Tuesday, July 22, 2014

My Three Songs



Something a little different from the RantZ I've been reprinting lately, fellow babies!

I wrote the above title with the theme song from the old sitcom, "My Three Sons," playing in my head. But that's someone else's song. Today's post is about three of the songs I've written, arguably the three best  songs I've written. They are, in my opinion, anyway...

These songs have all been featured on this blog before, but I have several new readers, and some of you long-time readers may have forgotten them as well, so I figure I can get away with giving them another go!

*  *  *

The following song was written on October 10th, 1978! It's a light-hearted (albeit not really humorous) C&W tune, the kind of thing someone like Jerry Reed would have given us. I really like the wordplay in this one.

*  *  *

Don't Let Me Love You on the Rebound

When people start to treat me hard, I just grow harder,
And their cold shoulders just make me more cold.
I need companionship before my troubled life ends.
Oh, Lord, I guess I'm really gettin' old.
I'm also gettin' kinda sick o'losin' lovers.
So many women put me on the shelf,
And told me they were kinda sick o'lovin' losers.
So here I'm feelin' sorry for myself.

CHORUS
Don't let me love you on the rebound,
For it might up'n'fade away.
This lover's fog I'm in might vanish
Before the cleansin' light o'day.
Oh, yes, I'll love you on the rebound,
When it's too late for you, you'll finally see,
And you are much too sweet'n'sensitive a lady
To be sufferin' for love o'scum like me!

My life has been a downhill trip to darkest Hades,
An' lots o'people say it's just as well,
Cuz I ain't never gonna get to Heaven, darlin',
So here on Earth, I'll just prepare fer Hell.
My friends are special cuz they truly can accept me,
But you, m'dear, see somethin' thet I'm not.
You see good in one who's somewhat less than Satan,
But acts if he's somethin' more than God.

CHORUS
Don't let me love you on the rebound,
For it might up'n'fade away.
This lover's fog I'm in might vanish
Before the cleansin' light o'day.
Oh, yes, I'll love you on the rebound,
When it's too late for you, you'll finally see,
And you are much too sweet'n'sensitive a lady
To be sufferin' for love o'scum like me!

Yes, you are much too sweet'n'sensitive a lady
To be sufferin' for love o'scum like me!

*  *  *

A while back, this blog featured a serialized story called Two Ships, which told a story about a single man, Dan, who falls in love with a married woman named Eve. During a blizzard, Dan and Eve are stranded at a motel, which offers entertainment in the form of its owner, Art, a guitarist who tends to play either Country & Western or blues. Dan, a former musician himself, is pressed into service for part of the evening, at which point, he plays a song he's written for Eve. (I've included a segment of the story itself, and not just the song.)

By the way, I should mention that this song came pouring out of me as I wrote the appropriate chapter of Two Ships. That's never happened with any other song or poem I've ever written. I guess I was really inspired that day!

