***************** FLASH ******************

"Mother nature has gotten out of control!"

-Susan Estrich
Commenting to Sean Hannity on New Orleans

I guess we had nature under control...... when, exactly?

Queeners are Ass Deep into the Methodist Church

Minister Fired for Denying Practicing Queener Church Membership


You see how this happens don't you? No?

First you have to have a bunch pantywaist men being led around by the 'women' in the church. After the chicks get tired of naggin' the menfolk into doing things, they decide they should get to be 'officially' in charge and nag the menfolk into that. Sure, there are men out there who don't even have to be nagged, who hold no conviction about their beliefs or faith and see no harm in lettin' women preach and run things even though the Bible warns against this. A man with no spine in a more sane time was commonly said to have a 'feminine mind' not refering to his sexuality. After the Oprah set gets a foothold you'd better believe it will damned sure go straight to shit.

The Bishop "Charlene" is referenced in the article. Nothing less than a grassroots purge will save this "church" from extinction. Put a fork in 'em. They're done.

That "I" thing.

Y'all see I've got a graphic below of Hank. To me Hank is what country music was, is, and should forever be. There's nothin' like that twanging voice breaking just right. And the subject matter; women, whiskey, whinin', and "don't give a damn" songs. Perfecttion.

Example: "There's a tear in my beer, 'cause I'm cryin' for you dear."

Now, that's density of subject matter! But, I digress.

Hank's boy is a fine Southern icon, and his grandson finally got his shit together sounding eerily like THE Hank. But, them boys are tryin' to do what the Grandaddy done by nature, and the tale is told in the "I"'s. Every so often in his progenies' songs they break out with that damned yankee "Iyee". Sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard and there are otherwise fine songs that I cannot listen to due to this abomination.

There are some places in the South where the two pronunciations coexist though not interchangeably. Example: "It's right there, dammit!" right is pronounced with the correct Southern i while "That's right, Bubba, we should shoot that yankee bastard." may be pronounced with the yankee i.

It ain't hard to tell when a feller grew up in L.A. and is tryin' to fake our local dialect or he's putin' on airs tryin' to sound high-falutin' (Anyone think sounding like a buckeye makes you sophisticated?) though I'm sure they think we can't tell the difference.
Know what I say?
phwwwit!
That's what I say.

Three Lies Told by Harley Riders

1. I won this here belt buckle in a rodeo!
2. That there's my HOG and it's paid for!
3. Honest, officer, I was just "helping" that sheep
over the fence.

Everyone else is a wannabe

'nuf said.

That's Not a Mother

What's that psycho bitches name.. Sheehan? Don't expect the usual, "She has a right to say....because of her son's death." bullshit to appear here. Let me tell you what this nut is about.

She's one of those ubercontrolling wive's/mothers. She's one of those that wants everything her way and uses every emotional trick in the book to get it. If things don't go the slightest bit her way she broods, fumes, plots, and metes out punishment.

She's a nutcase liberal and her poor son had to grow up listening to that crap his whole life. She probably tried to make him into a panty-waist liberal cocksucker and he had to join the army to get out of her clutches. She's a control freak.

She doesn't miss him. She doesn't grieve for him. She uses him. She's contorting the meaning of his death in direct contradiction to the meaning of the gift he gave in the sacrifice of his young life. She dishonours his memory intentionally, because she's furious he defied her. This is her retribution. She's a bitch.

Dial-a-Nag

This is not directed at Gregg, though Gregg and Welldigger are, indeed, the genesis of the idea.

Occasionally the single men among us get carried away with a train of thought or pursue a question or point way past relevancy or pertinence; i.e. they go off the deep end. When this happens I always get to thinkin', "If these fella's had a wife/steady girlfriend they wouldn't have the time to cause a ruckus or go around appearing disconnected from reality. What they need is some woman tellin' 'em what they should be doing all the time." Just like me. Just like Nate. Just like Vox, and Bane, and Res, and.......you know know who you are.

I can't remember if Res Ispa or I came up with the idea so let's just say Res did so he'll get the blame. I'll tell Mrs. JACIII it was all his doing, but the gist of it is that we set Gregg or Welldigger up with a 1-900 number and when our wives feel like naggin' someone we have them call Gregg or Digger. It's for their own good, really. Gregg and Digger get what they deserve...er, uh...need and we get some relief for the paltry sum of , say, .25 per minute.


