Neanderpundit

First, get some steaks the size of a normal human’s head.

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!

In a galaxy far far away

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.

Managed a 3″ 50 yard group offhand, no issues at all.

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.