*  *  *

Eve's Song

Then I announced my final song of the evening, and tenderly lifted the Dobro from a stand Art had placed next to the piano bench. For a moment or two, I sat there lost in thought. I didn't look at the crowd. I didn't even look at Eve. In fact, after having fitted the Coricidin bottle on the little finger of my right hand, I closed my eyes and played the bluesy notes that formed the intro for the song I was about to play. But those "bluesy notes" were only a teaser of sorts. The song wasn't a blues song in structure, although the lyrics certainly gave the impression that it should have been.
As I began the song for real, I glanced at Eve, Millie, and Art. Art's brow was furrowed, and his arms were crossed on his chest. He seemed somewhat irked that he didn't recognize the song I'd started playing. I smiled and began to sing, giving the vocals my own sound, with a little Leon Redbone thrown in for additional character.
Though I've got the blues.
It's a wonderful feelin'.
I've got the blues,
Cuz my poor head is reelin'.
There should be pain enough to break me for all time,
Cuz this woman I hold,
She can't ever be mine.
I should be sad,
But I smile when I see her.
I should feel chained,
But I've never felt freer.
She's someone else's, but I know she cares for me.
I'm selectively blind
And she's all I can see.
I should be screamin' & cryin', and climbin' & punchin' the walls.
But all I know is that I'm happy whenever she calls.
I've got a thousand reasons I should tell her goodbye,
But the thought of her gone makes me break down and cry.
Now it was time for the instrumental break, my guitar solo, as it were, and even in the structure of this non-blues song, I did everything I could to channel Duane Allman, Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, Keith Richards, and as many of their original blues guitar influences as I could. I wish I'd had a second guitarist to keep up the rhythm section, but I filled in to the extent of my ability. As a lead guitarist, I'm usually passable, but nowhere near great. Having said that, however, I can honestly and objectively say that I don't think I've ever played better than I did that night, during that song.
As I ended my solo -- which garnered some scattered applause, I was pleased to notice -- I repeated the bridge.
I should be screamin' & cryin', and climbin' & punchin' the walls.
But all I know is I'm in Heaven whenever she calls.
I've got a million reasons I should tell her goodbye,
But the thought of her gone makes me break down and cry.
So I've got the blues
And they say that's a downer
Yeah, I've got the blues
Yet I thank God I found her.
She's a perfect woman, and me, I'm only a man
Who will give her my all,
While she gives what she can.
Though I've got the blues.
It's a wonderful feelin'.
I've got the blues,
Cuz my poor head is reelin'.
Yeah, I've got the blues...
As I played the last few licks -- bluesy notes once again, of course -- there was a tangible moment of silence... and then the little dining room was filled with the sound of enthusiastic applause. Ya done good, kid, I told myself. I stood up, gave the audience a little half-bow, and in my very best Elvis voice, slurred "Thank yuh evver'buddy, thank yuh so much, yer beautiful people!" and walked back to my table. Eve jumped to her feet, threw her arms around me, and gave me a lip-lock that literally took my breath away.

*  *  *

Finally, the best song I ever wrote (IMHO) came from a story called Angelina. Angelina's fiancé, Marty, is a teacher and struggling songwriter who plays his latest song for her. (Once again, I've included a segment of the story itself, and not just the song.)

*  *  *

The Life You Never Find
 
Shuffling through some broken glass, I found a diamond.
Stumbling through a field of weeds, I found a rose.
In with icy things I should stay far away from
I found something warm enough to draw me close.

He paused briefly -- very briefly -- and she realized that his piano playing had improved considerably since last she'd heard it.

You may never know the ways in which you’ve touched me,
'Cause you’re so much more than what you had to be,
So instead of using you, I grew to love you,
And my tears mean I may never set you free.

Marty shifted slightly as he played the song's chorus for the first time.

As I look into your eyes,
I see your pain, and all the lies
That you were told
About that better life
That you never seem to find.

Wow, she thought, what woman can't relate to that line!

If I stooped to label you, then I could judge you.
If I judged you, girl, you’d probably start to cry.
If you started crying, I would feel my heart break.
As it broke, I’d wonder who the hell am I?
I could make a lengthy list of all my problems,
And by 'problems' I mean those that are my fault.
So if ever I should dare to act superior
Know the truth, and take me with a grain of salt.

Here, he repeated the chorus, then began the third verse.

I’d give anything if I could sleep beside you,
But I only have to give you up each night.
I can hope and pray we find a way around this,
Or else nothing’s ever going to make it right.
But reality keeps messing with my dreaming.
So damned many things keep getting in our way.
I’m no optimist, but with some perseverance,
Maybe you and I can work things out someday.

She couldn't recall ever having heard the word "perseverance" in a song before. But Marty never had been one to talk down to his intended audience.

He repeated the chorus again, then once more, only with different inflections. His reworking of the chorus' tune made him reach to the top of his somewhat limited vocal range. Successfully, she was glad to see. Damn, his voice has improved, too, she thought.

Shuffling through some broken glass, I found a diamond, he sang, repeating the first verse.

Stumbling through a field of weeds, I found a rose.
In with icy things I should stay far away from
I found something warm enough to draw me close.

As he'd sung the last line of the song, he'd slowed his pace. And the very last note he played on the piano coincided with his final lyric.

"Damn," she said softly. "What do you call it?"

"It's called 'The Life You Never Find.' Like it?"

"Baby, that has instantly become my favorite thing you've ever written," she said, truthfully.

*  *  *

So, fellow babies, there you have them. Something a bit more serious from my twisted mind!

My apologies to those of you who actually want to hear the blasted things.

Thanks for your time.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The BEST o'the BEST o'the BEST... SIR!!! (A David'Z RantZ Post from 10/15/08)


(This RantZ entry  has been slightly updated from its original 2008 publication!)

