When I was a kid saying the Lord’s Prayer, I THOUGHT they were saying, “Lead us not into temptation...but deliver us from Boll Weevils...” considering what Boll Weevils look like, it wasn’t an unreasonable request for a kid ... and it WORKED – I have NEVER been attacked by a boll weevil!!! Thank you, Lord.
No wind when I got home tonight, so took my little yellow plane out flying. Went to a football field across the street. A WIDE open football field. With two goal posts. Of course in all this HUGE, WIDE OPEN SPACE, I flew the plane directly into one of the goal posts. Goal posts, I learned, have a tendency to NOT move when hit by little, plastic planes. The plane moved, however, in about a thousand different directions. Glued the thousand pieces back together. And tried to get one more flight in for the night. Didn't notice that the wind had picked-up. IT FLEW!!! And it kept flying. Away. Far, far away. I lost sight of it. It's gone. I don't think this will be a case of "Lassie Come Home." It probably doesn't remember where I live. Hell I don't even remember where I live half the time.
Farewell little yellow plane. Sorry about the goal post thing. Be free.
Found a BEAUTIFUL flying field so took the Wild Hawk out for her maiden flight. Wide open field with one tree in it. I, of course, put the plane IN the one tree ... and spent 45 minutes poking it out of the tree with fishing rods taped together.
Never could get it to fly again though. It could never get enough lift to fly.
A family showed up and were watching as it repeatedly nose-dived into the ground, pieces flying everywhere. And the guy gets out of his car with his family ... with a plane ... I gave him the field ... his little plane SOARED into the heavens, circling and dipping and diving for a good 10 minutes. An INCREDIBLE flight equipped with a PERFECT damned landing.
HHJH just ran a bit about A Clockwork Orange and it reminded me of a story:
My wife and friends and I were at a sci-fi convention years back and entered the First Annual 1 Mile Fun Run. Except we entered as Droogies from A Clockwork Orange. 6 fully-costumed Droogies, a guy dressed as a cow, a seriously drunken fellow and one serious runner (the guy that organized the run).
It was a mile run and quite a few of the non-participating sci-fi attendees showed up to watch the race. As it was only a one mile run, even out of shape, hung over and dressed like Stanley Kubrik characters, it shouldn't have taken us more than 15 minutes to "run" 1 mile ... except, being Droogies, we HAD to cheat! So about 100 yards away from the start/finish line, beyond view of the spectators, we, the Droogs, had a car waiting for us, filled with beer/whiskey. All but the serious runner and the cow jumped in the car and drove off to the half-mile mark. And there we parked and partied. In a couple of minutes the real (and only) runner showed up, angry because nobody was taking this seriously. We told him we were taking our drinking seriously, besides, the cow came hoofing over the hill several minutes after that. We ALL got drunk. For about a half hour.
We'd forgotten about the spectators at the start/finish line. Ooops. But they hadn't forgotten about us, got worried, and sent out a search/rescue party that found 6 drunk Droogs, a REALLY drunken previously drunken fellow, an inebriated cow and one tipsy, pissed-off runner. So the search party joined us ... yes, they sent out ANOTHER search party to search for us AND the earlier search party. The second search party met the same fate as the first one and got drunk with us too.
We all decided to offer the remaining spectators an exciting end of the race. So EVERYBODY piled into and onto the car, drove back up the hill, just barely out of site and then had the car chase us Droogs up the hill and off into an adjacent parking lot past, but not OVER the finish line. We never finished the race. The cow and the runner staged a wind sprint to the finish. The cow won. The drunk was passed-out in the back seat of the car. And the real runner? Well, his shorts were cute, but he was bested by Bessie.
The First Annual Fun Run was also the Last Annual Fun Run.
Damn Droogies spoiled ALL the fun by cheating. The organizer/runner refused to speak to any of us the rest of the weekend. I mean, getting beaten by a drunken, out of shape cow is likely not the highlight of any runner's career.
My Doc made me stay home from work for 3 days. Fortunately, I'm house- and grandson- sitting this week. My daughter and son have a GORGEOUS house. And in that house is a hot tub. And in that hot tub am I (said Sam I Am).
