Diligence Jones
By day, a woman who knows and does some things in the social impact space; writer of romantica; by night, shenanigans, political side eye, & snark. Y'all, I'm TIREDT.
There is a conversation happening now that is totally over my head.
Debian, whoever you are, you in trouble, girl.
Do want to see how janky Benson looks in his busted down hand-mended muzzle?
I mean, he's a visual deterrent, right? You wouldn't walk up on a woman with this dog at her side.
And none of this would be possible without collaborators -- like cops, sheriffs, junior DAs, fed attorneys, and other folks in the court system snitching on their neighbors and innocent people coming through the courts keeping their appointments.
Congrats, snitch a$$ bishes.
A new cozy mystery series:
The SCOTUS Murders - It's 70 days before a major election and a controversial right wing justice who has handed the dictatorial President several victories is found dead in his offices from choking on a too-large throat lozenge.
Several days later, another justice on his way to a right wing podcast recording to brag about his new gift from a super donor has a near miss with a black-robed figure on a scooter on K Street.
DC SCOTUS watcher and NPR correspondent, Lucinda Delacourt, has questions. First, how the eff can a court this corrupt be allowed to exist? Second, is something funky happening at SCOTUS? One random death is weird, but then again, it's a weird timeline; and a near miss is still a miss.
When another conservative justice is found weighed down with marble busts of RBG at the bottom of a spa pool that Lucinda decides to find -- or perhaps congratulate -- whoever is cutting through the court like a hot knife through butter.
[SIGH]
Have you ever gotten really mad at toilet paper?
I have.
Effing whisper thin bargain basement useless ... grrrr.
I should just install a bidet.
Technically, if I get a burrito on the way home, it's not Door Dash.
I have found my Gabapentin limit.
I used to take 5/day.
Then I stepped down to 3 for 2+ years.
Then, earlier this year, I dropped down to 2.
This summer, I've gone down to 1.
This week, the nerve pain came back in sharp twinges.
So 2 it is.
When Benson wakes me up it's usually a sign of imminent explosive poo.
So when he did it tonight I grumbled but hustled.
He froze when he hit the air.
He freaked out that it was dark.
So we went back inside.
And tried again.
And now we're trying again.
I'm CRANKY.
I just heard the funniest and most mortifying tea about a panel on intersectionaly gone awry.
Omg this is epic and necessary.
