…and if you think sentences spell-able in either direction just kinda ‘write themselves’, hey; go at it… Like Dylan said: ‘You will find yourself, looking thru a key-hole.. on.. your.. knees.’
Anyway, I use this diversion as a proven method of falling asleep without the all-too-eagerly-present mind-grind of worrying about Death, Taxes, and fucking Drumpf. I would happily put the ‘work-around‘ on hold were there anything I could realistically do to save the environment, int’l order, and common decency from the horror my co-citizens (!) back in the U.S. have dragged into the White House like dog-shit stuck to a shoe.
And so, meanwhile, a few ‘latest models’. My little palindromes are a kinda cryptic ‘cry-for-help’. As in: ‘What total desperation could make a man do this? Read the news, and you’ll understand.
WEB YA, MEN: I AM AT SUGAR, OREGON… NO, ‘GER’?, OR AGUSTA MAINE? (sp?) MAYBE? ‘W’
This fellow is Lost, no other word for it. And this despite (or as a result of-?) his total 2016 contentedness! GPS plus every App he, or his drunken sled-dog ever said “yeah, OMG yes!’ (or ‘woof-woof!’) to ‘Download?’
In his modern world there’s no further need to care whether the Sun rises on the left.. or right side of his out-stretched phone-holder arm.The Pole star: ‘I can Google that’.
Fine, ‘W’. …Your men are eagerly waiting to know, like, which continent you are on? Hint: take a compass and a wristwatch next time, guy.
‘YAW, RON!!’ SEZ A MAN. ‘ALPS!’ I HURT STILL Y’ALL IT’S TRU.’ HIS PLAN AMAZES NORWAY.
An un-named traffic-controller in Geneva sees ‘Ron’s Cessna Citation heading straight for ‘controlled impact into terrain’ with the Matterhorn. This is, like, much too soon after his best friend and colleague in the same profession wasted his breath screaming from Paris at the un-responsive POS Germanwings pilot during his fatal suicidal dive.
Our hero had met ‘Ron’, in an odd coincidence, long ago, when they were ‘exchange-student’ roommates in Oslo. And spent long nights talking the fellow out of small depressions. No one in the program’s administration thought much, at the time, about his warnings. The Norwegian aviation authority, who stamped Ron’s first commercial ticket, will un-surprisingly express shock, while the choppers try to locate the debris field. Meanwhile, just another ‘hurt place’ for a helpless soul in a control tower.