A hint of this, a hint of that

We may be working on a doctorate in criminology, although this would cater to hints of our schizophrenia, trying to figure out how cons communicate through blogs, how to keep away followers, what works and what doesn't. But hinting at these sorts of things may actually produce traffic into our little peaceful and tranquil delusions, which may hint that we need major surgery with just a hint of lobotomy. So we'll take our hints to a different level.

Like the hint of mildew in your salad there is a hint of paranoia in many things we undertake these days. There is the not unfounded hint of discomfort of a stranger speaking to our children or grandchildren. A hint of awkwardness can prevail when you try to joke with uniformed security personalities and they show no response to your pleasantries. Even God can apparently get downright obnoxious with you if you even hint at frigging around with his omnipotence. Yes, some days you really wonder whether you are up to leaving your secure abode to open your soul to the fury and vengeance of the post good old days. At least you know the out come of vague hints that may undo the charms of your better half.

But even in our secure abode, laptop en-lapped, blogging away, hints of self doubt rise like clouds over the mountain tops of utter self confidence. Thoughts of our security forces ability to crack the codes of our unconscious keystrokes condemning us to the hints of ostracism which their no fly list can parlay on the unsuspecting adventurer sneak into our gooey grey matter. Much better to resort to the old diary and keep it locked up in the attic. It gives your more time if you leave it up there to set it on fire if there's the hint of a tribe of heavily armed combatants blending into the shadows of your scenic front yard.

So we close this little post with a hint of melancholy, that emotion along with paranoia, which reaches far into psychs of mammalians, as we forgo all hints and simply tell you your fly is wide open.