Res has fleshed this out a bit more:

JAC,
I think we need to develop the dial a nag idea more. We could be missing out on a million dollar business idea. Dial a nag and dialanag.com could fill the niche for men who think they want to be married but want to try it first. If we do it right, we can charge men to use it, and we could charge women to do the nagging. I’m thinking we could have a nag a therapy business too. We’d get women that are mad about whatever to set by the phone and when an unsuspecting guy calls in they can lay into him about what ever their husband hasn’t done yet. It’s truly a win win.
Res Ipsa

We may be onto something here...

Just a heads up for y’all:

Expect some changes ‘around here. I’m gettin’ weary of the pirate motif, I still dig my Gravatar but I’m getting’ that wanderlust again. All this motorcycle talk I reckon.

I’ll still be sailin’ and campin’ on available weekends - weather permitting. But the heart in yer throat, gleam in yer eye call of high horsepower to weight ratios is becoming unbearable.

I’ve been good – I sported my bride around Tennessee on the Mothership, I took my girls on maritime adventures – but, well, ya' see....

I spotted this GL1800 a half mile ahead of me on the parkway yesterday. Ol' Big Red just grabbed my right wrist and twisted it WFO. The geezerglide was in the process of passing someone as I closed on it. The hairs on the back of that old man's neck must have stood right up, cause he gunned it. Been watchin’ too much Orange County Hospital,er... choppers I reckon. Why, I had to shift into 3rd gear to make the ‘whump’ sound as I went by!

Ouch.

Bet that left a mark.

Guest Blogger - The New Guy : Riding the Dragon and other goings on

After waiting about an hour or so for Jim and his lovely wife, following Rainman we moved on towards Knoxville (which we were supposed to have passed hours ago) in order to get to Gatlinburg. After leaving Richmond at 9:15 AM we arrived in Gatlinburg at 5:30 to check into a chalet for a night so the 9 of us could have an enjoyable evening together before attempting to tame the Dragon on Saturday. Upon checking in we discovered that the original cost that was quoted to us had hidden charges that amounted to an extra hundred dollars, we decided to go ahead and get the place we had called about and take our chances on it being worth the money we were about to spend.

Rainman and his lovely wife, Big Yamaha,

(ed - we generally don't refer to each other's wives as "Big" anything. Not sure what he's getting at here...)

and his lovely wife, and The New Guy trekked up the mountain Ober Gatlinburg to find our new found love nest and to our surprise we found a place that was worthy of every penny we had spent for it. The place had a bedroom for everyone, hot tug, Jacuzzi bath, fire place, pool table and more, if you are looking for a place to stay in Gatlinburg call the ERA rental office and get the Stagecoach Stop, and you will truly enjoy it.

After moving around a bit to check out our new environment we found that Robinsonville and his young bride had caught up with us (they left the Paris area about 2:00 PM and were there by 6:00 PM.). Tim and Jill settled in and then the 4 biker MEN decided to go down the mountain a bit to pick up some refreshments for the night, off we rode.

The guys bought all that we though might be consumed that night and moved back to our love nest (I us that term for Rainmain) so we could decide on dinner arrangements.

The group decided that we would like a steak so down the mountain we descended to Peddlers to get a great steak, salad and to watch 2 women make out on the porch in front of us. We all ate dinner then rode back up the mountain to the Love Nest

Upon returning the Love Nest the guys went down stairs to play pool and watch TV while the women built a fire because they were cold and enjoyed a movie on the 1st floor.

Rainman and The New Guy took on Robinsonville and Big Yamaha and was no match for the Luck that Robinsonville spilled onto the table so they beat the pants off of Rainman (which worked out great for him) and The New Guy.

And Now, The Rest of the Story....

Having safely negotiated the exit we headed off down some very nice back roads. The apparent temperature dropped immediately and we welcomed the cooler air. We commenced winding our way South at a steady minimum pucker factor pace (we brought the women, OK?!). As a group these guys are pretty fast cruiser riders and most cruiser riders with less than many thousand miles of asphalt under their tires find it unnerving to try and keep up. I generally ride my GPz and run off and leave ‘em without trying, but this day I had my hands full on the ½-ton Mothership negotiating switchbacks with these grizzled graying proto-squids.