How to create controversy in one easy lesson: Present your own opinions as incontrovertible facts.

If I were to list each of the following items as "My Favorite [So-and-So]," this would be a nice, innocuous little collection of my musical favorites.

But no.

I'm presenting the following list as "The Best Of... " Not only am I courting controversy by doing that, but I'm also taking an additional chance of pissing people off by arbitrarily limiting the scope of my "nominations" and "winning candidates" to pop/rock artists & music from roughly 1960-1980. Why? Just to be an ornery jerk, cuz I can.

This method may cause division among the ranks of the RantzerooZ. "That's not the best [So-and-So]!" you may say (even if you don't leave a comment stating your position). Well... tough. It is now. I wrote it; that makes it real. This method may cause people to argue with me (or each other). This method may cause people to insult me (or each other). It could even start a Third World War... or not.

Well... Probably not, where that last one is concerned.

Anyway, here's my (pop & rock'n'roll) list of "bests" and "mosts" -- which I purposely did not number, since it's not that kind of list -- and let the buffalo chips fall where they may.
  • Best Singer: Janis Joplin and Roy Orbison (Let's call that a tie; I don't want to split this into a male/female thing.)
  • Best Lead Vocalist for a Rock Band: Freddy Mercury of Queen and Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin (tie)
  • Best Lead Vocalist for a Rock Band Who Can Actually Act in a Movie or a TV Program Without Embarrassing Himself: Roger Daltrey of The Who
  • Best Lead Vocalist for a Rock Band Who Can't Shut the F**k Up During the Guitar Lead to Save His Life: Paul Rodgers of Free and Bad Company, etc.
  • Best Guitarist: (Ohhh, no you don't! Even mine aren't that big!)
  • Group with the Best Catalog of Albums to Bring with You to a Deserted Island: The Beatles
  • Group with the Best Catalog of Albums to Bring with You to a Deserted Island (Substance Abuse Division) : The Doors (Honorable Mention: Pink Floyd)
  • Best Carnival Barker in Terms of Extending the Hype Forever: Ray Manzarek of The Doors ("forever" being until 2013, when Manzarek died)
  • Artist I Most Wish Would Shut Up and Retire, Already: Elton John
  • Best "Done-You-Wrong Song in Captivity"* : "Can't You See" by The Marshall Tucker Band
  • Most Incredibly Talented & Promising Artist Whose Career Lasted Long Enough for Him to Totally F**k It Up and Then Turn It Around: Michael Jackson
  • Best Album Cover (not the Best Album. The Best Album Cover): "Weekend Warriors" by Ted Nugent

  • Most Influential Debut Album of the Early 1960s (U.S. version) : "Meet the Beatles" by... Oh, you guessed that one?**
  • Most Influential Debut Album of the Late 1960s: "Led Zeppelin"*** by Led Zeppelin
  • Best British Invasion Group That Actually Sounded British: Herman's Hermits
  • Best British Invasion Group That Tried to Sound Like Americans: everybody else
  • Best Songwriter with an Overly Recognizable Style****: Jim Steinman
  • Best LP Almost Nobody But Me Seems to Know About: "Songs for Beginners" by Graham Nash
  • Best LP Almost Nobody But Me Seems to Know About That Also Influenced My Own Personal Singing Style: "Wheatfield Soul" by The Guess Who
  • Best Damned Song I Ever Wrote: "The Life You Never Find" (Runners-Up: "Eve's Song" and "Don't Let Me Love You on the Rebound")
  • Best Song to Have the Band***** or the DJ Play When You're Dancing with a Woman You Want to "Get Close To" That Evening (1960s): Cherish by The Association
  • Best Song to Have the Band***** or the DJ Play When You're Dancing with a Woman You Want to "Get Close To" That Evening (1970s): "Wildflower" by Skylark
  • Best Artist to Play When at Home with a Woman You Want to "Get Close To" That Evening (1960s): Frank Sinatra
  • Best Artist to Play When at Home with a Woman You Want to "Get Close To" That Evening (1970s): Cat Stevens (WARNING! This is no longer the case!)
  • Song That Hits You Harder Every Damned Time You Hear It, As You Get Older: "Same Auld Lang Syne" by Dan Fogelberg
  • Best Line Ever (not the Best Song, and not the Best Line from a Song. The! Best! Line! Ever! In anything! From anywhere!) : "Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else," from "Reason to Believe," written by Tim Hardin

See? Instant controversy! And up until this early morning revelation, I thought the only way I could do that was by talking about Sarah Palin. (2008, remember?)

