So says she who thinks her husband looks hot in leather pants on a "hooker's fingernail red" sport-tourer. That means the blue/red/gold/purple flipflop paint I demo-ed for her is a no go. She went through her fingernail polish collection (quite extensive), picked out the appropriate red bottle and promptly jumped into her Jeep to find Big Red's new color scheme. Big Red/Blue/Gold/Purple just doesn't have the same ring to it now does it?
Over the last few months I had come home with several different red colours of paint but once I tried them next to the bike I was never satisfied. The wife goes out and with one shot finds the perfect colour.
The moral of the story?
Never send a man to do a woman's job.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Day 3 - Natchez
Breakfast at the motel in Jackson, They had a waffle maker fer Christ's sake!The pope's funeral is on the telly. How do you bury one guy in three boxes?
The trace dtours around Jackson, so we went the long way around. That is; the long wrong all the way around. But, hey, we're here to ride, so what the hell?
The sun is out in full force and we quickly find ourselves shedding gear. This is not a big problem on the Trace as it is a leisurely ride with no surprises save the local wildlife kamkazeein' ya' every so often. The list of which grows by a fox and two turkeys. The fox had it timed just right, but did a 'U' turn right at the edge of the pavement touching his nose to his tail in the maneuver. Shucks! I was already figurin' out how to get his hide back to the house to made a nifty fur something out of him.....
We tooled along at a stately 60 mph for the 90 miles to Natchez and headed straight for 'Natchez - Under the Hill". For those of you not in the know, Natchez Under the Hill is a group of taverns, shops, and cafe's on the waterfront where the dock used to be for the riverboats to ply their trade. Rainman and I dined at the same cafe' that Nate and I visited last yaer and I had the 'Shrimp, Chicken, Okra Gumbo'. Delicious. Rainman expressed his satisfaction at the dining experience, though I could tell he was lookin' around for something else to stick a fork into. The man has a bottomless stomach I tell ya'.
We took a stroll along the waterfront and I was dissapointed that the Mississippi Queen was not in port, instead one of those uglyassed gambling boats was there with an ant trail of retired suckers marching in and out. Ugh.
more to come.-
The trace dtours around Jackson, so we went the long way around. That is; the long wrong all the way around. But, hey, we're here to ride, so what the hell?
The sun is out in full force and we quickly find ourselves shedding gear. This is not a big problem on the Trace as it is a leisurely ride with no surprises save the local wildlife kamkazeein' ya' every so often. The list of which grows by a fox and two turkeys. The fox had it timed just right, but did a 'U' turn right at the edge of the pavement touching his nose to his tail in the maneuver. Shucks! I was already figurin' out how to get his hide back to the house to made a nifty fur something out of him.....
We tooled along at a stately 60 mph for the 90 miles to Natchez and headed straight for 'Natchez - Under the Hill". For those of you not in the know, Natchez Under the Hill is a group of taverns, shops, and cafe's on the waterfront where the dock used to be for the riverboats to ply their trade. Rainman and I dined at the same cafe' that Nate and I visited last yaer and I had the 'Shrimp, Chicken, Okra Gumbo'. Delicious. Rainman expressed his satisfaction at the dining experience, though I could tell he was lookin' around for something else to stick a fork into. The man has a bottomless stomach I tell ya'.
We took a stroll along the waterfront and I was dissapointed that the Mississippi Queen was not in port, instead one of those uglyassed gambling boats was there with an ant trail of retired suckers marching in and out. Ugh.
more to come.-
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Day 2 continued
Two guys on the road can be a little uncomfortable sometimes. There are times when you catch yourself; “WHAT the hell did I just say?!” For instance:
Rainman and I were at the cash register of the Mexican restaurant In Jackson Miss.after a hearty meal and a Corona when Rainman asks the lady, “Do you know of any motels around here?”
Now, look at this objectively. Two guys in motorcycle attire (we're stylin' I'm tellin' ya'! I'm decked out racerboy and Rainman looks...., well, like he rides a V(iagra) twin bike) are standing there and want to know where the motel is. I don’t know about you, but I get a mental picture of the Village People.
Of course when I brought this to Rainman’s attention he laughed himself silly. Ya’ see what I’m dealin’ with here? It gets worse.
