Neanderpundit

Not as if Newt was any great shakes, but I think for the most part this nails the lid on his coffin. Too many assreaming morons out there think Trump is worth listening to, so I think this bones us. And Santorum, G-d bless him, has as much chance as a hooker in a Pentecostal church picnic.

So given a choice between a magic underwear wearing socialist idiot anxious to remake the world in his image, a twice divorced nebbish with a jesse-jackson vocabulary and the brains of porridge named for a small, slimy amphibian, and a dope-addled geriatric twit whose foreign policy consists of jamming his fingers in his ears and saying “LALALALALALALALALALA”, the biggest loser is us.

This election is gonna be like fat people fucking- no matter what happens, it ain’t gonna be pretty.

and on my back most of the night, under the wife’s car finishing the muffler flange gasket job I started last night.

I always have a bucket of crap going on. As often as not I end my day with my feet feeling as if I’ve been subjected to an extended bastinado session, my knees and back screaming, shoulders aching, hands sore, and often bleeding from all over the damned place.

The more I do it the better and happier I feel, not because I enjoy the pain, because I don’t.

I feel good because I accomplish things, and I sleep the deep and restful sleep of the laborer. My head hits the pillow feeling sorry for the folks who didn’t work that hard today, because they will wake up feeling the same way they went to bed.

Who thought it would be a chortling giggleriot to use pressed in bolts on the exhaust system on the wife’s Escape:

Look: I know you have to make this shit to be assembled by the lowest common denominator on the line. I understand that they can never be expected to use two wrenches, let alone their actual brains. But could you just make the press fit on the bolts such that it will come out without a torch? Or make the bolt heads as soft as the damned bolts?

Just a word to the wise. You’ll want to think about this before you’re duct taped to your couch with your eyes stretched open while I have conjugal relations with your household appliances. No amount of lysol will get those images out of your brain, believe me.