Thanks for your time.

* And I wish I could properly credit the AM radio DJ who uttered that memorable phrase, over 30 years ago!
** Of course, their odds of "winning" this category were doubled, since in the USA, The Beatles actually had two debut albums, on different labels!
*** And no, it's not "Led Zeppelin I," or "Led Zeppelin One," or anything else but "Led Zeppelin!"
**** During 1983, three different songs entered the pop charts in relatively short succession: Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," Air Supply's "Making Love out of Nothing at All," and Barry Manilow's "Read 'Em and Weep." Upon hearing each of these three songs for the first time, my response was along the lines of "Hey, I'll bet Jim Steinman wrote that!" I was right in all three cases. Best known as the songwriter behind Meat Loaf's "Bat Out of Hell" albums, Steinman's style was and is unmistakeable. 
*****And just for the record, I mean "the band," and not "The Band." S'awright? S'awright!

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

It Gets Me Every Time (A David'Z RantZ Post from 11/26/08)


I'm always surprised that, whenever I open a can of "Evaporated Milk"...

It's not empty.

Thanks for your time.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

The Devil's Workshop? (A David'Z RantZ Post from 9/5/08)

To all of you Anglophiles out there (and I know there are a lot of you):

I'm going to be brief for a change.

Look quickly at the following picture. Who do you think it is?


Nope. Sorry. You're wrong.

That is, you're wrong if, like myself, you thought at first glance that it was a photo of the young Eric Idle (of Monty Python fame), suited up for one sketch or another.

It's Bill Snyder.

"Who?"

Bill Snyder.


(And according to this sheet music, the recorded version of "The Night Is Young" was released on London Records, too. Hm. Amazing coincidence, innit? Or... not.)

Anyway, don't fret. Even if you guessed incorrectly, you're still a cool person, because you made the same mistake that I did. So you're probably about as cool as I am, and what could be better than that? *ahem*

That's all. I'm done...

Except to say that you can find the neatest stuff in the second-hand stores on Cape Cod.

Thanks for your time.

P.S. ~~ Okay, I'm not done. Here's a relatively recent shot of Eric Idle, although to my eye, he looks slightly -- and unsettlingly -- like Barry Manilow! WTF?

Saturday, June 28, 2014

British Invasion (A David'Z RantZ Short Shorts Post from 5/21/08)


I love it when an article talks about "the surviving members of The Beatles," like there are three or four dozen of them floating around the planet. Folks, there are two surviving members. Half the group. Period. There were four in the real core group -- John, Paul, George, and Ringo -- and that's not trying to insult Pete Best, or Stu Sutcliffe, or any of the people who've variously been referred to as "the fifth Beatle" someplace because of their amazing contribution where blah-blah-freakin'-blah was concerned...

And no, no fair counting Yoko.

Let's face it, if you were one of The Beatles, you were one of the coolest people in the universe, ever. Or at least you were cool for a period long enough so that you'll be indelibly stamped in the minds of Earth's citizens as a "former Beatle," and nothing you can do -- not even a stint as Mr. Conductor -- can take that away from you.

I mean, if Paul McCartney -- I'm sorry, I meant Sir Paul McCartney -- were to be elected Prime Minister of Great Britain, you just know that even if he were assassinated in office we'd read this: "British Prime Minister and former Beatle Sir Paul McCartney was shot today outside of... " Hell, Ringo could become an astronaut and a serial killer, and the eventual news article would read, "Ringo Starr, former Beatle, astronaut, and accused mass murderer, was apprehended today... "

2. Hey, that bit about "Sir" Paul McCartney reminds me...

What in the world possessed Great Britain to start knighting pop stars? I mean, sure, I think The Beatles were incredibly cool, and even said so above, but... Sir Paul? And... Sir Mick Jagger? Sir Cliff Richard?

Can you see King Arthur trying to defend Merrie Olde England with a Round Table comprised of Sir Paul, Sir Mick, Sir Cliff, and... Sir Elton?

Thanks for your time..