We go to the Comfort Inn and the nice lady behind the desk starts tellin’ us about a customer she gets that actually puts his bike in the room with him and then she asks, “Are you two on the same motorcycle?” like one of us is ridin’ ‘bitch’! I just shook my head. Of course, the reason she wanted to know this was so she could express that she didn’t think both bikes would fit into one room. You don’t get service like that just anywhere.
Rainman and I were at the cash register of the Mexican restaurant In Jackson Miss.after a hearty meal and a Corona when Rainman asks the lady, “Do you know of any motels around here?”
Now, look at this objectively. Two guys in motorcycle attire (we're stylin' I'm tellin' ya'! I'm decked out racerboy and Rainman looks...., well, like he rides a V(iagra) twin bike) are standing there and want to know where the motel is. I don’t know about you, but I get a mental picture of the Village People.
Of course when I brought this to Rainman’s attention he laughed himself silly. Ya’ see what I’m dealin’ with here? It gets worse.
We go to the Comfort Inn and the nice lady behind the desk starts tellin’ us about a customer she gets that actually puts his bike in the room with him and then she asks, “Are you two on the same motorcycle?” like one of us is ridin’ ‘bitch’! I just shook my head. Of course, the reason she wanted to know this was so she could express that she didn’t think both bikes would fit into one room. You don’t get service like that just anywhere.
Day 2
Up at the crack of dawn, haven’t slept so sound in awhile. We turn on the local news for the weather report. Scattered showers from here north with decreasing probability as you go South. Some jerk killed a girl and dumped her body on the Trace. Hmmmmmmmm. Of course, I’m carryin’. I checked the chamber for potential energy and good to go.
The morning was cool and we headed out in full gear, haulin’ ass when rain clouds blocked the sun and slowing to soak up those precious rays when they burned through the clouds melancholy hold on them. We played the bikes down the road. No hurry, no worries; free on the open road with the anticipation of discovery around the next bend.
We hoofed up to an overlook to get some blood flowing and forestall rider fatigue. There are quite a few nice overlooks on the Trace and from the terrain you wouldn’t expect them. Well worth the effort. Once again the Wild Turkey were out strutting, and we saw a few crane or heron, I don’t know which but they were white. There had been a big storm through Alabama and northern Mississippi and there was evidence of high water all around. It made a lot of the area swampish
Lunch was in a town off the Trace called Saltillo, at a local interest called “Little Charlie’s”. Little Charlie’s had a special on a double cheeseburger plate so Rainman and I took the plunge. Damn what a sandwich! There was easily 3/4lbs. of meat on the burger. I didn’t quite finish mine, but Rainman has a legendary appetite and soon put his away. Excellent meal. Greasy, tasty, with a BIG glass of sweet tea.
While we were eating some locals wandered in, checking out the bikes as they filed by. I took the opportunity to explain to Rainman the difference in appeal of a sportbike and the Mothership. See, on a sportbike, you’re pretty much a rockstar, an object of envy of men and the desire of women. (In case you don’t know, that’s a good thing.) The Mothership attracts a different crowd populated chiefly by old men with canes (they think it looks comfortable) and fat chicks (they think it won’t collapse under their asses), so we had a big time confirming my theory as the local liars hobbled in for their noon coffee.
We rode on to Jackson, Ms. without much of note except for a stop at the Pearl River where Nate and I had paused on our journey last year. It’s still a hell of a spot, Bro.
We ate Mexican in Jackson and tucked in for the night at a Comfort Inn. There’s a tale there, but it’ll have to wait.
The morning was cool and we headed out in full gear, haulin’ ass when rain clouds blocked the sun and slowing to soak up those precious rays when they burned through the clouds melancholy hold on them. We played the bikes down the road. No hurry, no worries; free on the open road with the anticipation of discovery around the next bend.
We hoofed up to an overlook to get some blood flowing and forestall rider fatigue. There are quite a few nice overlooks on the Trace and from the terrain you wouldn’t expect them. Well worth the effort. Once again the Wild Turkey were out strutting, and we saw a few crane or heron, I don’t know which but they were white. There had been a big storm through Alabama and northern Mississippi and there was evidence of high water all around. It made a lot of the area swampish
Lunch was in a town off the Trace called Saltillo, at a local interest called “Little Charlie’s”. Little Charlie’s had a special on a double cheeseburger plate so Rainman and I took the plunge. Damn what a sandwich! There was easily 3/4lbs. of meat on the burger. I didn’t quite finish mine, but Rainman has a legendary appetite and soon put his away. Excellent meal. Greasy, tasty, with a BIG glass of sweet tea.
