Originally from Maryland, dear worst-reader. But don’t fault me for that. Don’t fault me on account, don’t you know, Maryland has given the world Kavanaugh. But I die-gress. After living in the golden cage of Germania for all these years, sometimes I need reminding of where I’m from. With a little help from my better-half, of course, she comes home here or there with just such a reminder. Indeed. Every once-a-once she brings something home that is supposed to remind me of who I am, where I’m from, what reared me. Little does she know the horrors that surge around my worst-mind. But that’s for another worst-blog, perhaps. Or. Are these little things supposed to do something else? #Nomatter. I allow the entertainment–especially in these times of covid and other pig capitalist misdeeds that have turned the world into a cesspool of shitfilth and other happy whatnot of demise. Yet here’s the thing. When I’m reminded of where I’m from I usually just give off a wink and thumb-up and then go about my merry bidness. Then, usually a day or two (or maybe more) later, I take another look at the reminder and realise: the world has my Maryland all wrong. But is that any wonder? I mean. Have you ever been to Maryland? It can be a nice place to visit but like so many other places… it’s just another shithole where one group of people can poop on another group of people and no one thinks once or thrice about any of it. Still. Some stuff irks me. Take a close look at the pics above. The “blue crab” isn’t quite right, don’t you know. In fact, to the best of my crab knowledge, that’s the image of a mud crab. Although the Schooner is a fine sailing vessel and deserves to have its image on a mini-bucket of oddly flavoured nuts, Maryland is not known for Schnooners. Maryland, especially the Chesapeake Bay, is known for its Skipjacks. But. Again. I die-gress.