Oh, Deer

August 7, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, A Stroll In The Gardens, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | Leave a comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Well, Ol’ Robbo’s summah hols are now coming to a close, and it’s back to the trenches Monday morning. Heigh-ho.

As I wrote a couple posts down, I had made plans this week to take care of some outstanding projects in and around Port Swiller Manor. Somehow, after Monday’s laboring in the garden, that really didn’t work out so much, and in fact I’ve spent the bulk of the week simply loafing and walking Decanter Dog. Perhaps this was just as well.

One other project I did get done this morning: For many years, our next-door neighbors have left their side of my fence a veritable jungle, covered over in briars, scrub, vines, and the like. But two or three weeks ago, they finally had it all cleaned out, so that now my fence marches with open ground beneath a few maples.

Well, the back corner on my side of the fence is dominated by four or five maples itself, and while I never had a similar jungle, it is rayther given over to weeds, being too shady for the lawn to make any inroads. (In fact, I’ve often dreamed of turning it into a Hosta garden, but of course the local critters would raze it to the ground in about five minutes.) I’ve never much bothered with keeping it trim, since hitherto (hitherto, mark you!), nobody really could see it owing to the neighbors’ screen. But given the recent change, next door, now Ol’ Robbo has to step up himself.

So, I duly tramped out with the weed-whacker this morning and got to it. Eventually, I may clean it up altogether (although I’m hesitant to spray that much Round-Up over the area), but for now, thwacking the greenery back to short, uniform height seems quite acceptable.

Funny enough, as Ol’ Robbo was contemplating the site the other day, I said to myself, Self, this opens up a whole new, easy entre for the local deer, doesn’t it. Well, stap my vitals if, on looking out the library window this morning, I didn’t see this guy:

A very handsome buck with a solid rack, at least a 10-pointer and maybe 12 (which is unusual around here). He was under the trees in my corner, busy chomping not on Ol’ Robbo’s roses, but on a tough, invasive vine about which I’ve grumbled here in the past. I honestly never thought anything ate it, but I did not complain. It was only when he moseyed over to my raspberries that I decided things had gone far enough. I slipped out the porch door with the intention of shooing him off, but he heard me and floated over the newly cleared section of fence with the greatest of ease. (You can tell, however, that he’s not especially concerned.)

Ol’ Robbo hopes this isn’t a portent.

On Accepting All Modalities

August 4, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Roman Catholic Boys for Art | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

What with the ongoing basement drama at Port Swiller Manor, depriving him of both basic cable and his DVDs, Ol’ Robbo’s customary hour or two of an evening in front of the teevee currently is confined to innerwebz streaming services which I confess I don’t totally understand.

At the moment, courtesy of Peacock!, Ol’ Robbo is making his way through reruns of “The Office.“

I b’lieve I’ve seen the series all the way through once before (at least until Steve Carell left). I’m enjoying it now, but I’m getting the feeling that I really don’t need to see it again. At least for a good, long while.

With Peacock!, as with all these other streaming services, one can get the shows commercial-free at a premium, or one can deal with commercials. For this series, we went with the latter option to save a few bucks. (That’s what the mute button is for.)

So, the point is this: One of the commercials Ol’ Robbo currently is seeing repeatedly is some sort of pro-investment rah-rah for the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Really?

Aside from the fact that the country is the typical pig’s breakfast of Third World strong-arm politicks, who would think that some “Office”-watching, middle-class shlub like Ol’ Robbo, seeing such commercial, would suddenly yell out, “Sell everything, my family, we’re investing in Kinshasa!“

And who would think that anybody other than a shlub like Ol’ Robbo would be watching “The Office” reruns on Peacock!

Not the Bad Orange Man.

Not George Soros.

Not anyone who actually deals in this kind of stratospheric capital investment.

So….why the commercials? Who’s the mark?

Inquiring Robbos would like to know.

Vacation Garden Post – “Welcome to the Jungle!” Ed.

August 3, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, A Stroll In The Gardens, O! Tempora and So-Forth, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | Leave a comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Part of Ol’ Robbo’s plan for the home portion of his hols this week is to tackle each day one of the very-much overdue tasks out and about in the Port Swiller Manor demesne (the ones the rest of the Family Robbo seem to think get done all by themselves).