I thought the idea was that you work hard all your life and you can get little luxuries. Like a hot tub. As usual, my thinker's on the fritz. My house has an UGLY pink bathtub that's WAY too short for me. Did I mention that it is ugly? And the only bubbles in it would need to be provided by me.
I must be doing something wrong.
Engh...back to my temporary jaccuzi...ahhhhhhhhh. My doctor told me to relax. She didn't mention anything about comatose. So it must be OK.
PS. I'm writing this post on my iPhone while IN the bubbling hot tub - the iPhone I had to purchase after killing my original one by getting a tiny drop of water in one of the ports. Like I said, thinker's on the fritz.
PSS. New family policy - a spin off of the Foreign Exchange Student Program - all of our family members must now switch houses for one month at a time ... 'cept whoever gets Sue's and my house is kind of like volunteering for duty in Siberia.
I drove myself to the ER yesterday after work. I had "strange "attacks" 5 times that day. Was in there a month ago for the same thing.
My nurse last night, let's just call her Helga, was not well-endowed in the bedside manner department. I got spoken to sternly for not remembering the name of the doctor that saw me in the hospital a MONTH ago ... I can't even remember my own name at times. "Pretty important thing to not be remembering," was her comment. And then she gave me the Mommy Stare, followed of course by a pregnant pause. Pissed me off! I thought the general idea was to NOT induce your patient to have a heart attack. ???
Fortunately, her shift was over quickly so she crawled back into her cave and was replaced by a caring nurse that uderstood that it is not a common attribute of normal people to remember doctor's names when they're stressed out in the hospital.
As it turns out, after checking my records, I wasn't seen by a cardio doc last time I was in. Maybe that's WHY I couldn't remember his/her name. Ya think?
Snails and cake. That's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it, uh huh, uh huh. I'm gonna' start the voting - 1 vote for BEST CAKE ON THE PLANET. Uber-moist chocolate cake, with mousse filling and fudge icing resting in a pool of vanilla berry swirl sauce garnished with fresh fruits and whipped cream. UN-BEE-LEE-VUH-BUHL!!! Snails, however, are slimy things that creep across your garden. So even though they're good, no votes for them.
Is it just me, or does anyone else see the shadows of Lisa, Bart and Madge Simpson on the banks of Niagara Falls?(I swear, I didn't retouch this. I took this shot BECAUSE I saw the shadows.) I guess Homer went over the falls in a barrel. Maybe they'll rename the boat, the Madge of the Mist. ?
This is the view from my room. I'm going to defect to Canada and spend my time in the hot tub eating chicken wings looking out the window - yes, there's a window in the bathroom that allows you to see the falls while bubbling away in the hot tub.
The house payment has been made for this month. Good luck. Don't try to find me. I've changed my name to Jules and I now wear a beret.
After demolishing my first plane, the first day, I decided to get a trainer so I can actually LEARN how to fly first. 4 foot wingspan on this puppy! Even sounds like a real plane. I was a good boy and overcame the desire to fly on a windy day. What REALLY attracted me to this plane is it's "anti-crash" program. There are two sensors in the plane, one on top that sees light colored sky and one below that sees dark colored ground - if the sensors both see sky, that means the sucker is nose diving into the ground - so the micro processor takes over control and levels out the flight. That's the theory anyway. I bought glue just in case.
And GOOD NEWS!!! My wife didn't kill me when I told her I bought another plane! Cool!
Maybe I ought to try asking for a Harley again. Or then again, maybe it's best to NOT press my luck.
(Keep humming that tune as you read this - that'll put you in the proper state of mind for this story. After you get done with the first line of lyrics, just repeat them or sing, "Duhn, da duhn, duhn, duhn ... etc" like I do, because I don't know the rest of the song, unless you happen to KNOW the rest of the lyrics. And I DEFY you to get that song out of your head now that it's planted there.)
The P51 Mustang story (happened yesterday):
When I was a kid I flew control-line, gas powered airplanes. I always dreamed of owning a radio control plane, but I couldn't afford one. Still can't afford one, but bought one anyway. This is my new P51D Mustang. It has a 35" wing span so it's a LOT bigger than anything I used to fly.
