We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
When you sit in the blind awaiting the flight Of the white-breasted northern sprig, While they circle high and think to light, And they look so close and big, You whisper your pard, as you both crouch low, Now! Don't wait too long! You shoot too far and off they go; Whatever you do is wrong!
Then you curse yourself for a fool greenhorn, Your pride has had a blow; Sullen you sit and smoke and mourn, When in comes a bunch, fair low! You watch them circle round and round, Just let them work along! When off they swing, southward bound; Whatever you do is wrong!
And so, through life, a poor wretch tries To do what he thinks is right, To place his funds so that when he dies His family'll be sitting tight; To raise the young with the best in mind, And sometimes it works like a song, But often he finds like the man in the blind, Whatever you do is wrong!
Still, I think that the God who sits in His sky, And watches each man in his blind, When it comes time for the hunter to die, Surely, He'll keep in mind That each tried to do what it seemed he ought, And He'll put us where we belong; For He'll understand the fellow that thought Whatever he did was wrong!