Seriously...If anyone knows anything or has any way of reaching the guy, do so.Am I foolish to think that its odd for a proud vaxxer to just-- POOF! Up and vanish?!
Seriously...If anyone knows anything
Am I foolish to think that its odd for a proud vaxxer to just-- POOF! Up and vanish?!
No luck.
As pate suggested, take a look at BellGab facebook, if you can.https://www.facebook.com/groups/428665675033948K_Dubb used his name there ... Knut __________.
https://twitter.com/Breaking911/status/1448366341677793287https://twitter.com/PrestonTVNews/status/1448374545971236865What caused him to snap fam?
...And for millions, things just got a lot harder. The historic 18-month run of souped-up unemployment benefits has ended nationwide -- just after the Supreme Court rejected President Joe Biden's effort to extend the pandemic moratorium on evictions, leaving renters at risk unless Congress acts...
It all makes sense now!The government's pandemic help has run outDubya must have gotten a regular gig working the fairyferry he was talking about a few weeks back. He's a Full Timer now and doesn't have enough thyme to hang out!"Welfare Check" indeed, good one Azz! Ha!
On the death of Art BellThat voice which, nightly, kept awakeMy younger self when, years agoI dialed in the radioAnd fiddled with the little wireTo catch the signal, sparking fire,Through pops and fizzes in the night,Until I finally got it right,And, homed in on the glowing beam,I'd hear the thumping, pulsing theme,And that voice which every night would takeMe to strange places in the dark,Stoke curiosity's dim sparkWith things I ne'er before had heard,With thoughts both edgy and absurd,With possibilities profound,And, grandly marshaling them, the soundOf that voice. It brought with it the chillsOf wint'ry stars o'er barren hills,Of dusty winds and tumbleweed,Of hope that long since went to seed.A crusty, walled-off man, but oneWho, nonetheless, still sought the sunOf friendship, but now o'er the air,With people in the dark somewhere,Who, if they threatened to ensnare,Could be clicked off without a care.Chance friend, beware! Of that voice.It crackled with authorityAn anchor on an old tv.With urgency, it pled the caseThat truth is found behind the face;Despite the knowledge science bought,Some unknown things are worth a thought.Though oft it was, with chuckle wry,He let you know he did not buyEach fruity tale. He did not quail,But boldly squinted through the veil.He meted out each careful wordWhile, underneath it all, you heard,Eyes lifted from the mundane scene,The pedal-tones of nicotineIn that voice. The memory's an ache:Nostalgia's introspective gloom --It takes me back to that dark roomAnd taunts me with the boy i was,While veiling in a rosy gauzeYouth's struggles grim. I think of himAnd what are these wet things that dimThe corners of my eyes? I hearHim telling me about that cat,His warring with some bureaucrat,Him rocked by dark, paternal grief,His losses, hopes, his doubts, belief,A showman, true, but it's the pallOf sorrow, like confessional,The kinds of things you tell a friendThat makes you care and, in the end,It does endear. As his eyes closeThe world dissolves in static's noise,While sorrows, cares and earthly joys,Like distant stations, one by one,Are fading, while one signal grows.For everything that we hold dearIs bound by the ionosphere;But, maybe out behind the sun,For him, one station comes in clear,And now, he knows.
Wow! What would that even be like?