Actually, I bought two. My big plane (in the pictures above) won't arrive until next week. I found a smaller, putsy version of the P51 at a local hobby shop and took to the skies yesterday. In hurricane-force winds. Not knowing how to fly radio control.
I took it across the street to a neighborhood school. It was sundown. Literally. My God, it had the makings of an epic fly-boy film, sun setting in a deep blue sky, wind in my hair, bad guys lurking in the tangerine-colored clouds - "I'll get 'em, Colonel, Sir!!!" - and with the lyrics, "Oh, off we go, into the wild blue yonder" in my head, my plane and I broke the surly bonds of Mother Earth.
For about 10 seconds.
Let me stop for a moment and explain that EVERY instructional site I visited on the Internet, said, and I must quote, "DO NOT FLY IN HEAVY WINDS!" But you see, what they don't understand is that I am DIFFERENT. I've FLOWN model airplanes before. Though those earlier planes were attached to wires that I held while I spun around in circles. And I fly in jets frequently - flying to Canada Monday as a matter of fact. Don't they know that the basic rules don't apply to a Veteran of the Sky? I SPIT on your rules, sir!
OK, back to the maiden voyage of my P51...
The plane accelerated across the concrete basketball court, deftly missing the goal thingies and she lifted into the sky. She made an unexpected bank to the left, but my years (???) of training automatically kicked-in and I corrected to the right. Ahhhhhh, level flight. Then I calmly banked her around until she was headed back toward me. It was at this point that I freaked-out because with the plane facing me, port (left to you commoners) is now starboard (right) and vice versa. Also about this time, the wind, which was much higher at about 25 feet of altitude, just SMACKED my little plane from behind and threw it into a dive. A dive I made worse by getting left confused with right - SCREW starboard and port, I'm fighting for my life here! And BAM! Nose dive into the ground from about 25 feet. The plane appeared to have survived. YAYYY! But in my panic, I forgot to kill the throttle (let off the gas). So after it bounced, up it went again. AAAAAAGGGHHHH!!! This time it went straight up, like a rocket. I backed off the throttle immediately and to my amazement executed an advanced aerobatic manuever - the plane just hovered about 8 feet off the ground, hanging from it's propeller. (I shall name it The Dingle-Berry Manuever.) COOL! But the wind smacked it again and swatted it to the ground. Upside down. SPLAT. So much for cool. Uh, she didn't come back up fighting this time. Nor did she bounce. The plane became "as one" with the ground.
10 seconds of disastrous flight and the foam tail was broken in three places. The wing tip was no longer the tip. And the nose cone now resembles that of our pugs.
And you know what REALLY sucks? There were a gang of little kids and their families practicing football at the opposite end of the field ... what were once spectators had become witnesses.
With my tail between my legs, I picked-up the pile of foam shards that was a plane only 10 seconds before and headed home. Short flight.
I'LL RETURN, YOU BASTARDS!!! Nobody can shoot down the Ace of Indiana and NOT pay for your insulence!!!
Post Note: it ain't as pretty, but Gorilla Glue works GREAT on foam! I'll have to drill a few "bullet holes" in the wings for effect. And to explain all the damage in a manly manner.
Post-Post Note: Now I'm afraid to fly my big plane when it arrives. Maybe I'll just hang it from fishing line, in attack pose, over my bed and look at it.
Spent the entire day/night in the University of Louisville Hospital Emergency Room for a family matter.
As I understand it, the UofL ER is a "level one" facility. What does that mean? I found out. It means they can turn no one away. And for some reason, it is considered a "Stroke Center" which is the family business that brought us there. First let me say my Dad is fine ... I simply MUST write about what I saw though.
First, we have the KGB doctor. 6' 3", long white lab coat, never smiled, never worked on a single patient or looked at a file - he just strolled around staring at people. For 8 hours. I kept expecting him to come over and bark, "You vill show me yoor papers und you vill show zem to me NOW!" My Dad and I eventually figured his specialty must be leprosy and it just wasn't a hot night for lepers.
Next we have the singing drunk. They wheeled him by on a gurney and he was singin' a love song at the top of his lungs. If this guy sounded that good laying down and drunk, I can only imagine him singing upright and sober. Look out American Idol (just hide the MD2020).
