Another ‘I have sinned’. Richard Tater (R. Idaho), ex-refrigerator-magnate turned corporate spud-‘farmer’, lured into ‘Public Service’ as State representative. Lasted two terms until this story broke…and broke his ostensibly clean Mr. Potato Head® image right down the middle, plastic nose and ears being fought over as souvenirs by Boise cub-reporters.
What is it about politics that attracts men with the moral compass of rabbits in heat? Perhaps we should actively consider going back to the court-eunuch system. A figure-head Queen; (she needn’t be ‘hot’, and a retinue of ball-less pure-of-hearts working tirelessly on the managing of public affairs. I know, they would probably form Platonic relationships to the detriment of the commonweal. So scratch ‘castrati’. Sorry, bad idea; An army of Vienna Choir-boys falsetto-izing sensitive documents.
Anyway, this is not the Question of the Day for this entry.
The truly-gripping question is whether English vocabulary was created pretty much at random, or conversely, was subliminally guided by deep phoneme archetypes. Such that a fellow by the name of ‘Tater’ had basically no fighting chance of being the next Strom Thurmond.
Read the poem and decide. I’m open to the theory that, as was ‘explained’ to me ten minutes ago by a yarmulked true-believer window-installer: ‘Everything is determined by ‘Ha-Shem’, (aka ‘G-d’ in Heaven.)
The ‘evidence’ is indisputable:
Totter (didn’t rhyme)
Oh, and ‘Stutter’. (God moves in mysterious ways.)
All I done was to assemble the facts and make them rhyme. The academic conclusion is anyone’s guess.
Richard ‘Dick’ Tater’s career is in tatters
It teeters on the knife-edge of ‘family matters’
For ‘tighter’ he fell for his own baby-sitter
Whose story (and tits) now have Twitter™ a-titter
He thought that he’d taught her the Art of discretion
But it seems Dick’s the one who’s now learning a lesson
His wife gets the keys to their Tudor Mac-Mansion
That’s only the start, till the judge signs the sanction