Not even remotely interested in spending the rest of my life replacing lowers. Gonna get a damned genuine Moog and hope that’s the end of it.

Slather them with butter mixed with a large head of garlic, some salt, and a little parsley and oregano for color. Place on 450 degree grill and keep turning and slathering until perfect grill marks have been acheived, and the grill comes to life and begins to fight you to keep the steaks.

Next, pull the stem out of several shrooms and fill with bacon and cheese. Place in a souffle.

look kinda naked, don’t they? Wait, I know what they need: More bacon!

Bacon mushroom pie! Bacon grease! Cheese! Bacon! More bacon! chest-hurting-vision-blurring-must-eat-faster!!

Then bake up an acre of cheesy potatoes. OK, two acres.

Then serve- but get to the table and put down the camera quickly lest someone get more than you.

Now I have to go schedule my bypass

Happy Labor day!

I worked in the steel mills with a guy who wore thongs.

At the time, anyone who wore BOXERS was considered a freak, we were tighty-whitie guys to a man.

Sure, some of the hipper brothers wore colors, there might have even been one or two old timers who got away with boxers, but this dude wore THONGS. And did so every day. Whether this was a symptom of him not being right in the head, or the cause, we had no idea, but we called him Dipthong and it stuck. He was in his 50’s then, and had a 50 year old man’s ass, which is to say, almost none at all. The thongs in question didn’t even really fit well, and they tended to sag and hang off him like a baloney rind hanging off the end of a slim jim. They were mens- they had the big ball basket that made them men’s thongs, they were just made for a man who filled out his skin more than Dipthong did. I was glad I wore glasses at the time, and walked to and from the shower more or less half blind, and didnt get/have to see more than the badly out of focus glimpses of my fellow bathers than I did.

Makes you wonder, it does.

Now if the SOB would just run reliably I’d be tickled pink. If a sparrow pees in the next county, the powder gets wet.

Still, fun to shoot the old front stuffer.

The man’s voice is incredible. He’s still around, still a gospel singer and preacher, at Full Gospel Tabernacle in Memphis. It would be worth going to see him.

Now I’m up and wide awake, obsessing over the machine position in the booth. We’re about 6 inches away from where the system was in our shop, and I don’t know if we can reach everything. We may end up moving a machine. Which is huge fun at this stage of the game.

nargh.

Hope I can get back to bed and sleep before four. Be nice to get another two hour nap, at least.

Two years is just enough time to forget how big a pain in the ass IMTS is.

Lately every time I stick the phone in my pocket, it speed dials Mr B, sometimes at horrible hours of the day and night. Eventually, he will come shoot me, and I will deserve it. I’m afraid to listen to the message he just left me for nipple dialing him at 0-dark-30.

Anyone know how to disable speed dial on a Blackberry Curve?

Max, our beagle, is a pretty fair sized dog, because he eats like a swarm of locusts. We don’t feed him like that, of course, he’s just remarkably skilled at B&E. Also, it’s the eyes. Which seem to say, “I haven’t been fed. Ever.” Few beagles are skinny, as they will eat anything they can find, including, in our case, tinfoil, bullets, and lightning bugs.

Anyway, we’re feeding him “diet” food, which is helping, but wheras he would run to the dish and eat the previous kibble like it was candy, he avoids this like it was boiled shit. Gues what’s true for humans is also true for dogs; if it’s good for you, it sucks.

Pipesmoking is ok, but to a cigarrette smoker, the large bowl makes it drag on too long. The Japanese use a thing called a Kiseru, which is a lot like a one-hitter. They still make the things.

People who are about to die, and don’t want to, will fight surprisingly hard.

Having broken the ten commandments, I tried to move on to the 613 mitzvot, but I don’t know where I’d get a caananite slave, or a yid’oni. I can, on the other hand, apparently reverse my circumcision. FGM, unfortunately, remains irreversible. A remarkable number of people still consider the two comparable surgeries.

Home repairs and Schroedinger’s cat share a remarkable number of similarities.

People, having come to erroneous conclusions, will die rather than listen to reason. often, this is the preferred outcome.

Headless, furless mice are icky. I just learned this yesterday!!! And I didn’t even have to experience the ick firsthand to understand the ick.

I loathe argumentativeness. Discord makes me physically ill. Sometimes, though, you have to butt heads, because it’s sometimes possible to get others to open their eyes who stubbornly refuse to see things my way the truth.

Some people are very good at making hard decisions about things that need to be done.. Example: “Og’s a nice guy, and all, but made into jerky he’ll feed us all through the winter” I might not personally like the outcome, but I can respect the reason and the intent. Making hard decisions is a big chunk of life.

If you wait until it’s bone dry to put all your grass clippings and mulch waste and roten tree bark into paper bags at the curb, it will rain that very day.

That very day will also be the very first day of IMTS, and you will stand around in the boiling heat and humidity while nobody does a damned thing until 5:00 and then all hell will break loose.

I have never been interested in accolades, awards irritate me, recognition annoys me, and I shun any anouncement of my affairs good bad or otherwise. Most of the things I do, outside of the meaningless drivel I post here, I keep to myself. Almost nobody knows anything about me at all, and given some prompting, people will line up to criticize me. I find it amusing.

Never make threats. You never know when beavis will show up. I always need some TP for my bunghole.

Wrangler jeans actually fit me. levis do not. Sure, wrangler has the heavy seam on the outside so it makes riding a horse or a motorcycle easier on the skin, but the critical bit is the zipper- the zipper on Wranglers goes down far enough that I can present the equipment without any fear of strangulation. The zipper on the Levis seems to be designed for men whose penis is attached to their bodies in the general vicinity of the navel.

Dark enough that as I searched in the grass, it was hard to find the chrome leash clip. There it is, sez I, and I reach for it.

and it’s a concrete hard dog turd with a piece of tinfoil embedded in it.

Suppose it could have been worse, it might have been soft.

Will have to make more of a concious effort to make sure the leash clasp ends up on the concrete walk in future.