While we were eating some locals wandered in, checking out the bikes as they filed by. I took the opportunity to explain to Rainman the difference in appeal of a sportbike and the Mothership. See, on a sportbike, you’re pretty much a rockstar, an object of envy of men and the desire of women. (In case you don’t know, that’s a good thing.) The Mothership attracts a different crowd populated chiefly by old men with canes (they think it looks comfortable) and fat chicks (they think it won’t collapse under their asses), so we had a big time confirming my theory as the local liars hobbled in for their noon coffee.
We rode on to Jackson, Ms. without much of note except for a stop at the Pearl River where Nate and I had paused on our journey last year. It’s still a hell of a spot, Bro.
We ate Mexican in Jackson and tucked in for the night at a Comfort Inn. There’s a tale there, but it’ll have to wait.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
#*%!@*&^%$ Audio Blogger is Crap!
I musta sent out 5 or 6 audio-blogs from the road. Nothing! Zip! Zilch! Nada! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
So, I guess I'll have to update y'all on the trip this way. It's so .... low tech.
Day 1:
Everyone backs out, except my esrstwhile riding buddy, Rainman (not his real name). Now, we call him rainman for a reason; if he's ridin' - it's rainin'. True to form, we buzzed into Nashville under a heavily pissin' cloud, but started the Trace with a mist in the air and Bar-B-Cutie in our bellies (it's good, but it's not Slick Pig or Moonlight). We saw scads of wild turkey (a good omen) and even a light brown jake; the result of domestic inbreeding. Well, we happened upon a Park Ranger who rides a BMW GS1150 in his other life and he advised us of the nearest town with a motel so we made for Lawrenceburg, TN in a blinding deluge of rain and pitch black night.
We rode about thirty miles to the Lawrenceburg exit off the Natchez Trace Parkway
Happened on a Best Western there and we left our bikes under the check in canopy and the nice lady at the desk gave us the room right beside 'em.
Throughout all this excitement and the joy of the open ride I should have been paying more attention to my riding buddy. We had geared up for the rain in Bowling Green, but ya' just don't much get wet on the Mothership anyway and I was feeling no pain (I'm lovin' my heated grips and the little wing thingies I made to keep the cold air and water away from my feet!), but Rainman has a pair of rainpants with a duct-tape patch on the knee, leaky boots, and these plastic mittens you'd have to see to believe. He got wet. Dog in the creek wet. Drowned rat wet, I'm tellin' ya', and temps were in the low 50's. Poor guy's teeth were chattering, he was wet from the neck down, much longer and I'm thinkin' hypothermia would have set in. Not sure it didn't get a start on him anyway. Hey!, he rides a cruiser; what can you expect? They're just not made for the open road, they're for pretending you're on the open road. However, Rainman always toughs it out and like he says, "That's what makes it an adventure." Truer words were never spoken.
More to come...
So, I guess I'll have to update y'all on the trip this way. It's so .... low tech.
Day 1:
Everyone backs out, except my esrstwhile riding buddy, Rainman (not his real name). Now, we call him rainman for a reason; if he's ridin' - it's rainin'. True to form, we buzzed into Nashville under a heavily pissin' cloud, but started the Trace with a mist in the air and Bar-B-Cutie in our bellies (it's good, but it's not Slick Pig or Moonlight). We saw scads of wild turkey (a good omen) and even a light brown jake; the result of domestic inbreeding. Well, we happened upon a Park Ranger who rides a BMW GS1150 in his other life and he advised us of the nearest town with a motel so we made for Lawrenceburg, TN in a blinding deluge of rain and pitch black night.
We rode about thirty miles to the Lawrenceburg exit off the Natchez Trace Parkway
Happened on a Best Western there and we left our bikes under the check in canopy and the nice lady at the desk gave us the room right beside 'em.