Another of his brethren, claimed to have a broken neck from being hit by a car though he was jumping up and down off the stretcher just fine - HE started hooting like an owl later from a distant room. Eerie.
I heard a cow mooing. Pretty sure there were no bovines on the floor.
Then there's the fellow that came in around midnight that was so plastered he actually tried to seduce the rather attractive female police officer that had handcuffed him to the gurney. Sounds kinky? No, he was blowing his nose in his sheets and fake barfing in a bag for attention. It didn't work.
Around 1 am, my father was sleeping so I tried to catch a few winks. The cows were softly mooing, and old man owl was hooting just at the edge of the holler just as I dozed off ... only to be awakened by another nurse at 1:45, "It's time to go. Simply click your heels together 3 times and follow the yellow brick road."
Every other day, someone tells me ... that I look like Stephen King. I travel frequently and airports are a hotspot for having people ask me. Sometimes 2 or 3 times in the same airport.
My wife and I were recently in San Francisco and a group of nouveau-hippies, sitting on the sidewalk singing joyous hippie songs, thought I WAS Stephen King. They stopped singing long enough to ask for an autograph. I just kept walking, ignoring them. My wife played it up by telling them, "Sorry, Mr. King isn't signing autographs today." I reminded my wife that Charles Manson and his hippie crew were from California too, best to just leave singing hippies alone and not upset them. (I also noticed they had cell phones - NO self-respecting hippie would EVER carry a cell phone ... just us 55 year old hippie sell-outs.)
I don't like playing up the whole Stephen King look-alike thing. I did, however, autograph a Red Lobster coaster for our waitress one time. But I misspelled it as S-T-E-V-E-N ... guy's an author and can't even spell his own name right!
Went to an antique bookstore in Salt Lake City several years back and the owner starts carrying on a conversation with me ... I have no clue of what he's talking about, but I'm politely nodding my head as if I'm following the conversation ... come to find out, Stephen had been in his store several times in the past ... the owner thought I was Stephen making a return appearance and was chatting with me/him.
My favorite episode was in a restaurant in San Antonio. I'd gone to dine by myself and read a book (not a King book, though I do read his books - The Dark Half is one of my favorite books) so asked for a secluded corner. As I ate, I noticed more and more employees appearing and standing around the server-station near my table. I remember thinking, "Damn, this staff sure spends a lot of time just standing around whispering to each other. And 3:30 in the afternoon's an odd time for a shift change." I paid with a credit card and my waitress looked at the name on the card, looked at the large group of employees milling around and shook her head - no, it wasn't Stephen, just dumbass Rick. They were disappointed and disbanded. I wasn't - the steak was GREAT!!!
A bunch of old boats, the Ninja, the Pinto and the Santa Claus came to Louisville today ... 'cept Columbo split in the Pinto leaving his buddies behind. I have no idea where they came from, I slept through History Class. But I think they discovered Cicinnatti, or something like that.
Not really. I was a James Bond fan living in England. And let's get this straight at the get- go ... there is only one James Bond - Sean Connery. Period.
Back in the 60's kids toys could be downright dangerous. None of this Safety Commission crap. Our stuff blew up, shot projectiles, and had tiny pieces that we could swallow (we enjoyed chewing on them).
One sunny Eglish afternoon my brother, two friends and I armed ourselves with spud guns - a toy gun made out of metal that was crammed into a potato thus creating a spud projectile that you could shoot a pretty good distance.
So we decided to do a 007/James Bond attack from an overhead bridge on a speeding commuter train on the tracks below. We hid behind the bridge rail and when the train sped through, we'd jump up and unload our full arsenal of potato pellets on the unsuspecting commuters below.
The only problem is that the commuters thought it was a real attack and reported us.
English Bobbies are very proper. They captured us and when inspecting our weapons discovered the incorrectness of reporting this as a terrorist attack. "THIS is what you've been shooting at the trains? Bits of potato?"
And though we fully expected to be hauled off to Scotland Yard and be placed in stocks - that didn't happen. They told us to just go home and cease firing upon the commuters.
No fun for REAL desperados. We need a REAL mission Angent M!