Today’s job was to clean up the garden out back which, now that we’ve reached High Summah, is in peak bloom. Ol’ Robbo really hasn’t had the time or energy to pay much attention to it this year, but it had looked okay from the back porch. However, once Ol’ Robbo went and inspected it up close and personal? Yikes! The gate was blocked by overgrown bushes, the weeds in the path were shin-high, and large parts of the place had been overrun by morning glory in a manner not dissimilar to a mob of military-aged Muslim men swarming a Spanish exclave on the coast of North Africa. Indeed, at first Ol’ Robbo couldn’t even find the little pet memorial we keep under all that jungle.

“A job of work for me and no mistake,” as Sam Gamgee said.

Well, Ol’ Robbo got to it. I trimmed back the bushes, pulled up every weed I could reach, and yanked as much morning glory (and grapevine) out as I could.

As Ol’ Robbo has often noted here, this is a butterfly garden, designed by me in the spirit of “For want of getting out of it, I have chosen it,” and mostly given over to butterfly bush. I notice they don’t seem to be quite so robust or large this year and wonder if it has something to do with the freak heavy ice storm we got very late this past winter and after I had cut everything back. (Indeed, I noticed the same thing about the roses and the hydrangeas, both of which I pruned at the same time.) Perhaps all that “snowcrete” which lasted many days had an effect on both growth and flowering? Well, anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

On the other hand, my prairie cup plant specimens are blooming like gangbusters this year, I think in large part because the smaller butterfly bushes are not providing so much competition for space.

Anyhoo, as I say the place is now more or less cleaned up. And, by the bye, absolutely covered in butterflies and honeybees. Very satisfying.

Ol’ Robbo may mention that he had also intended to start exercising again this week (I am way out of shape) with the idea that maybe I could carry the momentum over to when I have to start commuting again. I must say that after about three hours of deep knee bends this morning (and a longish walk with Decanter Dog this afternoon), I believe simple prudence dictates that I postpone my return to the rowing machine until tomorrow. (My yardwork tomorrow involves clearing up a corner of the yard with a weed-whacker, which is not in itself a particularly strenuous task.)

Random Musickal Road Trip Observations

August 1, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Musickal Musings, Root, Root, Root For The Home Team! | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

For those of you keeping track, Ol’ Robbo is back home again at Port Swiller Manor after a week of staring at Lawn Guildand Sound from the patio of his In-Laws’ place up to Connecticut. (Technically, I’ve another week of vacay before heading back to the salt mines, but it’s already booked solid with Honey-Do List ticket items. So, yeah, malarkey time is over.)

So, Ol’ Robbo rode back down to the Great Commonwealth of Virginny as passenger in Eldest Daughter’s car, Mrs. R intending to spend a few more days up north to visit her sister in Bahston.

(Just as an aside, although Ol’ Robbo believes Eldest has a pretty good driver’s sense of immediate situational awareness, I am mightily troubled about her reliance of GPS to tell her where she is more generally instead of mapping things out in her head. Also, I dislike very much being in a car traveling at high speed and piloted by anybody else over which I have no personal control. I believe this is also a secondary, albeit important, factor in my intense fear of flying. Finally, the dang Gel is a chronic tailgater, despite my remonstrances.)

Anyhoo, Eldest being in command, Eldest’s choice of entertainment ruled. On long trips, Ol’ Robbo hisself usually dials into Sirius -XM Radio’s classic country channels from the 80’s and 90’s.

The Gel? She’s into musicals. (Well, after all, she minored in them in college.) When she told me this, my head immediately filled with a dread of some kind of Andrew Lloyd Webber shlock-fest, but it turned out Ol’ Robbo had little to fear. Thusly, the playlist over the five hours and change of the trip:

Little Shop of Horrors. The movie. A classic, of course.

The Music Man. (The original movie version, and I had forgotten that Ron Howard was in it. Ol’ Robbo saw a very good local theatre production of it back in his misspent yoot and that always stuck with me.)

Something Rotten. (A (very loosely) Shakesperean riff that had a few clever, snarky lines in it.)

The Producers. (The Broadway version with Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Mrs. R and I saw the travelling company production with Alan Ruck in the Leo Bloom role down at the Kennedy Center many moons ago and laughed heartily.)

