Ranting, Futilely

Ranting, Futilely

I have a tiny bit of spaghetti left because I foolishly bought only one package last time I wanted to try spaghetti. I only bought one package because I wasn’t sure I could enjoy spaghetti yet.  These days I can eat almost anything, though there are still a few things that don’t quite make it. Last time I tried to eat spaghetti,  it didn’t work out.

This time I found that spaghetti sauce, even though it’s a sauce I used to like, tastes odd. But I managed to doctor it so it tasted OK. I’ve eaten almost all my spaghetti.  I’m thinking it might be nice to have a little more. I can’t of course. 

You know why. There isn’t any spaghetti.

Apparently with so many Italians ill or dying,  no more spaghetti can be manufactured. It’s all made in Italy, you know. That’s why people have to hoard several years’ worth of spaghetti.  Apparently human beings die if they don’t have enough spaghetti.

Or at least some kind of pasta, because all the other kinds are gone too.

I know I’m not the only person who finds all this obsession with hoarding things that are in plentiful supply (if only people would stop hoarding them) to be very frustrating.  I know a number of people who tried to “corner the market” on obsessively purchased items have had legal action taken against them.  It makes me wonder if there any laws still on the books from World War II which punished people for hoarding. If there aren’t, maybe we should reinstate them.

I will finish my rant by noting that you don’t have to worry about me. I have enough spaghetti left to make another batch which will give me two, or maybe even three meals. I also have plenty of other food. I guess I’m an abnormal human being who doesn’t require massive amounts of pasta in order to stay alive.  As long as the tortilla, onion, and cheese supply holds out in the stores, I shall survive.

Say…You don’t think just because I said that people are going start hoarding tortillas, onions, and cheese do you?

You know what?  Enough ranting for one night. As the Scriptures ought to say, sufficient unto the day is the ranting thereof. Tomorrow maybe another rant. Or maybe a rave.

I mean a traditional rave. You know, like a rant but a little less sane? Not the kind of party? I seem to be getting a little less sane here. I think I better go to bed.

I shall of  dream of fields of spaghetti.

Or maybe of a field with a picnic table in it that has a big bowl of spaghetti on it?

Good night.