This one goes in the Creative Excuses gategory. I don't know how I got away with it. I shouldn't have:
When I was 9, I learned how to play golf. My dad taught me that practice makes perfect. So one day, I had come home from school and grabbed my 9-iron for a little practice. Except I wasn't allowed to go outside if my parents weren't home yet. So I was practicing in the living room. On the shag carpet. Yes, shag, it was the 60's.
I wasn't aware, until that day, that a 9-iron WILL take a divot (fancy golf word for hunk) out of the carpet the same as it will grass.
I tried sticking the hunk of carpet back in it's place, but it came out with the slightest touch. Didn't have time for glue. Might as well face the fact, I'm going to die when my parents get home.
But I'd been raised properly to know the difference between right and wrong.
So I lied. And it was a whopper too. I told them that I had JUST come in the room and saw our puppy ripping a hunk out of the carpet. Darn ol' puppy!
Shameful. Dear God forgive me ... I framed a sad-eyed puppy. Going to hell. Going to hell.
To this day, I have no clue whether my parents were naive enough to believe that or so amused by my creativity that they just let it go.
Thank GOD they didn't discipline the puppy.
His name was Happy. He got run over by a car several years later, so our secret went with him to the grave. I was 46 years old before I finally told my parents about that. They didn't even remember it.
... lasted less than 15 minutes. I was 10 and joined a kid's football league. My coach taught me that when I tackled to put my head down, spread my arms and hit the other guy HARD and below the knees. So I did. My very first tackle was AWESOME! Only I didn't think so ... I nearly bit my own lip off, was bleeding everywhere and it hurt like HELL! I walked straight off the field and kept on going, straight home. Never to play football again.
So, now that I think about it - I had a PERFECT football career, one perfect tackle and no losses.
Sitting in the lobby of this posh hotel in Mobile. I'm wearing jeans, tennies, and a cheap fake-suede coat from Walmart ... everybody else is wearing black suits. Maybe they're paying respect to Patrick Swayze. They're all staring at me. Even the stained glass is watching me. I need to get out of here.
So my coworker and I are driving today from New Orleans to Mobile Alabama for business. We're taking our sweet time so I'm driving 60-65 mph in a 70 zone. Other drivers are blowing past us like we're sitting still.
Just ahead, there's a car going slower than me. It's an Alabama State Trooper. I don't like passing cops, but he was going well under the speed limit and so was I. So no harm, no foul.
I'm past him and still in the left passing lane when I see him accelerate up behind me. Now he's following close behind. WTH??? Jeremy and I were doing and/or carrying NOTHING illegal. But we're starting to freak out ... we've both seen Smokie and the Bandit. And it's not like were driving a slick-looking car, it was a putsy rental for God's sake.
He drops back a bit and we sigh a collective sigh of relief. But I see him accelerating in the right lane now and he pulls right up beside us and matches our speed. At this point I can't even draw a breath, I'm getting so nervous and we've done NOTHING wrong. But I'm sure as hell not going to make eye contact (which is probably what I SHOULD have done - I have no clue WHAT he wants us to do!).
He backs off again allowing me to finally move back into the right lane. And now he accelerates up to the LEFT side of the car and matches speed. Now I'm getting pissed. You wanna' pull me over for whatever, flip on your lights and DO IT! But quit screwing with me. Guy could have caused a wreck. When he wasn't blocking the lanes, other people were continuing to fly past us. He didn't give a shit about that, he's busy playing tag with us Yankee Boys.
Eventually he dropped back and vanished in traffic. Though I'm glad we didn't get pulled over, I'd love to have known what that turkey was up to.
1. My wife and I have built a home theater system with full, window-shattering surround sound, bluray, and a 50" 1080p monitor. Suck THAT, Mr. Cinema! We can BUY two films for the price of seeing ONE in the cinema. And we can stop the film to take a piss, thank you very much.
2. When we go to a theater, we ALWAYS, without fail, get the most obnoxious people sitting behind us that kick our seats, and TALK through the whole damn film!!!
3. True story: up until yesterday, the last time I was in a theater was to see "Hunt for Red October". And this is why: the film, Hunt for Red October BREAKS with about 2 minutes left to go and rather than fix it, the theater just turned on the house lights and everybody got up and left ... WTF!!! I'm not going ANYWHERE until I see the end of the friggin' movie or I get my money back! So I hunt down the manager. I express my concern and demand - HIS solution? - he says, and I quote, "Oh there was only two minutes left, you didn't miss anything important" and he proceeds to tell us what happens in the missing two minutes!! SHUT UPPPP! I seriously doubt the director of the film intended that the closing scene be delivered by some polyester-wearing punk being paid five bucks an hour! Idiot.