Monday, June 23, 2014

Stupid Gmail Spell-Checker (A David'Z RantZ Grammar Nazi Post from 2/28/2009)

Although I am one of the world's champion spellers -- he said, modestly -- I always have my Gmail's spell-checker activated. This alerts me to typographical errors and... Okay, I admit it, even I have so-called trouble words, words I tend to screw up as a matter of course. (One example? "Embarrassed." Ever since I heard a character in the movie Echo Park -- he employed women who delivered Strip-o-Grams -- define it as "I'm bare-assed," I have this mental block which makes me want to spell it with a single "r.") Also, my computer keyboard doesn't always respond correctly to my striking of a double letter, so a word like "comment" might sneak by as "coment" if I don't correct it.

However, I may disable it just because it's becoming somewhat annoying lately.

Most of the time, of course, we're allowed to "train" it. If I'm told that "Jayne" or "Valleri" are incorrect spellings -- they're not, of course, I know women by both names, spelled exactly like that -- it's easy enough to "tell" the spell-checker to recognize the versions I want on a go-forward basis by clicking on "add to dictionary."

Sometimes it's totally useless. Let's say I actually couldn't spell a simple word, like... well... "word." Let's pretend I really think it ends with a "g," like so:

"Worg."

Gmail's spell-checker flags that one, of course, but these are the corrections it offers:

org
wog
w org (Whatever the hell that means!)
Borg (Yeah, no s**t, "Borg." Now why in the world... Oh, wait. Computer programmers. Star Trek. Silly of me.)

Just for giggles, I typed something else, went back to "worg," and tried it again, with slightly different results!

org
wog
Borg
wore
worn

You see my point, right? Neither time was I given the word I really needed.

(Ages ago, another annoying thing was that they hadn't programmed it to recognize contractions! Every time I typed in a word like "isn't" or "doesn't," the "isn" and the "doesn" are underlined in that palsied red eye-grabber that asks "Are you really sure about this one, dude?"

Yes, I was sure, thank you very much.)

Just for even more giggles -- yeah, I'm easily entertained today -- I typed in a few random letters: "rlrlt." (I actually get results like that when doing late-night typing in a room lit by only my computer monitor and an antique whale oil lamp. The other night, I typed what I thought was "Papillon," and got "{a[i;;on".)

In response to "rlrlt," I got "Charlton" and "Carlton," which I suppose was Gmail's way of saying, "Dude, we're as confused as you are on this one!"

But I digress.

If all that isn't enough, it picks stuff at random! Earlier today, I typed the word "something," and wouldn't you know it, there's that little red underscoring again. So I decided to check their suggestions of alternates, and it actually said, "no suggestions." Nice. They didn't have a specific objection to the word, but they just wanted to tick me off, apparently. Well, it worked.

At least it recognizes "Gmail" as a real word. If it didn't, that'd be more than a little embarrassing. But if you type "gmail" in error, it gives you the following choices:

mail
email
grail
g mail (Again, whatever the hell that means!)
gm ail (There's a weird one. "G.M. Ale" sounds like the auto company's branched out into the brewing of malt beverages.)

They okay another word that almost everyone on the planet screws up (in terms of upper and lower case), "eBay." But if you've mistakenly typed "Ebay," it won't include the correct replacement in its suggestions!

By the way, I love how we're supposed to pronounce "Gmail" as "gee-mail." Just to be a smartass -- yeah, me, who'da thunk it? -- I constantly pronounce "Kmart" as "k'mart" (like "come on" and "come here" are often abbreviated as "c'mon" and "c'mere."). And when those too dim to realize that I'm making a small joke correct me, I defensively reply, "Well, you pronounce S-M-A-R-T as 'smart,' don't you? You don't say, 'ess-mart!' "

[looking at notes] Okay, I'm done. Thanks f--

What.

Nope, nothing funny to wrap this one up with.*

Hey, look, the title said "David'Z RantZ." It did not say "David'Z RantZ, Always Guaranteed to Leave You Laughing."

So, what, you want your money back?

That's what I thought.

Thanks for your time.

*Hm. Maybe, in a post devoted to correct spelling, I shouldn't break the archaic grammatical rule about having a preposition at the end of the sentence.

could say something awkward like "nothing funny up with which to wrap this one," but that owes too much to Winston Churchill.

Wait! I have it! A perfect way to re-structure my sentence to avoid the offensive prepositional ending:

"Nope, nothing funny to wrap this one up with... dammit."

What do you think? More better?

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Time Scurries On -- A David'Z RantZ Post from 4/28/08

"Gimme cookie, dammit!"

