Gumboots in pigshit

2017, Tuesday January 31st, the last day of a month that will go down in history as the month of the alternative facts and perhaps the birth of a global revolution.  It would of course be that the intentions of King Twitter come to full fruition, in that case there will be new monuments built and a few new commemorative days the future.  While the sawdust maker needs to, after a productive Monday in the workshop, position his back and arms in an uncomfortable way to maneuver to lace up his shoes, it turns out that for an American Customs officer, of Austrian descent, the handcuffing of a five-year old is done in a breeze. In the meantime the Acting Attorney General of the boar paradise was fired because she saw it as her duty to maintain the Constitution, Dutch bankers from the ING and ABN-Amro banks are admiring, with the pipes of their tailored suit in special gumboots, how tens of thousands of hectares of Canadian forest turns into a black landscape of steaming poison and tar.  They’re getting warm by the prospect of being allowed to invest in a thousands of kilometers long pipeline that will pump the produced oil in a straight line, with a trail of destruction, threatening nature and drinking water, to the refineries in the boar’s paradise. While Netherlands are confronted with their own blonde, talk show stool sticky, boar-policy defender, who in a discussion with a, inexplicably becoming more and more attractive ex-politician, tried to convince the television viewers, totally numb for the fundamental human rights, that you, during the run to escape from falling bombs and murderous terrorists, can easily wait a while, even three months.  Fortunately, this woodworker has a retreat, the walls of the 200 year old building are a meter thick and because of the insulated steel roof there is no Wi-Fi, G3 or G4 connection that invades the workshop and so the confrontation with all worldly woes remains limited to the news, coming through the laptop during the coffee ritual in the morning.  That is, if I'm not with my head stuck under the table because my back was bowed was once again too deep trying to lace up my shoes...