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The Sunday Scrambler


G’morning all, we hope you’re well on a bright Sunday morning. We’ll just say this newfound air of ours is much appreciated and came just in the nick of time, didn’t it?

It has been an interesting week in the 24/680 and Beyond and we believe you’re adequately apprised of the National News in what has been a shocking week for The Nation. As it has been a lovely Sunday morning thus far we’ll refrain from talking about things normally of concern to citizens of this country, essentially because we don’t feel like getting ThumpJacked by Internet Cowboys (and girls) who like to remind us at every turn that we’re a local news resource and to mind our own business.

Heaven forbid that we should stray outside our borders. Harummph.

Anyway, we’re still a tad depressed about the news ThumpJackians don’t feel we should talk about and we don’t feel like triggering another round of press-bashing by people who should learn to spell before they attempt to do it, so we’ll refrain for now. (We can picture certain elements dancing a victory dance around their computers right now. Enjoy the moment.)

Locally, we’ve had some twisty car chases that got folks’ attention in Pleasant Hill yesterday and San Ramon this morning and heard of lots of other folks who are either off their meds or just feeling their oats after weeks of quarantine.

To that end we’ll just say if you’re going to strip down to Chippendale bow tie and boots and cheek wash a friend’s windows as a prank while they watch Pitbulls and Parolees inside their home – make sure you have the right address because some poor sod is still trying to squeegee your butt streaks off his windows and get the mental imagery out of his head.

It begs the question, what kind of friends do you have to be to get a kick out of seeing a pal parade around outside your house in the All Together? We mean, we have close friends but we have no wish to see their Naughty Bits – especially pressed up against our Living Room windows. Come on by, have some wine, that’ll be fine.

And, while we have your attention, some other 24/680 Pearls of Wisdom: If you’re going to have a Tooth N’ Nail Full-On Beatdown with your significant other make sure you’re stationary, okay, and not sailing down the freeway at 75mph – tends to make your fellow motorists nervous.

And, also on a cautionary note, take a breath the next time you begin a car-to-car lecture of another motorist for improper usage of Gov. Newsom’s highways – there’s a lot of hardware out there, apparently, and “small, black, semi-automatic handgun” appears to have replaced the rigid middle finger as a preferred roadway response.

That brings us to our Pet Peeve of the Week: Ultra-Slo-Motion footage of food we wouldn’t feed a ThumpJackian.

Some of you may know we have this thing about traditional advertising methodology (we don’t like it) so when a national restaurant chain advertises their latest Pumpkin-Trout Flapjack Special with some meant-to-be-delicious-looking slo-mo of the chef cutting out a wedge of syrupy, covered in carmel sauce, whipped cream and walnut goodness we would hope it would be alluring and not make us sprint for the bathroom. (Peeve Moment over.)

That’s it… for now, from your Friends in the Bunker. Dream Big, and make it happen.


    • Like so much of what goes on around here, there’s nothing to link to… they haven’t made it to “The Mainstream Media,” yet… or to a police or fire log, officially.

  1. I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair
    Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air
    I see her tripping where the bright streams play
    Happy as the daisies that dance on her way
    Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour
    Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o’er
    Oh! I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair
    Floating, like a vapor, on the soft, summer air
    I long for Jeannie with the day dawn smile
    Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile
    I hear her melodies, like joys gone by
    Sighing round my heart o’er the fond hopes that die
    Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain
    Wailing for the lost one that comes not again
    Oh! I long for Jeannie, and my heart bows low
    Never more to find her where the bright waters flow

    Stephen Foster

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