Hairspray (2007 film). (Which Ol’ Robbo had never heard or seen before). Golly, who’d a thunk about racial integration through upbeat positivism? (Of course, that would put many “activists” dedicated to the professional grievance gravy train out of a job, but hush!))

Long story short, Ol’ Robbo was impressed with Eldest’s playlist, even though I’ve not much interest in musickals as a genre, and I b’lieve I will watch one or more of these selections on screen me own self in the near future.

Gratuitous Summah Reading Observations

July 31, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Literary Musings, Roman Catholic Boys for Art, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo has spent the bulk of his vacation thus far flopped on his backside with a stack of books and an adult beverage at his elbow, and once again, having blown through Sharpe’s Rifles, Sharpe’s Eagle, and Sharpe’s Company in short order, must restate here his opinion that Bernard Cornwell is an awful, awful author.

Don’t misunderstand me. I enjoy the books because I’m interested in the historickal period and because Cornwell has the ability to explain military maneuvers, sometimes brilliantly.

But the books as books? Gawd. Clang! Clang! Clang! style. Cardboard characters, George Lucas-grade dialogue, gratuitous sensationalism, it’s all there. (I have a similar beef with other writers of historickal fiction, including Jeff Shaara, Derek Robinson, Tom Clancy, etc. A few, including both Patrick O’Brian and George Macdonald Fraser, rise above all that and produce real literature.)

And yet, I will continue to indulge. (Actually, next in my stack is the collected works of Saki, which is a whooooole different kettle of fish.)

Speaking of historickal fiction, regular friends of the decanter will recall a few weeks back that Ol’ Robbo, having seen the Young Washington movie, was going to go back and bone up on the real Battle of the Monongahela, as I had a sneaking suspicion that the movie had sacrificed some factual accuracy for the sake of drama.

Well, I did and I was right. In fact, rayther more so than I had recalled. I won’t bore you with a laundry list here, but there were quite a few inaccuracies, some very small but some actually pretty large. Short version: Don’t rely on the movie as a source of historickal knowledge.

(Whenever Ol’ Robbo starts cranking on about movies this way, people always say something like, “Oh, the film may be wrong, but it will get people interested in the subject and cause them to read up on it.” Ol’ Robbo has never really believed that to be true, at least beyond a marginal few. I’ve an idea that somebody who is interested enough to read about, say, the Battle of Gettysburg, is prolly going to do so anyway, movie or no movie. But that’s just me, Mr. Vegas.)

Anyhoo, back to the stack!

In Which Ol’ Robbo Keeps Calm and Vacations On – UPDATED

July 30, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Roman Catholic Boys for Art, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

D’ya know, Ol’ Robbo is beginning to think this biznay of borrowing the in-laws’ house for his summah hols is somehow cursed. Haunted, even.

Have I disturbed the slumber of some ancient, malignant force? Is there an Indian burial ground under my feet about which I don’t know? Am I being punished by a stern and implacable Almighty for some unrecognized or forgotten sin? (Okay, okay, Ol’ Robbo knows he is very much due to put in some time in the Box. But still….)

Well, consider the evidence.

Last year (our first for this vacation arrangement), we hadn’t even cleared the outer Murrland suburbs of Dee Cee on our way north before the Honda Juggernaut died on us, requiring us to find a rental to continue the trip up to Connecticut and then buy Mrs. R a new ride on the return home. (Well, pick it up, anyway. Mrs. R spent much of the week on the phone actually negotiating the purchase.)

This year? We had not been at our summah place 24 hours before Middle Gel, minding Port Swiller Manor for us, sent a video showing that the septic had stopped up and spewed a lot of water and debris out the ground floor potty and down into the basement.

So, I ask again: Is Ol’ Robbo wrong in beginning to suspect a pattern? Maybe. But I think not. I think not.

Grrrrrr……

Well, the good news (if there is any) is that preliminary concerns that the stoppage was the result of root penetration or other collapse of the drainage pipe proved unfounded, and that it really just needed to be jetted out. (It occurred to Ol’ Robbo later that what at first I thought looked like dirt spewed up the pipe was prolly just coffee grounds, of which a small amount finds its way down the sink on a regular basis.) So, while we got socked for all the effort to locate and deal with the issue, at least the cure didn’t involve digging up large chunks of the Port Swiller Manor demesne to get at the septic tank or drainage fields.

