they were angry because of the word, for it did destroy their craft;

They were angry because of the word, for it did destroy their craft.

Alma 35:3

Crafty politicians and all calculating clerics

hate the word of God because it gives them full hysterics.

They may mouth a platitude to show their Christian zeal;

but anyone with sense enough will know it isn't real.

The word of faithful prophets from the throne of God becomes

a torment to the hypocrite, like never ceasing drums.

Save me, Lord, from artifice -- mine own, and others too.

Keep me pure and simple so that thy work I may do!

Thin Things

"Beware not to get caught up in the thick of thin things."

Neal A. Maxwell

I'm harried and I'm hurried and I don't know what to do.

There's so much going on right now my lips are turning blue.

Amazon has specials and my Facebook got a like;

I wanna make a pizza and then go out and take a hike.

The latest romance novel on my Kindle is a pip;

at last I got a bargain on a fancy cruise line ship!

If God intends to reach me he had better get in line;

I'm busy throwing lots of pearls before a lot of swine.

There was a collective gasp among Coke Zero and Diet Pepsi drinkers this week after media reports highlighted a new study that found prodigious consumers of artificially sweetened drinks were 26 percent more likely to die prematurely than those who rarely drank sugar-free beverages. (NYT)

Early this morning, while I was sipping a cup of Moxene, a tanker truck pulled up to the curb and a man in a light gray jumpsuit hopped out of the cab to ring my front doorbell.
"May I help you?" I asked him politely when I opened the door.
"Here to fill up your chemical tanks" he said brusquely. "Where's the tanks at, in the basement?"
"What, the soft water thing?" I asked, puzzled.
"Nah" he said, sounding like Mel Blanc. "The other tanks, for your food and oxygen and stuff."
He was so brash, and I was so bewildered, that I let him walk right in and go straight down into the basement. The next thing I knew large rubber hoses were run through the kitchen window and down the basement steps; then the man in the light gray jumpsuit started the pump on his truck and all sorts of strange smelling stuff began coursing through the hoses.
"What in the world are you doing?" I shouted at him, above the noise of the pump.
He took out a small green pad, flipped a few pages, then began to recite:
"You need ten gallons of aspertone. Your mangle oil is low by two quarts. I'm bringing in a fresh sack of artificial efflux. Your hydroxoline is okay, but I'd better top off the sodiopox pool now before the snow flies. And I'm recharging your cyclamate free of charge this month, courtesy of your local bottling plant."
To steady myself I took two monochromatic pills, with a glass of pilsnerized water. The smells from the basement became gigantic, and a green fog swirled around my feet.
"Don't worry about that fog stuff" said the man in the light gray jumpsuit reassuringly. "Always happens when the meep fluid starts to warm up." 
"Why, why are you filling my home with all these strange and unnerving chemicals?" I asked despairingly.
"Just your standard synthetic delivery" he told me, looking surprised. "Without these compounds and decoctions your body can no longer survive the sulfurous heat and toxic atmosphere. Everybody and their dog knows that." 
Then it hit me -- I hadn't taken my zithium capsule that morning -- so my brains had leaked out through my ears. That's why none of this was making any sense to me.
"Give me a new molecular lobe, while you're at it" I told the man
 in the light gray jumpsuit. And then I was okay, as the chemicals aligned my pixels again. 
I finished my Moxene and skipped out the front door, ready to start a new day -- as synthetic as they come! 

Facebook wants to find you a soul mate. Will users trust the company with their secrets? (WaPo)

To find a true companion I let Facebook know details/that were so awful personal they make me bite my nails/But somehow I am hoping that true love will come to me/via social media and gullibility/So far results are zero, but I get a steady stream/of ads promoting weight loss and some hemorrhoidal cream.

Try again if they will serve thee

And now, O Lord, wilt thou turn away thine anger, and try again if they will serve thee? And if so, O Lord, thou canst bless them according to thy words which thou hast said.
Helaman 11:16

I testify the Lord will try again repentant souls,

to give again a chance to work at sweet and holy goals.

For I have fallen short a time or two in journeys past,

and felt the twinge of sorrow with the devil's piercing blast.

For surely all my blessings of today are predicated

on repenting so that my own vices are vacated.