We came to a stop sign and Rainman made it clear he was going to need fuel soon. All concurred and we pulled into the nearest store with pumps, a grocery/hardware store/fuel stop.

Two things should have set off alarm bells.
1) The clerk was having major trouble operating the computer/cash register/ scanner machine. He was getting it done, but man he was slow. Not halting but SLOW like he was overloaded.
2) There was a tanker truck in the lot. NEVER, EVER, EVER buy fuel when there is a fuel delivery being made. At best the fuel in the bottom of the tank is old and dirty, at worst the new stuff has kicked up all the sediment from the bottom and you just pumped it into your tank.
3) I was thinking, “Man the ol’ Mothership sure is runnin’ great!”

We all partook of refreshments inside, Sundrop!, and saddled up. The road got really twisty from here on and 180 degree switchbacks with 10 foot elevation changes were the order of the day. While merrily negotiating some of these the Mothership backfires, clears and goes on. Hmmmmm. A few miles later and the same thing occurs but this time it slowly sputtered to a halt. Shit!

I noticed I had extremely dim indicator lights on the dash. No power. Frank came back and borrowed Jumper cables from a nearby house and hooked ‘em to his RoadStar which was starting to backfire from bad gas. We got the Mothership running and I took off for a gas station the fellas had spotted up ahead. While I was running for the station before it died again my jacket fell off the back. No biggie the rest are right behind me, they’ll get it.

I made it to the station and when they pulled in behind there was no sign of the jacket. I commented it was odd someone would be that quick driving by snatching something like that. Apparently not. As my wife and I were waiting for the tow truck we saw a boat being hauled by when a cushion fell out. Immediately the car next car slowed and the driver snatched it off the pavement without even stopping. Must be the local income generating activity. Next to ‘earning’ disability that is.

We had taken a wrong turn, well…. Rainman had, and ended up northeast of Knoxville in Maynardville, TN. Folks I am not exaggerating when I tell ya’ the menfolk looked like OakRidge had dumped nuclear waste in the area. They all had a blank, tilted look, at least one limb twisted or held oddly, gimped in some way, and plenty of tattoos. They were scaring my wife, so I reminded her I had eight .45s in each magazine and one in the pipe with which to play zombie killer if the opportunity presented itself. No such luck.

The other riders in our group deserted us like the heartless bastards I know them to be. (Actually, I had a hell of a time gettin’ ‘em to leave. I think Frank just wanted to see the .45 again.). People in Maynardville talk like they live 50 miles out of Knoxville, them what talks that is. We found we were about 10miles out if that. We completed our three hour wait for the incompetent tow truck driver and grabbed a motel in Knoxville. Next day we got a rental car and came home to get the trailer to bring the Mothership home.

I have to say I have yet to see a more dim, unfriendly, put off, bunch of ‘tards as what occupies east Tennessee in all my born days. Welldigger spoke thusly of these folk in the past and I discounted it as disgust with a particular person or small group colouring his perception, I was wrong. I know a lot of country folk, hell I AM country folk! I know a lot of hill folk, too, and most would give the shirt off their backs to help someone in need and most are a fair hand mechanically. But these sons of bitches just look at ya’ with those “no one’s home” glass eyes. I don’t sense they got much more than plant level awareness going on. If I ever happen there again I‘ll shoot the first hobblin' cocksucker looks at me that way and figure a ride by shootin’ and a drive by thievin’ makes us even.

The rest of the group had a good, though wet ride. I don’t suppose I can get any of ‘em to write their travelin’ up as they don’t go in for such highbrow doin’s.

Everything above is gospel and you'll go to hell for disputin' it.

Ride Report : The Dragon that Wasn't

The Mothership is up for sale and old men are beatin' my door down for it so I thought I would take it out w/ the wife one last time. That's what it's for after all.
We planned a ride with the womenfolk leaving Friday morning for Deal's Gap so we met up on I75 and turned South on HWY25. Two lanes are generally more fun even on the Mothership.
We stopped in Corbin at TriCounty Cycles to look at the Iron Horse bikes there and that buttugly Honda Rune. Actually, The rest of 'em went inside while I stayed with the bikes repairing the intercom cable my wife chewed in two. OK, she didn't actually CHEW it. Near as I can tell she closed her helmet hinge on it. Got it working, though, with the donation of some electrical tape from a salesman. Trip Saved!