Meanwhile, due to all the water that wound up in the basement, both the HVAC and the water-heater automatically cut out. (At first, Ol’ Robbo thought the heater – which is elderly – had chosen this moment to go toes up, too, out of shear cussedness.) But I was able to instruct Middle Gel over the phone on how to reset the HVAC, and our handyman is arranging fans and dehumidifiers to dry things out to allow the water-heater to come back on line.

So, not as bad as it could be, thank Heaven, and certainly not enough to harsh Ol’ Robbo’s mellow after the initial alarum and confusion. (Ol’ Robbo’s on his much-needed vacation, dang it, and it’ll take a lot more than this to keep me from seeing it through.)

That said, if something like this happens again next year, then I’ll know it’s a curse and will take my hols elsewhere. (Ol’ Robbo hears Amityville, Cuesta Verde, California, and the Overlook Hotel in Colorado are nice this time of year….)

UPDATE: Hot water is back on, so Ol’ Robbo really can go home now. .

Gratuitous Holiday Eve Random

July 23, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Historickal Musings, Literary Musings, Musickal Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Root, Root, Root For The Home Team! | 2 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yes, Ol’ Robbo made it! This evening starts two weeks of glorious summah hols for me. Sure, today I solemnly went through the office hoops of pledging that while out I would monitor my email and respond promptly to time-sensitive matters, but in reality? Ha ha ha. *

Anyhoo, a few bits of this and that as I begin to unknit the raveled sleave of care ** for a fortnight. (Has Ol’ Robbo mentioned how very tired he is? I have? Well, it’s true.)

With that: The lovely and talented Sleepy Beth writes of the frog serenade cacophony surrounding her sylvan abode. Ol’ Robbo has posted here before about the same sort of musick emanating from along the creek just inside the wood line behind the Port Swiller Manor back fence, which he’s always thoroughly enjoyed, although I can’t say that it has ever reached a volume here to disturb either my repose or my slumbers.

And on that note, Ol’ Robbo will once again refer to Georg Philipp Telemann’s rayther eccentric violin concerto called “The Frogs”, the name of which you will instantly understand when you listen. It’s a favorite of Robbo’s, and it amuses me intensely that Telemann and J. S. Bach were such friends despite (or maybe because of?) the fact that Georg was capable of this kind of whimsy while Johnny Bach never would have dreamed of it. (Ol’ Robbo can’t figure out the performance in the link above, but he personally owns the recording by Philip Pickett and the New London Consort, which also contains some of Telemann’s other more “out there” compositions. Crows and bells and satyrs and Rube Goldberg glockenspiels. Highly recommended.)

Speaking of the sounds and sights of nature, it has become a custom of Ol’ Robbo’s round about this time of year to post about the bats that flitter around over the Port Swiller Manor backyard during the summah, but truth be told I haven’t actually seen any this year. Whether this is because I’ve just been too distracted to notice them or because there’s an actual reduction in the local population, I cannae say. I just mention the observation. In either case, too bad, since Ol’ Robbo loves him those bats.

And finally, speaking of bats, how about Ol’ Robbo’s Beloved Nationals, who are having their best season since they won the Series in 2019? You know what this year reminds me of? The 2011 season, when, after years of miserable flailing about after they first came to Dee Cee, things suddenly*** started to click. I recall they finished not much over .500 that season, but it led to a series of pennants and playoff appearances throughout the following decade and culminating in the said 2019 Series win. If nothing else, the new management and coaching crew have shown this year that they know what they’re doing.

Okay, Ol’ Robbo doesn’t believe his Nats have any real chance of nabbing a wildcard spot this year, and Heaven only knows how that will affect their behavior at the trade deadline. (Hopefully not at all: They’ve a solid young core and their starter rotation is improving. Ol’ Robbo would say don’t mess it about. However, they desperately need to do something about their bullpen whether they are contenders or not, so who knows.)

Well, what else is there to say except:

GO, NATS!!!!!!

