Scheiss, scheiss, Bruederlein scheiss...

Cousin Luke and I were at the U-boat on Sunday doing some work, and I took pictures of Yooj's tackle on the line- it's that little speck right above the cloud in the middle.

The shitey-shack, now known as Das Aus Haus, and then Rastus P. LeRoy Jr. He can work for Mr. Benny.

And finally, God bless Rachel Ray.

Rabbits

The winds have been pretty fierce here these last few days, so I've been getting my exercise by cutting up fallen tree limbs.

Remember when in conversation to anyone about the price of gasoline, there are two words that explain all. RECORD PROFITS. Not record sales, or 15 refineries not able to produce, but RECORD PROFITS.

This is the last of the Ms. Byron Pics.

For he who pees with me today will be my brother

I apologize to my loyal reader for not posting, but the Yooj has been in town for these last ten days, which meant that I spent most of my time plunging the toilet.

There really hasn't been much going on worth writing about, unless you count staying at the u-boat last weekend. We fished off the dock, drank beer, and tried to see how bad we could smell after two days.

I think between us we caught about 14 fish, of which I think maybe 5 lived after being hooked, because the mother fuckers were swallowing the hooks. Every time we tried to remove the hook they would start bleeding, so they got to keep the hook. At least the ones that we didn't cut up into bait.

We were to find that this trip's funnies belonged to Yooj.

When fishing from the dock, one must be wary of the trees surrounding the sides, as they will become fisherman Christmas trees with all the tackle hanging from them. Both of us were running two poles- one with a bobber and a worm, and another with an artificial lure, basically just to give us something to do until the next fish swallowed the next hook.

Well, the Yooj casted out hard in what looked like the perfect arc, with that ZZZZZZZZZ! sound the closed-faced reel makes when it pays out at extremely high speed. About a hundred feet out you see the spoon hit the water followed by the kabloop. At this point you normally wait a second or two for the line to land on the water and then set the reel.

Do you know what else eats lures? Overhead power lines.

His perfect arc was now an inverted v with the lure in the lake on one side of the power line, and Yooj on the other. He reeled in a bit, and I told him to get it within about a foot of the line and then yank pretty hard, thinking that it would act the same on a power line that it does on a tree branch. It turns out that I was wrong. His spoon twirled around the line like a fishy Olga Korbut on the parallel bars. It rested at an angle that shown the shiny side toward the dock, so that the part of the lure that was supposed to get the attention of the fish looked like it was winking at us when the sun hit.

While laughing I reached over and cut his line.



"Fire in the Hole!" was the warning that one of us had caught a tree and was getting ready to yank the shit out of the line, so get your ass down because you have no clue where the line's going.

As I was the one normally yelling this, I was surprised to find that Yooj had caught one of the largest hickory trees around and was getting ready to give the line what for. "Seeephew"! I heard the line give and then immediately get caught in the next closest tree. Knowing that the Yooj was now sufficiently angry to do something based solely on the size of his muscles and not his brain, and that in the past this has only accomplished the feat of me being injured somehow, I was was crouched so low that I saw nothing but the wooden dock.

Yooj grunted, pulled ( I know that sounds dirty, but try to stay focused here), and the lure still buzzed my head before hitting the water. I immediately leaned over to get it out of the water before Yoojie got the damn thing stuck in the dock. I pulled on the bobber, raised the line, and THERE WAS A GODDAMN FISH ON THE HOOK THAT WASN'T THERE WHEN THE LINE WAS IN THE TREE. He caught a fish in about 1/32nd of a second. The worst part was that it was the biggest fish we caught that weekend.

On Sunday we went back down on the dock to donate more tackle to the water. After about two hours of the same ole, the Yooj changed lures to a bass lure that has all the shit hanging off of it.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ! This time, you didn't see it hit water. There was no kabloop. Yoojie had inadvertently gone round two with power line and had again come out the loser. Flip,flip,flip, and Olga #2 was line bound. I was laughing so hard that I was heeping watching him chew his line apart.

