Posted on 04/16/2015 7:23:48 AM PDT by PJ-Comix
William Rivers Pitt is unemployed and doing nothing except jotting in the middle of the lily white New Hampshire woods in a cabin purchased by mommy so he can waste away the rest of his life in utter boredom with his family. As the nonproductive member of a family of wealthy lawyers his task is to merely collect trust fund payments and simply exist. And yet Pitt turns the utter nothingness of his sad life into a virtue by staring at his own navel as you can see in his ode to nothingness, A day in the life. So let us now watch Pitt celebrate his empty life in Bolshevik Red while the commentary of your humble correspondent, noting that DUmmieland is getting interesting again due to a revolt against the Hillary Borg, is in the [brackets]:
A day in the life.
[Which is exactly like every other day in your sad boring life.]
For a while now, I've been banging awake around 5am, languishing in that warm you're-comfy-and-you-know-it zone of semi-sleep, before finally grabbing myself by the face and dragging myself out of bed a little before 6. It's nice: I used to be a very solitary animal, an only child, lived alone for years, and despite the no-BS absolute joy and astonishing privilege of baby/wife/job/etc. responsibilities, a part of me will always be the sibling-less kid building universes in his imagination alone in his room, who still worships the stillness of solitude. So I get some of that in my mornings.
[Pitt describes the most challenging task of his day...waking up.]
I do most of my writing during those soft, quiet, precious hours (in my head, because I can't actually write at that hour, because I beat on keyboards like a rented mule when I do write and would wake the entire house). I watch the sun rise, and the snow melt, and the flowers grow, and wither, and disappear under a new season's blanket of white, and listen to the hum of nothing in my ears, and breathe.
[I watch water evaporate, time tick by, and listen to the hum of nothingness between my ears, oh, and breathe.]
My water well is almost 400 feet deep and taps an aquifer. When we moved here, we had the water tested to make sure there was nothing harmful to Lola, and the testers told us they had never, ever come across water as pure and perfect as what comes out of our taps. Before I go to bed each night, I pour a glass and place it on a kitchen windowsill next to a barely-cracked-open window...and then, in the morning, with the first hues of sunrise tickling the mountain, I drink deep of the blood of the Earth cooked and then cooled to perfection by the breath of the wind.
[Great logic there. You get crystal clear water from a well only to leave a glass of it overnight by an open window sill for all sorts of tiny critters to crawl in.]
This morning, I woke, rose, padded quietly to the kitchen, reached for my glass...and paused. There were five huge wild turkeys in my back yard: four females and one male...and oh by God and sonny Jesus, was the male putting on a show. Puffed up like a dirigible, fantail fanning behind, strutting and strutting and strutting, big as life and twice as turkey, The Man, because it's finally mating season, don'tcha know...and the four females could not have disdained him more thoroughly. Dude was out of luck, period, end of file.
[Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings performed this shtick much more effectively at Cross Creek long before you, Will. And she also had an actual LIFE.]
...so I raised my precious water glass to him in salute, drank deeply, and thought to myself, "Yeah, I hated the dating scene, too, brother."
[William Rivers Pitt as a Bukowski's lounge lizard? Since hot women did not hang out there it does NOT compute.]
A day in the life.
[We return Will now to his permanent state of test pattern.]
PING!
Maybe the turkeys were unsure of their sexuality. Did Pitt ever think of that?
TOP TEN!!!!
ping
Ah, the life of the chronically unemployed....and unemployable!
I, I, I, I, I, I, I...............he sounds like Barry O.
This type of self absorption is nauseating, and is a good indicator as to why his life is so pathetic.
Some trust-fund idiot channeling Henry David Thoreau.
Thoreau had a web connection?
DU! I lurked around there years ago and noticed real quick that many were kids in mom’s basement trying to learn how to cuss on line.
Went there again, found the same kids, now adults, with new names still in Mom’s basement cussing and trying to be significant on line.
A day in the life? Sounds like it ended just as it began. What did he do with the rest of the day after drinking water and watching turkeys?
Any productive work that someone else would pay him for?
:: and the four females could not have disdained him more thoroughly ::
What a maroon! The male was “strutting” and if the females were not receptive, they wouldn’t even be there.
See, it’s like when a private school teacher, say someone from Newton, seduces a pubescent teenage girl.
If she is repulsed, she goes away.
If she is enamored, she stays and awaits the outcome.
Pitt currently works as a managing editor and columnist at the liberal commentary website truthout.org.[2]
LOL!LOL!
Okay, I LOL’ed in the cube farm...
True, but the hens *might* have been trying to say 'Dude, not in front of the creepy libtard!"
Is that to let the sediment settle to the bottom?
LIKE +1
Your boi is sending out some Ted Kaczynskis vibes.
The Sixties ended approximately 46 years ago. It is an ex-decade. It has crossed the fjord. It's over. Done. Through. Buh-bye to all that. Un temps perdu. Passé. Old school. Defunct. Antiquated. Gone. No more. We're still alive, but bugs are eating its hair...
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