After I ranted and raved for 5 minutes, he finally agreed to give us our money back AND a free pass for a future film. Like I said, I didn't go back to any theater again until yesterday. Showed them, huh?
My grandson wanted to go see the new animated flick "9" yesterday. Sounded like fun - I haven't been to a theater since "Hunt for Red October" was released. Yeah, it's been a while. There's a reason why I stopped going and I'd forgotten until yesterday.
Don't get me wrong. Spending "guy time" with my grandson was WAY COOL! And the animation was AWESOME. Unfortunately, the script was as transparent as Saran Wrap. But being with my Bud and the animation made it worth every cent.
I was to find out that it would cost LOTS of cents. LOTS and LOTS. A second mortgage worth.
We went to the early matinee. The last matinee I went to was, well, uh, in 1965 - Goldfinger. Cost then? 25 cents. Cost for two of us to see "9" - $14!!!
Oh, screw it. It's only money. (You know, whoever came up with that saying probably had a LOT of IT!)
A movie is NOT a movie without popcorn. Right? Of course, back in 1969, popcorn was 10 cents. Not knowing what sizes S-M-L would actually be, volume-wise, I ordered a LARGE. A truck backed up to the counter, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP and dumped a load of popcorn into a grocery bag. Cost - $14!!!! Had the Native Americans known the true value of teaching the Pilgrims how to pop corn, they wouldn't have done it and there would be roadside stands today featuring Pocahontas Popped Corn. History would have been rewritten.
So into the movie we go, grocery bag o' corn in hand.
About 30 minutes into the film, I discover that scientists have been toying with the genetics of popcorn. Popcorn has now been engineered as such to instill MAXIMUM thirst in a MINIMUM amount of time. I go to the consession stand for further fleecing. My eyes SAW the price of a SMALL soft drink on the menu, but my brain blocked what it had seen as being impossible. The woman hands me the drinks and mutters, "AID dollup spleez." having no clue of what she just said, I asked her to repeat it. She did. "Eight dollars, please." .... for two SMALL drinks?! I didn't ask to have 20-year old bourbon in them, just ice, water, corn syrup and flavoring.
So back in the theater I go. Climbing the steps wasn't too hard this time, even with the drinks in hand, probably the absense of weight caused by the absence of money.
But you know what? Doesn't matter. I had a GREAT TIME with my buddy. And THAT makes it all worth while.
Ever seen a show with a fellow that owns a cat that talks, drives a Schwan's truck, plays bridge, drinks "scotches and sodas" and is one bad-ass quilter??? Oh yeah, and she (Pearl) has a sexy Russian accent.
Meet my coworker, Josh Keown, and his cat Pearl. Josh and a bunch of other very talented folks have produced a 6-part Internet video series called, "The Pearl and I", that's running on Funny Or Die. The first episode aired on 09.09.09 - oddly enough on the day that was proclaimed, "NO CATS ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB DAY". God, I love the web.
Check it out and vote Funny! Josh needs the votes. He's actually a poor black child in Oomboobway Africa. For every Funny vote he receives, his cat Pearl will be given a single piece of Kibble. So, in a way, the kitty's life and a little black boy's happiness depend on YOU! Vote NOW ... helping a destitute and his kitty is a GREAT WAY to get your weekend started.
AAAAARRGGHH! Look at the size of that sucker. He/She is, uh, no longer "with us". But not without a fight ... It chased me (really) ... Then I chased it and then the cycle repeated several times.
According to wikipedia, it was probably a deadly black mamba spider from deepest, darkest Uganda. Either that or a common wood spider from Jeffersonville. My money's on the mamba. Scared the poop out of me.
I was once given the Indian name, "Loses Keys at Check In". For some strange reason, even with all the travel I do, I haven't lost a single room key in decades (I probably shouldn't have said that.). So it's time for a change. My new, self-assigned Indian name is, "Destroys iPhone in 90 Days". It's appropriate.
