That explains it, the inchoate sense of dread that I grew up with. There was a terrorist in the house. In the refrigerator, to be more specific, and a back-up on the shelf in the cabinet. In a recent article on the sfgate website, Divel McLean testifies: “I heard pop pop pop and I looked up and [the dressing] was possessed. It was going crazy. It was shooting up in the air, to the side. It sounded like a firecracker going off in the house…I will never eat Dorothy Lynch again. That stuff is crazy.” Acccording to the article, the estimate of damage to Ms. McLean’s house and property is $2,500.

In restaurants in Kansas where I grew up, you are given a choice of four dressings, “Ranch, Thousand Island, Italian, and Dorothy.” Both my parents always chose Dorothy. That explains the bottle in the refrigerator, and the back-up on the shelf. I suspected back even then that Dorothy was a health hazard. I am oddly relieved that it wasn’t paranoia.

In the current political mindset paranoia may be appropriate. I doubt Dorothy will be brought to justice. There are rumors she and Sarah Palin are neck ‘n neck for Secretary of the Interior. You don’t know what to believe, what with all the false websites. Someone in my Facebook feed sent me a link with explosive news: Dorothy is having an affair with the Pillsbury Doughboy. Will that disqualify her? Certainly not. Age inappropriate sexual congress is now enshrined as a family value. And, she is orange. Plus, it will cement her credibility as a military hawk. She may even be jockeying for Secretary of State. Rudy Giuliani is starting to feel her breath, her sweet sweet breath, on his neck.



  1. Richard, you sound like you spilling some marbles. You need not read any more Trump news for awhile! HAHAHA!!!

    • I thought I heard something. Every so often I find a buried marble in one of my gardens, but then they disappear again. That explains it.

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