Neanderpundit

Tiller running, dirt in danger

I put a carb kit in the tiller. Figured out by accident that it wasn’t running because the vent hole in the gas cap was clogged, the gas tank would prevent fuel flow to the carb. One 3/64 drill later, new filter, fresh oil, it runs like new.

This was my uncle Calvin’s Troy Bilt. He bought it in 1972. He used it (and a Gravely) to farm a 6 acre strawberry farm. A very nice place. I’m happy to have this, it reminds me of him, and i love my uncle Calvin like I love my Dad. I have Dad’s tractor, too. Anyway, with new filters etc, they’re sitting together in the shed now, yapping at one another.

If I can get my ass ready for the NOR shoot, I might just be able to get the motorcycle out in June.

As my body adjusts to the new plumbing mods, I find that (due, at least in part to the much smaller volume of food I’m eating) I only have a solid BM about every three days. No, that’s not a big deal, I don’t care how often I shit. What IS a huge deal, is the aroma, and the fact that the shit floats.

This can only mean one thing.

Farts I should be inflicting on my fellow travellers, nasty, annoying, stinky farts, are being concentrated in my shit, and getting flushed. Now I’m pissed, I swear.

Kid in front of me in mass was eating ’em.

Explains a few things about my sister. I always wondered why she was in such a hurry to get to ’em. Being that they taste like Purina Horse Chow (they really do, and don’t ask why I know) I wondered why so many of my friends were stuck on ’em. Now I know- they were packed full of sugar and sis always got the good stuff.

Sheesh.