Throughout all this excitement and the joy of the open ride I should have been paying more attention to my riding buddy. We had geared up for the rain in Bowling Green, but ya' just don't much get wet on the Mothership anyway and I was feeling no pain (I'm lovin' my heated grips and the little wing thingies I made to keep the cold air and water away from my feet!), but Rainman has a pair of rainpants with a duct-tape patch on the knee, leaky boots, and these plastic mittens you'd have to see to believe. He got wet. Dog in the creek wet. Drowned rat wet, I'm tellin' ya', and temps were in the low 50's. Poor guy's teeth were chattering, he was wet from the neck down, much longer and I'm thinkin' hypothermia would have set in. Not sure it didn't get a start on him anyway. Hey!, he rides a cruiser; what can you expect? They're just not made for the open road, they're for pretending you're on the open road. However, Rainman always toughs it out and like he says, "That's what makes it an adventure." Truer words were never spoken.
More to come...
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Monday, April 04, 2005
I Thought TV Was Already for Morons!
The baybboomers will never recover from the passing of TV as the primary medium of mass communication in this world. They grew up watching the rich neighbors TV 'set' through their picture window, and the wonder of it hasn't left them.
Algore announcing new network targeted at 18-34 yr olds. (Other than MTV)
"Gollygeewhiz!, Ethel, ya' just push the button and there's Walter Kronkite right in our very own livin' room! It's a miracle! Get out the good china and pull up that extra chair to the dinette set!"Attempts have been made to shore it up with web/TV amalgams before. Hopefully, when this one fails they will give it up and settle down to growing their asses and reruns of 60 Minutes and 20/20. Current events y'all!
"The Internet opened a floodgate for young people whose passions are finally being heard, but TV hasn't followed suit. Young adults have a powerful voice, but you can't hear that voice on television ... yet," said Gore
Algore announcing new network targeted at 18-34 yr olds. (Other than MTV)
Reproductive Air-Guitar
Ya’ ever see some guy lost in a fantasy of rock-stardom, left arm held out to his side, his right hand fanning his bellybutton as if it was on fire? He’s having a blast, volume cranked to the stop, head bobbing up and down, making intense funny faces akin to the Starwars Kid in Berserker Attack. This activity, viewed from where he is sitting, is enjoyable, aerobic, emotionally satisfying stress relief. And, Man! Doesn’t he look cool?!
Nope. He looks like the King of Losers asserting his dominion over the rest of the virgin horde. Now, I have given this a lot of thought due to the widely varying expressed opinions of those hereabouts on a very similar activity. Perhaps, there must be something I’m missing…. Nah!
Air-Fucking – or you might refer to it as “dancing”; either way it's ludicrous when performed by the male of the species.
Here’s what I think: All chicks dig it; they enjoy doing it, and seeing it done, by both sexes. A few men do it; they enjoy seeing it done, but only by chicks. This is a familiar paradigm. It is analogous to the ability of each sex to appreciate beauty in the same sex; i.e. women do, men can’t. Pillowbiters are excluded in that, of course.
Disclaimer:
This does not apply to traditional, folk, ballroom or any other such activity where the primary focus is on group social interaction or involves the engagement of higher brain function. So I ain't callin' yer grandpa a sissy.
Nope. He looks like the King of Losers asserting his dominion over the rest of the virgin horde. Now, I have given this a lot of thought due to the widely varying expressed opinions of those hereabouts on a very similar activity. Perhaps, there must be something I’m missing…. Nah!
Air-Fucking – or you might refer to it as “dancing”; either way it's ludicrous when performed by the male of the species.
Here’s what I think: All chicks dig it; they enjoy doing it, and seeing it done, by both sexes. A few men do it; they enjoy seeing it done, but only by chicks. This is a familiar paradigm. It is analogous to the ability of each sex to appreciate beauty in the same sex; i.e. women do, men can’t. Pillowbiters are excluded in that, of course.
Disclaimer:
This does not apply to traditional, folk, ballroom or any other such activity where the primary focus is on group social interaction or involves the engagement of higher brain function. So I ain't callin' yer grandpa a sissy.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Elijah Made It!
Seven pounds and change, 20 inches long and a buncha black hair. Last I heard Dr. Who and Nate baby were doin' OK. Got the call just before midnight last night so I guess that means Elijah was born March 30.
Congrats to all at Nate's Peep Paradise!
WooHoo! Another nephew!