*** Specifically, June 23, 2011, when Yan Gomes scored a walk-off run from third on a sac fly in the 9th, giving the Nats a sweep of the Mariners. As it happened, Ol’ Robbo was at that game with an office outing. Around said office, Ol’ Robbo has always been very staid and quiet. But something about baseball brings out the Inner Enthusiast in me and I remember whooping and hollering like a maniac all through that game, and especially at the end. And all around, my office colleagues “look’d at each other with a wild surmise – silent, upon the upper deck down the left field line.” ****

Good times. Good times.

(I also remember that game because it was the one immediately after which Manager Jim Riggleman quit because the Front Office didn’t then and there want to discuss his future contract. Ol’ Robbo cannot say in hindsight that this was any great loss for us.)

* Oh, who the heck is Ol’ Robbo kidding? In fact, I’m taking both my work phone and my work laptop with me.

** William who? Never heard of him.

**** Pace Mr. Dennis Coot *****

***** Spot the reference. ******

****** Great Heavens, Ol’ Robbo is doing it again!! *******

******* This just in from Vizzini: “AAARGH!!!”

Gratuitous Din-Dins Observation *

July 22, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, Literary Musings, O! Tempora and So-Forth, Roman Catholic Boys for Art, The Home Fires, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | Leave a comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

One…more…day until Ol’ Robbo’s summah hols start. Huzzay! Huzzah!

(Ol’ Robbo again mentions this in passing, and also as a continued excuse for his lightweight bloviating this week. I cannot recall when I have been so very much drained from work when I was not actually in trial at the time.)

Anyhoo, what I wanted to bring to you friends of the decanter here specifically is a delightful discovery Ol’ Robbo made this evening.

Firsto, in the summah months, when he’s too hot and tired to bother with cooking, Ol’ Robbo sometimes makes a dinner out of fruit, cheese, Triscuits, and some form of cold sausage.** This past week, unable to procure me my usual said sausage with an Italian name that I cannot at the moment remember, Mrs. R got me a simple roll of generic summah sausage. Sliced up cold, it was okay I suppose, but honestly not more than a step or two over bologna.

Segundo, more or less once a week, Ol’ Robbo typically makes himself brekkers for dins: Eggs on toast, hashbrowns, some kind of meat. I decided to do so this evening despite the fact that I had neither bacon nor any Jimmy Dean products in the house. With respect to the last item, a little voice in the back of Ol’ Robbo’s braim said, “Tom? What would happen if you sliced up the rest of that summah sausage left over from Mrs. R’s last purchase and fried it up?” So, I did.

Whelp, Ol’ Robbo is here to tell you, friends of the decanter, that his decision was bang right: Applying the heat and crinkling the outer sides of the sausage slices brought out a level of flavor I never before knew existed. (You’d think that, given Ol’ Robbo’s fondness for Spam *** grounded in his misspent yoot to the extent that I usually keep a can or two of it in the pantry, that I’d have cottoned on to this idea of frying other composite meats sooner, but Ol’ Robbo has never pretended that he’s not a moron.)

Anyhoo, a most satisfactory meal. Share and enjoy! ****

* Abandon all hope, ye who are about to enter the asterisks below.

** Ol’ Robbo has always been the cook in the Port Swiller Manor family, both for himself and Mrs. R and the gels. Eh, a simple matter of upbringing and experience. Ol’ Robbo has never minded.

*** Shut UP! (Hmmph. Bloody Vikings!) *****

**** No, you need not stick your head in a pig. ******

***** Spot the quote.

****** Spot the reference.

(Yikes! Ol’ Robbo b’lieves he’s set some sort of personal best with cross-references and citations here. My apologies! Like I said at the top, I am really, really ready for a vacation!) *******

******* That said, Ol’ Robbo will be bringing the techno-doings with him on his hols and hopes to carry on his blitherings here throughout. “Endeavor to persevere!”********

******** Gawd help us, another spot the quote!

* Toldjah. Eh, Ol’ Robbo’s out of here. Pity the scorekeeper who grades this mess!

Gratuitous Random Workplace Observation

July 21, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, O! Tempora and So-Forth | 1 comment

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo continues his week of vacuous pre-(very much needed) vacay posting. Two days to go!

I sometimes wish that I could post more here about my job – the good, the bad, and the ugly – since it occupies so very much of my time and energy and since what Ol’ Robbo does has at least some modest impact on the world around us.

