We interrupt the silence for…well…this.
Sorry about that.
But the Snarky friends and relatives have been misunderstanding my silence as pain rather than acknowledgement. They obviously didn’t read much Kierkegaard. Whatever.
Which is to say: The silence is broken. The word-fart has happened. And now you must sit in it because that is apparently what you like to do.
I promise I won’t tell.
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About that Vermont flood: Can we all just agree that people with seven houses can’t lecture us about carbon usage? Got that, Governor Shumlin?
Now get us some food.
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A real Tea-Partier would turn down FEMA help after a hurricane, right?
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I’m waiting for the day when a governor doesn’t just shovel platitudes in the faces of natural disaster victims. And you know all about the platitudes: My state has the best people. My state can take it. My state will fight better than your state. Blah, blah, blah.
Just once, I’d like to hear them call us all a bunch of “fucking whiners.”
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I had to drive my niece to Burlington yesterday on a minor medical emergency. We passed the caravan of FEMA trucks and National Guard vehicles on I-89.
“At least they’re doing something positive,” she said.
Indeed.
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Note to Vermont politicians: Stay out of their way.
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Quick Vermont Quiz: What’s the difference between almost all of you and your four top political officeholders (Shumlin, Leahy, Welch and Sanders)? They’re millionaires and you are not.
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But they feel your pain. Really.
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Wait. I just got a memo from the media elite. Hmm. Okay. I’ll just read it as it’s written:
“Don’t forget to say ‘thank you’ to WDEV.”
Oh, you didn’t know? Snarky Boy is now considered to be a member of the Vermont media elite. Just ask around if you don’t believe me.
I didn’t believe it myself until I was walking down Elm Street recently and ran into Chris Graff, former chief of the Vermont media elite but now a climbing figure in the overall Vermont power elite. Chris extended his hand in that friendly way that those of us who know Chris call “the Chris way” (snicker, snicker).
And then these words parted his well-connected lips: “Snarky, you’re one funny man. Keep it coming.”
For those not in the know about these things, that means he’s about to fuck my girlfriend. Wait. That’s not right. Sorry, I got distracted by the torrent of information being coughed out by Shay Totten.
It just means he likes me.
Fine. Now take me to lunch and make it worth something.
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And while Graff is giving me the thumb’s up, Odum keeps getting more bizarre. Worse, the poor guy seems to be limping around downtown Montpelier – a lot. If he keeps that look up through foliage season, I’m betting he’ll get a few five-spots thrown his way from the tourists.
He better report it, too. Fucking tax-me-more-liberal.
But, this morning, I passed Odum around the library as he was lumbering down Main Street. I looked his way, awaited a gesture of some type, and then watched as he barked at me. Yes, as in: barked. Like a dog. Better yet, like a small dog. Yap, yap.
Okay.
Get it out, my friend.
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Wait, this just in from the Vermont pot-growers alliance: “Um, FEMA, could you chill with the ‘copters, it’s making us crazy.
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Good thing we got over that whole “silence” thing, huh?
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I love you too, Chris Graff. And WDEV. And Vermont.