Now why does a Hank Williams tune keep runnin' around in my head?
-
Congrats to all at Nate's Peep Paradise!
WooHoo! Another nephew!
Now why does a Hank Williams tune keep runnin' around in my head?
-
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
No news on the birthing front.......yet.
Note the timestamp on this post. It's Wednesday evening and Nate's at hospital w/ Dr. Who. I got a report this morning that there was a problem with the baby's heartbeat during labor, so they slowed things down a bit. Cross your fingers and say your prayers, folks.
Still waiting on Elijah!
On a lighter note I did add a link to "Nate's Peep Paradise". He will be so pleased.
Still waiting on Elijah!
On a lighter note I did add a link to "Nate's Peep Paradise". He will be so pleased.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Spacebunny Goes Tactical
Lifted from Nate's:
As they say, "possession is nine-tenths of the law". Think what a better chance the family would have to keep her alive had they only followed SB's advice. Though I suspect they have been thinking they fell down the hole with Alice for a month now. (The situation was probably unimaginable.) They would HAVE physical custody of their daughter and the judge would have to order her removed from theirs into the shithead's tender care. Law enforcement would have to ACT to kill her, rather than just preventing someone acting to save her. Whole different ballgame! Can you see judge grim and his Barney Fife squad executing an Elian Gonzalez(sp?) type raid to return her to the custody of those who wish her dead? Her dad, with a .38 snub, could hold them off to a buffer of 100 yards, probably more, by firing into the air! Make sure the rest of the family are Dad's hostages so only he goes to jail when some judge somewhere finally decides to lift the death sentence on his daughter and Mom and the rest are still around to care for her. Have a brother or two in reserve in case they try again. I know many who have a month's worth of food/water without even tryin'. The county isn't going to pay for the deputies to sit around that long drinkin' coffee and cowering behind their vehicles, especially if Dad works the media to his advantage. Factor in some forethought, and this becomes a very winnable situation at least in the short term.
SB says,
.....you are making the erroneous assumption that Nate and UO and others would have waited this long. There has not always been this kind of guard on her and if someone were trying to kill my child (remember this has been going on a very long time, not just the past few weeks) I would have had her out of there years ago (when he first petitioned to remove her feeding tube) and there wasn't the security.
As they say, "possession is nine-tenths of the law". Think what a better chance the family would have to keep her alive had they only followed SB's advice. Though I suspect they have been thinking they fell down the hole with Alice for a month now. (The situation was probably unimaginable.) They would HAVE physical custody of their daughter and the judge would have to order her removed from theirs into the shithead's tender care. Law enforcement would have to ACT to kill her, rather than just preventing someone acting to save her. Whole different ballgame! Can you see judge grim and his Barney Fife squad executing an Elian Gonzalez(sp?) type raid to return her to the custody of those who wish her dead? Her dad, with a .38 snub, could hold them off to a buffer of 100 yards, probably more, by firing into the air! Make sure the rest of the family are Dad's hostages so only he goes to jail when some judge somewhere finally decides to lift the death sentence on his daughter and Mom and the rest are still around to care for her. Have a brother or two in reserve in case they try again. I know many who have a month's worth of food/water without even tryin'. The county isn't going to pay for the deputies to sit around that long drinkin' coffee and cowering behind their vehicles, especially if Dad works the media to his advantage. Factor in some forethought, and this becomes a very winnable situation at least in the short term.
Monday, March 28, 2005
The curious affair of Terri Shiavo and Niccolo di Bernardo dei Machiavelli
Perhaps it’s just that I haven’t been reading much commentary lately, but while lots of folks are criticizing the Bush brothers for their feeble and perhaps cynical use of Terri Schiavo for political gain, I got to wondering about the timing of all this. What one thing has come out of this that will stick in the mind of Johnny work-a-day?
Here's what I think: That these judges are not only getting sillier by the minute, but they are starting to get out of hand. The seed has been planted in the back of every man's mind that some fat no-account ambulance chasing liar-for-a-living may one real day hold his fate in its pale puffy putrid hands. They just might need takin’ down a notch, eh?