But it wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do. On so very many different levels.

P’raps when Ol’ Robbo retires, which I hope to do within the next three or four years, I will then be able to dial up a few war stories for the entertainment of you friends of the decanter. If, that is, those two or three remaining among you would be interested.

But, as intimated above, not yet. Not yet.

I will say here that there have been a great many changes down the shop in the last year and a half, including an enormous changeover in personnel. Again, Ol’ Robbo can’t get into all of it on a general philosophical, politickal, legal, or other meta grounds, but broadly speaking, I can hardly complain. Elections have consequences.

But with regard to individual situations? Aye, that’s a different matter.

Specifically, there’s one newbie fellah on my floor whose evident practice is to stride into the gents in the middle of a (speaker) conversation on his iThingy, do his biznay at the urinal, and then stride out, still in conversation, without washing his hands.

Ol’ Robbo does not think himself either a prude or, as the trick-cyclists like to phrase it, “anal-retentive”, but dude? Dude?

And it’s not as if the fellah is some young, clueless, hipster-doofus. I’d guess early 40’s. Sharply dressed and brimming with confidence. Otter know better, Ol’ Robbo should think, but prolly just doesn’t care.

Again, as per my cheesesteak query immediately below, is Ol’ Robbo so very wrong in his reaction? Or should I stop yelling at the clouds and resign myself to people dancing all over the Port Swiller Manor lawn?

Eh. Fortunately, the fellah’s not in my section so I don’t have to deal with him professionally, but still……

Gratuitous Random Lunchtime Observation **

July 20, 2026 in A Glass of Wine With You!, O! Tempora and So-Forth, What Would Basil Fawlty Do? | 3 comments

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ever since work-from-home was zapped a few years back and Ol’ Robbo had to again start slogging downtown every day to his job in the heart of Your Nation’s Capital, I’ve been in the habit of brown bagging my modest lunch (when I remember or have the time to eat at all). In part, this is a matter of economizing. Ol’ Robbo is not a rich man and a sammich and a bag of chips runs fifteen bucks or so these days. Multiply that by four or five times a week, and that by four or five weeks a month. Quite. Also in part, rumor says that the insistence on dragging us all back in originated in Dee Cee’s bewailing all the lost revenue on the taxation of goods and services (and food) that resulted from us drones staying put in the suburbs. So, in a way, Ol’ Robbo also likes to think that his brown bagging is a minor bit of Sticking it to the Man. (I do the same thing – and in part for the same reasons – with my daily kawfee. I have a little two-cup machine squirreled away behind my computer monitor. Against the Rules, but significantly cheaper than the alternative, plus a better-quality cup o’ joe.)

Anyhoo, despite all this, once in a way Ol’ Robbo will indulge himself with a locally bought sammich. And almost invariably this involves a cheesesteak from a little cafe up the street. Ol’ Robbo lervs him some cheesesteak. Indeed, I have been to the great Reading Terminal Market in Philthadelphia itself and experienced the Real Deal first-hand. (The last instance, Ol’ Robbo is happy to say, was among a bevy of work-colleague Vegans, who spent all of the lunch gabbing about their Vegan-ness, as is such persons’ wont to do. Ol’ Robbo kept quiet and munched away contentedly. Good times. Good times.)

So, the point of the matter is that I like to think Ol’ Robbo is not just being naive when, every time I order a cheesesteak from said little cafe, I’m puzzled at their astonishment that no, I don’t want lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, or Heaven knows what else on the bloody thing, I just want steak, cheese, and onions. Please. Thank you!

It would be one thing if they were simply laying out options. God bless ’em, and anyone who wants to take them up. Put jalapeños and Miracle Whip on your order for all Ol’ Robbo cares. But that they should look at me almost flabbergastedly for not wanting such additions, but instead my plain, simple, orthodox order as itself some kind of heresy? That’s what Ol’ Robbo can’t understand.

Is Ol’ Robbo wrong on this? I think not. I think not.

** Ol’ Robbo warned you friends of the decanter in the post below that he was going to post nonsense this week in anticipation of his much-needed vacation. Do not blame me now for wasting two to three minutes of your time in reading this one. It’ll prolly get worse.

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