Back on the road we hit stoplight hell and bailed to the interstate. Ahhh! The open road. I put her on 90 and the rest of the group sorta kept up with the newest rider, Dave, doing nicely on my six. As we neared Knoxville I slowed to close ranks and let Rainman, who professed to know a better way to Gatlinburg, lead. Rainman immediately wedged himself into trafic. Now, I've ridden a lot with him and know his habits so I stayed just behind the cluster of cars/trucks he had wedged himself into preparing to exit.

This is an art so pay attention:

The object of the game is to not be so close to the leader that you miss the exit, too, but close enough that some of the other's miss it as they struggle to close ranks through traffic.

Wait for it.... wait..wait.... There he goes! Rainman dove across two lanes of traffic for the exit with me on his taillight. Dave and Frank were out in the cold, but managed via a death defying maneuver in front of an 18 wheeler to make the exit. The ulimate payoff didn't materialise with cellphone calls and ridicule to the lost wandering exit missers as they try to find the rest of the group. However, Dave and Frank definately had the BUGEYES (see image) as we came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp!
More to follow. I have to clue folks in on the freaks Digger warned me about in east Tennessee.

No doubt kin to Mario!

Adult Content

You were warned.

Thoughts to Fall Back On

Things aren't going good. You've come so far, but Problems are Multiplying. No ready solution presents itself. Frustration Mounts. Brain cascades into the blue screen of death and you slide into the Psychotic State of trying the Same Thing over and over and over with the same Bad Result. Been there done that?

Sometimes you just gotta hit the RESET button. All people have is belly buttons so instead of staring at yours in despair take a step back, get yer head up, bum a Marlboro or a chaw, look around and RESTART from some basic truths to unlock yer conundrum.

Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

You only need three tools: WD-40, Duct Tape, and a Hammer. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape. If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If the WD-40 doesn't work apply Hammer liberally.

If it sticks out and it shouldn't, bend it. If it still sticks out apply Hammer liberally. If it doesn't stick out enough straighten it.

If it misbehaves, whack it. If it still misbehaves apply Hammer liberally.

If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You get another chance.

Be really nice to your family and friends; you never
know when you might need them to empty your bedpan.

Never pass up an opportunity to go to the bathroom.

Additions and revisions:

Always Lookin' Out for Little Brother

Mario the Matador

I get a lot of farrier calls to rehabilitate miniature horses, miniature donkeys, adopted BLM jacks, and ponies. It seems these are in the catagory of "pets" and a lot of folks buy them without researching proper care.

I would like to introduce one such criter. His name is Mario and he is a miniature donkey. Never heard of such? Well, picture a donkey whose back is only as high as the desk at which you are now sitting but with full sized donkey ears. They are adorable, with very open, eager, expressive personalities. They do, however, have a "dark side".

When I was called upon to treat Mario his present owner had found him running the highway with feet horribly overgrown, twisted, and misshapen. The little fella was in a lot of pain and uncomfortable at all times. I was impressed my Mario's willingness to tolerate this discomfort stoicly as I worked on him; at one point he just sat back on his haunches and presented his front hooves for me to work on. Needless to say the little trooper stole my heart and I have endeavored to bring him back to 100% soundness since that day. I am happy to report Mario is about 90% sound as of today and I expect by fall he will be 100% if there is no permanent soft tissue damage.

I commented to the owner , Bobbi, the first day I saw Mario that he had a great personality. She looked at me strangely and said, "There's more to Mario than what he's showing you."

JACIII - "Really? This little fella?"

B - "Oh, yeah, he's quite a little demon when he wants to be."

JACII - "Mario, have you been misbehaving?" No respone from Mario.... "What's he been gettin' into?"

B - "Well, we didn't have a seperate pasture for him when we found him so we put him out with the cows. I just couldn't imagine him having trouble with them. You should have seen him! I wish I had video! He attacked the cows!"

JACII - "No. He didn't. Did he get hurt?"