And just how many seats on the Supreme Court are coming open? After the Bush brothers made a conspicuous run at these judges ("black robes" they says, homebaked demigods says I) I don’t see GW having a lot of trouble getting constructionist judges past the senate. No one will take significant notice that several Republican appointees participated in the murder of Terri Schiavo and they will beat the opposition with the Terri Schiavo stick until none are left opposing them excepting Barney Lispingfag Frank.
In this scenario the Brothers Bush may not save Terri, in fact she MUST die in order for it to work. Machiavelli is smiling somewhere; hot as it may be.
Here's what I think: That these judges are not only getting sillier by the minute, but they are starting to get out of hand. The seed has been planted in the back of every man's mind that some fat no-account ambulance chasing liar-for-a-living may one real day hold his fate in its pale puffy putrid hands. They just might need takin’ down a notch, eh?
And just how many seats on the Supreme Court are coming open? After the Bush brothers made a conspicuous run at these judges ("black robes" they says, homebaked demigods says I) I don’t see GW having a lot of trouble getting constructionist judges past the senate. No one will take significant notice that several Republican appointees participated in the murder of Terri Schiavo and they will beat the opposition with the Terri Schiavo stick until none are left opposing them excepting Barney Lispingfag Frank.
In this scenario the Brothers Bush may not save Terri, in fact she MUST die in order for it to work. Machiavelli is smiling somewhere; hot as it may be.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Shout out to the King of the Peeps !
So, Nate, what was in that Easter basket Welldigger sent your way?
Nothin' like the considerate love of a brother to make the world seem a better place, eh?
Happy Easter to all!
And, Nate, don't hog all the peeps; Share with Jeb.
Nothin' like the considerate love of a brother to make the world seem a better place, eh?
Happy Easter to all!
And, Nate, don't hog all the peeps; Share with Jeb.
Orson Get's it Right
One of my favorite authors of SF/ fantasy is Orson Scott Card. I was shocked this morning to see he had a commentary on Terry Schiavo. One of the most well reasoned and thought out pieces I've read so far.
The quadriplegics who learn to paint with a brush held between their teeth.
Helen Keller.
Stephen Hawking.
I suppose, though, that we should have simply killed them as soon as the incurability of their problems became obvious. After all, what “quality of life” could they possibly have?
Enjoy.
The quadriplegics who learn to paint with a brush held between their teeth.
Helen Keller.
Stephen Hawking.
I suppose, though, that we should have simply killed them as soon as the incurability of their problems became obvious. After all, what “quality of life” could they possibly have?
Enjoy.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
The Brag
Part of Southron and Western male tradition is 'The Brag'. A man's brag says more about how witty, humorous, creative, and personable he is than how tough or accomplished he is.
Here's one of the best I've heard:
From This Cowboy's Hat by Chris LeDoux
Here's one of the best I've heard:
From This Cowboy's Hat by Chris LeDoux
You'll ride a black tornado, 'cross the western sky.
Rope an ole blue northern, and milk it til it's dry.
Bull dawg the Mississippi, and pin her ears down flat...
Long before you take this cowboys hat...
The Hammer Came Down
Well I never thought I'd have to do it, but I banned someone today for trolling. Deleted their posts even. It's dictatorial, I know.
I'm sure there will be disagreements here, arguments, hissy fits even and all that is OK; but outright trolling... nope. I am more than willing to share what meager knowledge/experience I possess and am quite capable of admitting I am wrong. I am wrong so often (so the wife says) I have gotten in the habit of admitting it even. But if you've got an ax to grind, do it somewhere else. There are ways to make points that provoke thoughtfulness in others and there are ways to provoke others. I will not provide space or a forum for you.
Stir shit somewhere else. And at least grow the balls to display your email and homepage.
Nuff Said.
I'm sure there will be disagreements here, arguments, hissy fits even and all that is OK; but outright trolling... nope. I am more than willing to share what meager knowledge/experience I possess and am quite capable of admitting I am wrong. I am wrong so often (so the wife says) I have gotten in the habit of admitting it even. But if you've got an ax to grind, do it somewhere else. There are ways to make points that provoke thoughtfulness in others and there are ways to provoke others. I will not provide space or a forum for you.
Stir shit somewhere else. And at least grow the balls to display your email and homepage.
Nuff Said.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
A Budding Author!
My oldest daughter has been a prolific story writer for some years now, and says she gets an 'A' on every story she writes. I set up a place for her to post her stories.