The plumber was here less than 2 hours. Parts totalled $4.18. Total bill - $423.00 ... 200 F**KING DOLLARS PER HOUR!!! I don't think GOD makes that much! Why would anybody that makes $400,000.00 a year WANT to put their hands in other people's shit? Probably to MAKE $400,000.00, I guess. Good thing the sink's working now because I puked in it. FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE DOLLARS ON A CHARGE CARD AT 24% INTEREST!!!!!????? And this REALLY pissed me off - the plumbing snake that I broke off in the pipe and couldn't get loose? ... my wife said he spent about 30 seconds on it - he pulled it right out, the nasty stuff that was clogging the sink came with it and the sink was fixed! It cost $142 to pull out the snake and reattach two pipes that it took me about 30 seconds to attach myself ... BLLAAHHGERFFLABULLY!!!
I'm pretty sure we just bought another episode of Ghost Hunters with that kind of cash.
This is official notice, I'm going to go to trade school and become a plumber/banker/lawyer (I'd toss in car salesman too, but I'd have to do the honorable thing and commit harikari). I'm going to call my new company "Ream-Yur-Ass Inc." ... It works for all three professions and cuts to the chase.
For the last year or so, 24/7, my neck has felt like someone's cramming a needle into it ... so today the doctors stuck a needle into my neck repeatedly to see WHY it feels like someone is ... sticking a needle in there ... but first, they stuck a needle in there to deaden my neck so it wouldn't hurt when they ... stuck a needle in there ... !!!??? Confused? Me too. Now it REALLY hurts!
Remember in the cartoon, The Roadrunner, when the Coyote would accidentally tap a bottle of nitro glycerin - and it exploded, blowing him up too? ... The guy in the bed next to me is screaming into his telephone, "(some sort of gibberish followed by) MY F**KING HEAD KNOWS WHAT TO DO, BUT MY MOUTH JUST WON'T-AH-SAY IT." This is at 2435 decibals of volume with the TV at 2436 decibals ... I want to end it all - he's making me crazy(er) ... back to the Roadrunner ... they just replaced my nitroglycerin patch ... I tried hitting it as hard as I could, farewell cruel world ... damn thing won't explode. But now my chest is bruised.
Amendment to above post: Three people are now visiting the other fellow, Farmer Jim (bib overalls and all), Lonella-Lynn and Oscar, they're ALL talking loud enough to wake the morgue ... I'm POUNDING on the nitro patch ... F**king Coyote ... F**king Coyote ...
Amendment to the amendment: while they were (are) all screaming, the lab tech came in to get blood ... I HATE NEEDLES ... she missed the vein ... so she went exploring with the needle ... F**king Coyote ... F**king Coyote
Third amendment: Lonella-Lynn just stuck her head around the curtain and was looking at me ... WTF? I took off my headphones and she yells, "YOUR PHONE WAS RINGIN' DARLIN', BUT I THINK IT DONE QUIT." How the f**ck am I supposed to hear my phone with the four of them yelling over there?
Our bathroom sink is completely clogged. So I tried plunging it. After three DAYS of fruitless plunging, I'd managed to slosh 90% of the water out of the sink and onto the floor. Partial success. Big mess. But the sink was (is) still clogged. I poured the nastiest drain cleaner I could find, the stuff with a skull and crossbones on the label, into it and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Tried plunging AND the drain cleaner. Poured the whole damn bottle in there. Nothing. Got pissed off and decided to get away from it all for awhile and let my blood pressure lower. Came back and the drain cleaner has eaten the plunger. Yes, it has started dissolving it. WTF? It won't dissolve the clog but EATS the damn plunger!? So now there's partially melted, black rubber, mixed with green, nuclear-toxic fluid in my sink and I'm afraid to touch it. It might bite. I think it's alive.
Death, you know, aka the Grim Reaper? ... the guy all dressed in black? ... comes to visit all of us eventually? Well Old Grim's been doing his thankless task since humans first invaded the planet. And not only has he been performing his duty for millions of years - he does it night and day, 24/7/365. That's a LOT of overtime.
So he's decided enough's enough and he's retiring next week.