B - "Huh! He ran everone of them into the pond and wouldn't let them out. I just left him in there. I thought surely by morning he would get tired of harassing the cows, but when I got up he still had 'em in there and would charge any that tried to get out!"

JACII - "What did you have to do?"

B - "I thought, 'I'll fix you, Mario', turned the bull out, went to work and didn't think anything else of it."

JACIII - "Oh, well he looks like he came out OK."

B - "Well.. You're not gonna believe this, but Jimmy (her husband) saw it, too. When I came home I went to check on Mario. He was hanging on the bulls neck. He bit that bull on the neck on was just dangling there!"

JACII - "No. Mario? Mario bit The Bull. Like a bulldog."

B - "Yes!, I was afraid he was going to KILL it. I had to go out there and pull him off that bull! I literally had to DRAG him out of that field, he fought me the whole way! I had to tie him behind the house where he couldn't see them before he would calm down."

I looked at Mario, a bit more wary than when we first met. I haven't seen any sign of Mario's megalomaniacal episode resufacing, but I damn sure don't let his mouth anywhere near my neck.

Self Explanatory

What Fun!

cedarfordsucks

Highbrow Poetry.....

I'm not one to wilfully raise the level of discourse above potty jokes, but I came across these on the Kawasaki GPZ (one of the motorcycles in my stable) email list. To put it gentley, the population of posters on this list is a bit long in the tooth, though technically astute, accomplished riders who have logged a lot of miles.

I hope no one is unduly traumatized by the realization there are people like this on our public roads.

The following is by '1KPerDay' whose handle refers to the IronButt ride Nate and I have bragged incessantly about.

"Oh, blast," I once sighed, steaming mad,
"My tire's flat! I can't ride! This is bad!"
But I gathered my strength,
Filled my lungs their full length,
And then pumped up the tire with my nads.
:D
Utah Jeff
'96 SheePz1100

This is a celebration of non-rosy cheeks. You can imagine the ribbing this guy takes for 'riding' sheepskin. It's even funnier when you realize there is damn near an entire hide laid across his tank and seat!

A sheep, though not warm as a yeti,
Offers more than just lamb with spaghetti,
For the skin, not the meat,
When applied to my seat,
Keeps my buttocks from getting all sweaty. :D

-- Utah Jeff '96 SheePz1100

Gregg, I thought of you when I read the first one.

There's no money in this

but it's fun anyway.





This is a Courting Candle. It is used as a timer for when one's daughter has a gentleman caller. After one's daughter and the gentleman caller are seated in the parlor, a candle is placed within the spiral and the wooden dowel is used to elevate or lower the candle above the top winding. When the candle burns down to the top winding it is time for the gentleman to depart. A father must periodically check on the candle thereby keeping an eye on the two and preventing any sparking.
No, it is not a spring, nor was it ever a spring. I decorated it as a vine complete with a leaf on the end to serve as a base. This piece is made from a length of straight 3/8" steel rod, forge fire, hammer, and anvil.




This is a modified design of a Celtic Cross. This piece is made from a length of 3/8" square bar stock. There is no welding, drilling, or drifting used in making this cross even though it has an open center. It is one piece of steel. Women love them.

Nothing like a good strokin'

I'm talkin' about ego here. Put your filthy minds in neutral.

Miss Sarah is one of my most faithful clients. She has had anywhere from 2 to 5 horses at any given time, alway bakes me cookies, pays in cash, is from North Carolina, attractive for a middleaged woman, and just as sweet as can be.

She has always had one horse named "Bucky" who is good for the most part, but has been known to cut a shine on occasion. Well, last time I was out there Bucky was cuttin' one. I bore down and held on and he settled down, but I knew he wasn't through. He started up again and I still managed to keep his foot. Then, just to let him know I didn't appreciate his attitude I shoved him bodily against the fence (I was under a front leg).

Miss Sarah: "See there, Bucky? Better straigten up, you're messin' with 'real' cowboy!"

I ain't exactly ridin' bulls, but I'll take it. I promise not to lord the fact that I have been declared a 'real' cowboy over my brothers.

I'll just have to make sure I don't let an ARRGH! slip while I'm at Miss Sarah's.

I wonder what I have to do to be declared a 'real' pirate? I've got the wench ravishing down pretty good.....