Remember, she is 11 years old. Obviously, Nate, Welldigger, and I will be monitoring and supervising the activity. She wants to tell y'all to, "Send your daughters over", to her blog. "If they like horses they'll love it. No boys allowed!"
Of course boys ARE allowed so long as they behave as gentlemen.
Remember, she is 11 years old. Obviously, Nate, Welldigger, and I will be monitoring and supervising the activity. She wants to tell y'all to, "Send your daughters over", to her blog. "If they like horses they'll love it. No boys allowed!"
Of course boys ARE allowed so long as they behave as gentlemen.
Mono(b)logue
Many apologies. Look at the weeds around here! Better get busy; perhaps plant some shrubbery over there….
Gregg has been beside himself over this Terry Shiavo situation, and I must admit that for a time I had no trouble remaining detached and aloof from the whole thing. However, empathy catches up to nearly all of us and the horror has finally sunk in. Stephen King and Alfred Hitchcock could not together conjure such a diabolical end for an innocent woman. I, for one, had no ability to imagine the extent of the organized, engaged, willful machinery of this poor woman’s torture.
It must not be discounted the heavy application of government force to insure that Terry leaves this world in as miserable a way as is imaginable. The black robes have stated that not only will she die, but that we shall be forced to watch and may do nothing to stop it. Police arrest those attempting to give aid, and have cordoned off the facility. Healthcare professionals, who by definition have dedicated their lives to the preservation of human life are forced to stand idly by while this machinery slowly, horribly grinds Terry to dust.
This is not a fork in the road to western depravity and moral insolvency, we have obviously passed beyond that, but a marker in red letter’s stating, “Turn Back Now – SHITSTORM AHEAD!”
“And the king will say to them in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me’” Mathew (25:31-40).
Does the converse apply in that what we do to the least brothers we do to Him?
I don’t know anything of Terry’s father, but in his shoes I know if I was unable to mount a successfully murderous snatch and grab before hope runs out for my daughter there would be hell to pay.
“Vengence is Mine, Sayeth the Lord”.
Yes, and I would make immediately available to Him as many of those directly responsible for the continued suffering of my daughter for administration of said vengence.
We got trouble on planet earth, boys. We got trouble.
Gregg has been beside himself over this Terry Shiavo situation, and I must admit that for a time I had no trouble remaining detached and aloof from the whole thing. However, empathy catches up to nearly all of us and the horror has finally sunk in. Stephen King and Alfred Hitchcock could not together conjure such a diabolical end for an innocent woman. I, for one, had no ability to imagine the extent of the organized, engaged, willful machinery of this poor woman’s torture.
It must not be discounted the heavy application of government force to insure that Terry leaves this world in as miserable a way as is imaginable. The black robes have stated that not only will she die, but that we shall be forced to watch and may do nothing to stop it. Police arrest those attempting to give aid, and have cordoned off the facility. Healthcare professionals, who by definition have dedicated their lives to the preservation of human life are forced to stand idly by while this machinery slowly, horribly grinds Terry to dust.
This is not a fork in the road to western depravity and moral insolvency, we have obviously passed beyond that, but a marker in red letter’s stating, “Turn Back Now – SHITSTORM AHEAD!”
“And the king will say to them in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me’” Mathew (25:31-40).
Does the converse apply in that what we do to the least brothers we do to Him?
I don’t know anything of Terry’s father, but in his shoes I know if I was unable to mount a successfully murderous snatch and grab before hope runs out for my daughter there would be hell to pay.
“Vengence is Mine, Sayeth the Lord”.
Yes, and I would make immediately available to Him as many of those directly responsible for the continued suffering of my daughter for administration of said vengence.
We got trouble on planet earth, boys. We got trouble.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Gregg if you can find some time away from your saucey neighbor...
Check this out:
RTW
This type of riding and the TransAm Trail are what dualsports like the Kawasaki KLR650, the KTM Adventure 950, and the V-Strom are all about.
Show of hands here. Who WOULDN'T want to go riding off with Spice?
Fags.
RTW
This type of riding and the TransAm Trail are what dualsports like the Kawasaki KLR650, the KTM Adventure 950, and the V-Strom are all about.
Show of hands here. Who WOULDN'T want to go riding off with Spice?
Fags.
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