Neanderpundit

Instead of doing a dull, functional blog like everyone else, Mark Alger and Baby Troll have a pretty “internet magazine’ which, until now, has had no trackbacks. Now you can ping the folks at BTB, which should solidly push them over the edge into “large mammal” territory as they so richly deserve. Of course, having tested it, it doesn’t WORK. Sorry, Doll.

Of course, i didn’t get a whole day afield. I had to spend some time at the range trying to get the scope and barrel to point in more or less the same direction.

And then, after sitting in a stand all evening, I climb down, start to walk back to the car, and swing wide to avoid messing up the couple of bowhunters in stands. As it is, some of the parking areas have changed, so I have to walk a couple miles out of my way to get back to the car. By the time I get back to the highway, it’s dark. I now have two miles to walk back to the car. I can see there’s a truck there with it’s lights on, and the guy ( a warden) waits for me to make the whole farging walk just to hassle me about if my rifle is capped or not.

Look, you teenaged fuckwit: I have been hunting since you were loading your drawers and drinking from a tit. I have not lived this long not being careful and following the rules. “I’m not gonna give you a ticket” How nice of you, you tard. You can’t give me a ticket, because the concealed carry in my walled gives me the legal right to carry a loaded firearm. Anywhere in the state. Fuck off.

Jesus. Give a kid a badge and hge thinks he’s Dirty Fucking Harry.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I took a four hour nap yesterday, or the events of yesterday, or the seventeen pound Gyros i ate for dinner, or the cat singing the Night Song (MrrrOOOOOW. MrrrOOOOOW. MrrrOOOOOW.MrrrOOOOOW MrrrOOOOOW.MrrrOOOOOW in the middle of the damned night)but I can’t sleep worth a crap. I managed to nap a bit between one and two, to be annoyed by a wierd ass dream.

I’m Carrie Anne Moss in the dream, and it’s amazing I manage anything between touching myself and staring at myself in a mirror. I’m on a spaceship somewhere with Demi Moore, who I keep calling a stupid skank, and whose brain-dead boyfriend keeps showing up on the ship as a hologram projected by a three foot tall phallic automaton. He never has anything like advice, he just jumps in to say “I get to fuck Demi Moore tonight” and she smiles and I think to myself how pathetic she is. Anyway, we are being held hostage by a big haired android who looks just like Cher only with fewer plastic surgery scars, and we don’t know her intentions but suspect them to be distasteful. So Demi uses a pair of 70’s platform heels to knock the valve off a propane tank and we set Cher’s hair on fire and get her to go find out what is going on. The ensuing explosion sucks the oxygen from the ship and Demi and I suck air from old packing crates until the ships systems renews the oxygen. We walk through the wreckage and nothing is left of Cher but piles and piles of smoking silicone implants and Merlin game parts. I tell Demi she’s gonna end up like that someday and she kicks me with a full roundhouse that catches me in the stomach and knocks the air out of my lungs, but as I go down I nail her other foot to the floor with a big dive knife. I catch my breath as she howls in pain, and we wind up wrestling on the floor until we’re sweaty and naked and covered in the blood from her foot and pieces of Cher’s imitation anatomy. We stop as we hear the applause of hundreds of thousands of barely postpubescent boys and realize we’re being filmed. I wake up in a cold sweat, still feeling myself, and think, my tits are bigger than hers.