His job cannot be left vacant however or the Earth's population would implode. Therefore, auditions for his replacement are being held this weekend (9-6 Sat. and 9-5 Sun.).
- You MUST look good in black - You MUST be able to ride a gallant steed - You MUST be available for night and weekend work - Familiarization with the scythe is a plus
Mere mortals need not apply. Goths will be turned away at the door.
We're still in California and just got urgent word that there's a crisis brewing in our backyard. Seems the racoons are demanding that we release their leader, whom we captured last week as he was trying to steal another one of our bonsai trees. They say that if we fail to release him - the neighbor's kitten get's whacked. Sorry, Kitty, but you're goin' to that Great Litter Box in the Sky.
Sue and I, having reverted back to our inner hippie-dom here in San Francisco, have taken up eating seaweed, donning sandals, wearing flowers in our hair and chanting protests in the public square ... "SCREW LOUISVILLE, WE AINT NEVER GOING BACK! SCREW LOUISVILLE, WE ..." until we got arrested - now we've started an eating strike at the jail (it's the opposite of a hunger strike - you eat SO much they can't afford to keep you incarcerated). But the jail threw us out and told us to just "Get the Hell out of town."
"HELL NO, WE WON'T GO! HE'LL NO, WE WON'T GO! ..."
I'm an artist, so a bit off-center. My latest hobby is one from my childhood: model airplanes. But as boys get bigger, so do their toys, these are radio controlled. Some are smaller, some are are pretty darn big. But there are REALLY big ones available - I want those, of course. If you're ever looking for me, I'm either downstairs rebuilding planes or out at some field flying (or wrecking) them.
I've been plagued since birth by an imaginary villain I refer to as the Crazee Magnet. These are the chronicles of the Crazee Magnet and a look inside my extremely screwed-up way of looking at life.
These are always in a constant state of repair/disrepair. So there are only two or three flying at any one time.
E-flite Carbon-Z Yak 54
My absolute favorite plane to fly.
Great Planes Reactor Bipe .61
Been building this for a year. Saito 125 with Pitts smoke muffler. Should be sweet. Long, chunky biplane 58 inches long, 48 inch wingspan.
E-flite Pitts Model 12 15e
Gorgeous plane. First "real" plane I ever bought.
Hangar 9 P-51 PTS
This is a BEAUTIFUL, easy to fly plane. Wingspan is just shy of 5 feet so it has a real prescence on the field. My favorite nitro plane.
Great Planes Shoestring
Throwback to the older days of racers. GORGEOUS, foam with sheeting wings and fiberglass fuselage. Got an electric motor in it (Skorpion) big enough to power my KIA! Not ready to fly this one yet. Taking my time on the build.
Great Planes Combat Corsair
Still under construction.
Hangar 9 Twist
Old trim scheme - MUCH better than the new one below. I have both though.
Hangar 9 Twist
New trim scheme. Boring.
E-flite F-15 Eagle
My first jet. Under construction. Retractable landing gear are WAY COOL, but are driving me nuts trying to set them up! Twin EDF motors scare our dogs. Scare me too!
If I ever get this plane finished and can learn to keep the plane above ground, I'll be flying this one as a pylon racer. Will have Thunder Tiger Pro .40 up front.
E-flite P-40 Warkhawk
This tiny plane is a BLAST! With only a 25" wing span and 21" in length, I can fly it across the street at the park. It's fun doing imaginary strafing runs on trash cans and other such targets of evil.
Under construction. Will have OS 55 up front.
Parkzone P-51, modified
Awesome foamie! I've replaced the motor with a Power 10, 40 amp esc and 2200mAh 3s. It moves.
Parkzone F4U Corsair
Constantly flying and breaking this beautiful foam bird.
Parkzone T28 480 size and UMX
Have both of these. I did most of my newbie training on the larger one. EASY plane to fly.
Great Planes Extra 330SC
SUPER FUN to fly!!! Unfortunately, I flew it into the ground. It not fly no mo.
Electrifly Yak 54
Flew great until the manufacturer's crappy clevises failed. Boom. It's a mess.
Parkzone Edge 300
Ooops. This one hit a goal post. The goal post didn't move. The plane did. In about 6 different directions. Gone, probably won't be replaced. Pretty squirrelly plane to fly.