Your Comment on A Tomato Grows in the East River

Your comment has been approved! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with The New York Times community. tim torkildson | utah Tomato plant upon a piling: you have left us all a-smiling. In this world of strife and woe it is nice to see you grow without charge or dull complaint; some might even call you quaint. If I could but swim out to you I'd put you in my goulash stew . . . View your comment If you're having trouble viewing your comment, please copy and paste this link in your browser: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/04/dining/tomato-east-river-piling-brooklyn-bridge-park.html#commentsContainer&permid=102361406:102361406 All of our comments are moderated for civility. Have feedback? Let us know. If you would like your comment to be considered for publication as a letter to the editor, please email a copy of your comment to letters@nytimes.com – along with your name, city/town and phone number (the latter for verification only). ABOUT THIS EMAIL  This is an automated notification. Please do not reply directly to this email. You received this message because you signed up for email notifications from The New York Times. Unsubscribe | Manage Notifications | Privacy Policy | Contact Copyright 2019 | The New York Times Company | 620 Eighth Avenue New York, NY 10018

Epstein’s donations to universities reveal a painful truth about philanthropy (WaPo)

Villains give to charity/much more dough than you or me/Should their money be rejected/as a thing so darn infected?/We must look the other way/when an Epstein wants to pay/Otherwise the great foundations/will bother ME for more donations!



It seems that spreading woe and doubt/is what forecasting's all about/The job market is not too strong/so something awful must be wrong/Experts brand the tariff 'sinner'/then go eat a nice steak dinner.

A Tomato Grows in the East River A single tomato plant has sprouted on a piling by the Brooklyn Bridge. Who knows how it got there? (NYT)

Tomato plant upon a piling:

you have left us all a-smiling.

In this world of strife and woe

it is nice to see you grow

without charge or dull complaint;

some might even call you quaint.

If I could but swim out to you

I'd put you in my goulash stew . . . 

Plan for the rule, not the exception

"Plan for the rule, not the exception."

Russell M. Nelson.

I intend to follow rules

each day when I awake.

Exceptions do I never plan

(unless involving cake.)

Regulations are the stuff

of stern reality.

(But sometimes I just have to yell

when in the library . . . )

Happy is the man who heeds

the rule of law each hour.

I support such rectitude

(though tis not in MY power . . . )

An immigrant businessman is offering ‘Bad Hombre’ and ‘Fake News’ tacos. Some aren’t buying it.

Maybe Trump is right after all. Maybe those guys south of us are up to something sneaky. Maybe naming a taco right in our own country with a provocative phrase is their way of psyching us out. And what about the taco drones and taco submarines that are massing at the Border and around the Gulf?  C'mon, you can't say you haven't heard about those things! They're all over the news -- well, the news if you know where to look. And nowadays you gotta look carefully for the right kind of news, the kind that explains things instead of just hinting at them or doesn't push the envelope a bit. 

The other night I'm sure I saw an armored taco clanking down the alley behind my place. The lettuce and diced tomatoes left a tell-tale trail that the police could have easily followed, after I called them, if they possessed the will to dig deeper. But all they did was give me a breathalyzer test and warn me about abusing the 911 system.

Now just gimme a chance to explain the real science behind a taco weapon of mass destruction. Keep an open mind, will ya? And remember, the Alamo wasn't built in a day. So here goes.

We've known for years that taco meat, when in the wrong hands, has the potential to be turned into a deadly explosive. The kind of explosive that can level a small city the size of Grand Island, Nebraska. And nobody wants that to happen -- except, maybe, the residents of Grand Island. I've never heard too many good things about the place. Anywho. When taco meat is mixed with certain chemical compounds and organic herbs and spices it becomes highly unstable and welcoming to free radicals. All it takes, I'm told, is a sudden jolt for the mixture to go up in flames like the Fourth of July. There's no disagreement about this at all between chemists world-wide. You've probably proved it to yourself, in a small way, after recklessly ordering the taco special at a paint store while looking for shellac.

It's also an undisputed fact that a small helping of taco meat, under controlled conditions, can power an aircraft carrier for two years before needing to be replenished. All of North America could be lit at night from the rumbustious energy emanating from just one Taco Bell. So the taco is both a blessing, and a curse. Much like that old couch in the basement that your friend from college slept on last winter. 

The diabolical thing is that the delivery system for taco meat can be either soft shell or hard shell. There's no way of knowing in advance just which one will fly over your neighborhood or surface in your local duck pond. If I were at the Pentagon right now I know that this fiendish dilemma would be keeping me up at nights.

So can we at least all agree that it's a bad thing for tacos to be harnessed for war? Let's encourage our neighbors to the South to keep things in perspective. After all, Canada has had poutine for nearly a century now -- and they've never used it on any other country. It's kept under strict control and used only by hockey players during the winter months. Of course there was that meltdown in Moose Jaw last year, but they contained it quickly and kept everyone calm by passing out free "I Survived the Moose Jaw Melt Down" t-shirts. 

So maybe we can hold a conference or something with potential international tacoteers -- see if we can get them to let the taco once again roam free and pure among the agave and sagebrush. And if not, I think we all know just how effective a Chicago hot dog can be in the hands of our military forces . . .