top of page
  • ursafilms



Not sure I can live in a state known for its ticks.

Found the first Connecticut tick on the back of my head.

House hunting on hold.


Of course, given my somewhat contrarian personality, I did EXACTLY what you’re not supposed to do. I pulled the little f**ker off my neck; walked to the nearest hard surface; and ground it into compost.

And the little f**ker might be an appropriate metaphor for what has befallen the United States of America.

A small annoying pest, easily removed and destroyed, has set this formerly great country into a tailspin of fear. Am just, uh, gob-smacked still over this country's response . . . of lack thereof.

It's a tick, you floor mats.

Pull it out; toss it on the ground; and grind it into paste.

Good God. Why have we just given up.

0 views0 comments
bottom of page