ve been checking and I’ve been checking out. From blogging, that is. Because, when push comes to shove, a man’s gotta make a few bucks before the entire economy implodes from its own hubris. Or, even better, a man’s gotta hone a few skills that will most certainly come in handy when the economy implodes from its own hubris. In case you’re missing the important points above, let me repeat: When the economy implodes from its own hubris.

Yep, I’ve been pulling logs with the trusty fellows, Boots and Big Jim. Boots is the man. Big Jim is the horse. And I play the intermediary between the two. You see, the logging days usually go like this: Boots wields his mighty chainsaw, drops trees, limbs them, and then cuts them into – usually – 16-foot logs that Jim and I pull from the woods to the landing. And back and forth and back and forth and back and forth we go. All. Day. Long.

I’ve really got no complaints. It’s fine and honest work. And, better yet, it keeps my mind off the ninniness of being in today’s rather numbing world of false idols, ill-begotten notions (is that Jesus I hear coming?), and the near-complete lack of a coherent or inspiring response to the outrageous pillaging of our future.

Oh America, go back to sleep. We’ll wake you when we need you to fight another war.

But, speaking of politics (insert laugh track here), the ninnies are ruling the day. When they’re not greasing up their Obama dildos, they’re wagging their fingers of discontent at anyone and everyone who happens to find it objectionable that the so-called “anti-war” candidate has decided to keep the big, bad Bush’s Secretary of War in his cabinet. Oh ironies, is there no end to your delicious presence?

Don’t blame me. I voted for Nader. Imagine the craziness of lining up the issues with your political beliefs and then voting accordingly. But, then again, I’m the one following a horse around in the woods for a “living.” Ass, meet face. And then get back to work.

Speaking of ass-faces and politics, how about all the hand wringing in Vermont about trying to iron out the differences between the Vermont Democratic Party and the Progressive Party? The question of the week amongst the people who can’t seem to cleanse themselves of the sheer nothingness of mainstream electoral politics is this: “Why can’t they just get along?” To which, I say, quite simply: “Why?”

Silly me, I keep thinking that politics in a democracy is about articulating differences and then letting the voters decide. But that’s apparently soooo 1780s. You know, back when they used horses to get around. Oops, there I go again on the horse fixation.

But, seriously, while these electoral control freaks are at it, why don’t they just go all the way and begin a discussion of merging any and all political parties in Vermont so that we can just do away with the fucking elections all together. Viola! Democracy “messiness” solved.

The reality in Vermont is that we already pretty much do that anyway. Because our electoral elite (the elected few and the even fewer who bow to their feet while pretending to be a part of the “media”) just keep getting elected and re-elected until (or even before in the case of Jim Jeffords) they start to lose their minds from the boredom of the game.

Yep, we’ll just streamline the whole mess and call it Vermont’s Party of Incumbents. And, oh my, look how “tri-partisan” it already is: Douglas the Republican, Leahy and Welch the Dems, and Sanders the Independent. Cue the blissful music…

Now, please, will the rest of you issue-oriented pricks please stop muddying the electoral waters? Or, if you continue, we’ll have Seven Days and Green Mountain Daily continue to plunder you into somnambulism over their apparent obsessions with anything and everything to do with…hmm…themselves. Can’t they just get a blog? Oh wait, nevermind.

Paging Thomas Paine. Thomas Paine, come in. Oh please, can someone please find Thomas Paine and bring him to the Democracy Courtesy Desk IMMEDIATELY.

Whew. I did it. I gave you words. And now you’re all saying the same things to yourselves: I kept checking back for this shit?

Yes, you did.

And now I’ve got to get back to work. I brought my new loaner horse home yesterday, a fine looking Percheron named Lance (I’m pretending he’s named after Lance Armstrong but, given the fact that he came from Amish country, I doubt it). If all goes well, he’ll be teamed up with Big Jim for this winter’s installment of “Sleigh Rides with Mike.” Make your appointments soon.

Welcome back. Now stop your bitching.

[Disclaimer: Any and all snarkiness found within the previous (and following) meandering words are the result of "Jack the Carpenter" and his gift of music that accompanied this computer moment. The Stranglers, to be precise. Thanks, Jack.]