Call them the Fantastic Four or maybe Five, either singles or duos or groups of people, interacting as one, during the three days of Halloween, perhaps as even toxic waste cleanup, futuristic super agents.
Here went the last ride of those in costume.
I have to start with this bit of conversation. A man, Wolfie he was, walked past me along the walkway, not all but just part of it, and cast upon me his paws, both of them, and wiggled them showing not claws but his wriggly strips of fur in front of me.
Then walked by me. I guess he couldn’t take his eyes off the moon.
And after a turn, I ambled past him. He was followed by four others, one by one, with long and high ears and such. But I was howling even more, when recounting something to happen quite soon.
— What was happening as far as reaction in the day or two after the GOP election losses — as the donkeys kicked ass in a landslide of sweeps — meant that in talking-head-punditland, it was found that Trump put blame for the shutdown-shutout on the Dems and even members of his own party. The Repubs blame the Dems and the Dems blame the GOP, and they both blame the independents. Voters blame both parties, and Trump parties on by hosting victory/loss galas and social media flurries. And SNAP may be to blame, or those not certain to get it, and on the foul note that it is, you gotta gash Trump — this election was seen as a referendum on him even though he was on nary a ballot — as he goes around in what seems almost hourly flip-flopping court injunctions, and stays of injunctions, and blocks, and due judicial relief, and your mom says no for cutting back WIC, filed with certain states and non-profits and have-nots with pro bono, and backed bombastically and with attorneys by The Association for Non-Nutcaseness, (TAN) — like Melania, and I’m sure she will be visiting the booth and spa more now that she has won person of the year (lc not llc). The House blames the Senate, so to speak, and they have not even shown up yet. Even the DOJ weighs in just. Department heads, like that of war too, on how much their generals should weigh. And stand tall to what height they should push the podium as they give in mantra-lockstep their many depositions. And of course the worst chagrin falls on Muslims and women, or both, and (winning) candidates and beware, not by any means Communist camaraderie, Democratic socialists leaning. Battle lines drawn in the Big Apple and in the ongoing redistricting fights. Gosh, the GOP and Govs and PROP 50. The appeals and high courts and SCOTUS, whatever that is. And challenges and recounts to all of the above. Right up until midterms. And then it all happens again. —
I encountered the furry group, feet and hands and ears, again, at a bar around the corner. Each passed the other. Paws were exchanged again.
I approached them once more, back bar, and said to another of them, on the left, I’ve seldom seen so many creatures with such large ears. Or something like that.
The reindeer on the right, who by the way looked very cool with that red encircled cross on her forehead, responded, “these are antlers.” And you better get it right, and not say it with the wrong and vulgar term, because I have big ears.
“Ouch,” I responded. “Because I have Tourette’s.”
As do I, she said.
I laughed, and added actually, I do have it.
She said she did not, but two very good friends do.
And ADHD. I have it. Do they?
She respondly simply that she does.
This followed with a conversation on the nuances that go along with ADHD. Such as bonding with certain people intensely. Such as those who have large ears and large antlers who you meet at the bar?
Last to enter the bar was a red winged Victoria’s Secret modeless, and this wannabe who I know, did it justice, and one better. I told her so.
She smiled also.
Coming to her next was the bar man, who also knew the lass, and referred to her as a fallen angel, who was plying her trade in a better, bar-side way.
Outside the bar was a supergirl maiden with bra and cape, red again, that reached almost to her ankles. I told her it was the biggest I had seen.
“Thanks, is it really? It keeps me warm.”
Inside the bar down the street, I saw two people who definitely were not red. But well-read, as they were superheros. Dressed all in silver. Either that or some sort of toxic waste cleanup, futuristic super agents.
(In a likewise item, this could be that superlative/relative spy I referred to in the headline, who was a do-gooder and even a related third party who helped a little old lady negotiate the municipal waste disposal system — various cities and counties and towns of which you are a resident — and find a place, more than once, where she could “dump/recycle” a whole bunch of old paint cans, from two different basements, completely filling one, as well as a big-old-wrought-iron-bent-like-a-Halloween-noose-rod-to-house-a-squirrel-baffle. With three prongs, no less. And as far as where the waste, you could maybe add village, too. To top it, they went shoe shopping afterward.)
Back to the Halloween-custom-costumed super-spies, this time, I did not approach them.