While going through some of my photos yesterday I came up with this picture of a fence. I took it in early April while I was visiting a friend who lives about 45 miles southeast of Denver. If you strain your eyes you can see mountains in the background. It’s not a very good picture. But that’s not the point. Fence posts are the point.
“Huh?” you might say/ask/exclaim/scream.
Posts. Great wooden posts. They yell for all the world to hear: “This is blah, blah, blah’s property.” Of course, I don’t know anyone named blah, blah, blah, as cool a name as it is.
Police officer: “Sir, what is your name?”
blah, blah blah: “blah, blah, blah.”
And off to the races you go for what is sure to be a fun-filled several minutes that most likely is capped off by being cuffed, fingerprinted and thrown in a filthy cell with a axe murderer.
I digress.
Posts. As objects go they are Daingerfielded, as in Rodney. They don’t get no (yes I know I’m using a double negative)respect.
For instance: Someone is dumb as a post. Well if you use the term pre-PC mode to mean unable to speak, then perhaps. But if you are inferring that someone is stupid, then that is just downright insulting. To the post. Posts aren’t stupid. Posts aren’t anything except a post.
I think we need to stand by our posts, now more than ever. The country can use a good post. Post oak post perhaps. A little alliterative but it should work. Keep me posted.