Welcome to the Gris Mill

Well, we're late to the party, but not too late to join in the fun. Little Geneva has turned at least a couple of little worlds upside down, and Badlands has rattled a few monkey cages as well. The talk over the White Picket Fence is straight with no chaser, and the Barn Cat has made life a little less cozy for some rather large rodents. The smoke signals at Paleface portend a kindling so longed for.

Hanging Chads may become a delusional fantasy of the two headed snake we call "democracy." The "long-haired men and short-haired women" shall flee when no man pursueth, as our Mrs. Blessed trees them between sips of tea. And they shall be gathered in the Political Cesspool before being hung out to dry for good.

We at the Gris Mill are just happy for the little task we have become so accustomed to, sweeping up the little bits that fall on the floor, and tossing them out to the chickens.