One of the online newspapers I subscribe to via email is the British Telegraph.co.uk. Reading a British newspaper gives me an idea of how another country -- a similar country, one which doesn't (yet) hate us, and one which more or less speaks the same language -- views the USA. Sometimes I even learn about things going on in the USA before I read about it in an American paper.

Plus, I'm entertained by their obituaries. They're generally dedicated to 1. World War II heroes, 2. lords or ladies with hyphenated names, or 3. American celebrities. But I digress.

Anyway, back in April of 2008, my eyes were immediately drawn to the headline of an article entitled, "Mutant threatening to wipe out grey squirrel." (And unfortunately, the article is no longer available online. I'll be using the briefest of quotes, to stay beneath the umbrella of "fair use." I actually contacted the Telegraph.com.uk way back when, to obtain permission to reprint extensive quotes, because I love you that much, dear readers! However, they would have charged me to do that. And frankly, I don't love you that much!)

My first thought was that they'd announced another sequel in the X-Men movie franchise, and that the plot was conceived by some moronic studio exec during the 2008 writers' strike. But no.

The article begins by telling us that the grey squirrel -- and I know that in the USA, "gray" is preferable to "grey," but I like using "grey," so freakin' deal with it -- is being supplanted in various areas of Britain by its "faster, fitter, and more aggressive black counterpart." The grey squirrels were themselves "introduced" to Britain more than 200 years back, and began "forcing out" the native red squirrels.

Well, I think some of us have already figured out what's really going on here, haven't we?

As always, we humans are projecting our prejudices onto these poor furry tree rats. Suddenly, a minority population is increasing, endangering the status quo. "They" are taking over. The humans are pissed, and as for the squirrels themselves?

They probably don't care too much.

But, you wanna know something? If I didn't know better, I'd say that this whole squirrel business was going on here, in the United States. I almost wondered if this was an actual news article, or an allegory dreamed up by a British novelist.

Look at what we have here. The minorities are beginning to outnumber the greys, or "grays." (And in this country, "gray" is right up there with "honky" and "cracker" as an ethnic slur against white people.) And these "greys" had originally taken the land from the "reds?" History does indeed repeat itself, dunnit?

(Okay, let me check again. Yup. This is going on in Great Britain, not North America.)

These uppity black squirrels first showed their dark & furry faces in Britain less than 100 years ago, but now comprise "half of all squirrels in some parts of the country" (emphasis mine), a confusing percentage, at best.

Yup, they're "taking over." Pretty soon all of our -- I mean, Britain's -- squirrel signage will have to be written in red, grey, and black squirrelspeak.

These black squirrels evidently have higher levels of testosterone, too, which makes them more aggressive and "territorial." Furthermore, the always fashion-conscious female grey squirrels are apparently lured toward the blacks' pigmentation. That makes me think of the looks I see on some people's faces as they pass interracial couples on the street. Some white-bread blonde babe -- and yeah, I prefer the word "blonde" with the final "e," too -- walks by on the arm of an African-American or a Latino, and there's usually some whitey nearby who is giving them a dirty look without even realizing that he or she is doing it.

Geneticists warn that the ever-expanding black squirrel population will probably "overrun most of the eastern counties" within ten or so years. And, horror of horrors, they're genetically able to interbreed with the greys, which would result in fuzzy little black or brown babies!

Blacks and browns? Oh, no! Miscegenation!

And not only that, but the blacks' impending takeover could further impact the dwindling population of red squirrels. One scientist was quoted as saying, "The small pockets of red squirrels that still exist already have to be protected because of the grey's dominance."

(Pockets? Or reservations? Hmm?)

Lindsey Maguire of the National Squirrel Rescue team -- and yes, Virginia, there apparently is a National Squirrel Rescue team -- says that the greys may eventually "get their 'just desserts' [sic]," no doubt meaning that it would serve us right after what we did to the Native Americans.

Wait, wait, wait! Scratch that last crack. I'm thinking of the United States again.

Ms. Maguire also wonders "how long it will be before we see a 'save the grey' campaign," as well she should.

I can see it now. Disgruntled groups of humans and grey squirrels, racists all, uniting to form a society of sorts. And they can come up with some sort of freakin' handbook simply by rewriting some White Supremacist literature.

Well, all I can say is... Nuts to you, you bigots!

Thanks for your time.

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