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.
To be buried one must be underground. Grant and his wife are entombed.
Grant liked cigars. With his re-election a fan bought him enough cigars to have one-a-day. He ended up dying of cancer related to smoking those cigars. This is the problem with being rich. Poor people can't afford a cigar-a-day habit.