In the middle of taking breaths I laughingly asked, "Why don't you just throw your fucking tacklebox at the power line?"

Restraining the urge to kill me he said, "That's God telling us we're done."

We packed all of our shit and left the u-boat for home, with our hero mimicking me a few miles down the road; "why don't you throw your tacklebox at the power line? Asshole."

Well, aint that some shit.

This is just weird.

http://wbztv.com/local/gloucester.high.school.2.751873.html

this, however, is much better.

I'll spin you around so fast you'll think you were Dorothy and Toto

All of you out there in Kaiser Andy land know that I couldn't give two rats asses for ghetto-ite members of the idiot class (it's not like I'm a fan of any of the idiot class), and that I don't make any great effort to hide that fact.

Well today there were two of them walking on a one way street. Not on the sidewalk on the one way street, but in the street. One of them pushing a stroller, and the other pushing a grocery cart (how the thing still works after leaving Kroger's parking lot is a mystery). I'll give you one guess about which one was on the outside, as they haven't walked in line since their grandfathers returned from WWII.

In a fit of rage I put the window down on the company van and set to yelling. Loudly and mother-fuckerly. I got a middle finger from one, and the other set to chicken-necking and hollerin like somebody done stoler her check. I actually started laughing at that point.

In all, a minor gain.

Take my canadians please

this is just a great picture of her. It has a JC Penny catalogue feel to it, but I dig.

Das aus Haus

I went to the U-boat yesterday since I'm not a dad, and don't have to have my family fake like they actually care for me other than for my paycheck.

I may be a bit cynical.

Rastis P. Leroy Jr. is now properly Al Jolsened, and the sawfish is on the side of the shitey-shack. More caulk is in the cracks, seeing as the ants are pretty well retarded when it comes to camouflaging their path into the building. After a little more caulk and some more paint, the U-boat will be finished, at least on the outside. I would have some pictures, but alas.

I'm so very much looking forward to staying this next weekend there with the Yooj.

So much for waiting ten minutes

It is said that if you don't like the weather in the Ville, just wait ten minutes- it'll change.

Well, for this last week, that's a load of shit.

Luke and I have been waiting for the weather to cool about 8deg so that we can get the second hive body on the beehive so that we can have a strong enough hive to make us a lot of honey next year and keep them from swarming this year. Unfortunately, the weather being as warm as it is means that many of the bees hang out on the outside of the hive in order the lower the amount of heat in the hive, and there is no fucking way that I'm getting near the hive when there are about 400 bees on the outside of the hive not wanting to go in, not counting the number of their sisters flying in from foraging nectar and pollen. That's just a recipe for meeting the ER staff. I mean, I'm sure they're fine people, but I'd rather meet over a beer instead of signing HIPAA release forms. Call me old fashioned.

We're going to try tonight since it's supposed to rain today and cool down. Once that's done, the only thing left to do this summer is drink beer, fish at the U-boat, and eat non-salmonella produce from my garden.

Did I mention drink beer?

Byron by popular demand

I have a bunch a pictures of Lady Byron, but I have nothing for July.

Any ideas on who should be the next one? Ooh. I've got it. The perfect lady. She's cute, she cooks, she's Rachel Ray. Or, that hispanic cooking chick. She's hottern' cracklin' grease.




In other news, I got number 12 last night with the flashlight spotting help of our fine firefighting friend.

She's back!

One faithful reader sent in a picture of my bedmate, Katherine Heigl. I don't know if he just missed her, or if I started to use too many wurds and not enough pichers.

The new phrase the my brother Darell used last night to describe someone who is adamantly set on never straying from their idea of proceedures or structure is "Yeah, he's about five minutes from Wapner."

He, of course used it to describe his son, which is why I was laughing so hard I was heep-ing for about five minutes.

Now for the other picture.

Why, oh why, oh why

I had an interesting yesterday evening. It started out by not being 98 degrees, which was excellent working outside weather.

Tons of tomatoes coming in, which is good enough on its own, but when coupled with the salmonella scare, I might be sittin' on a patch of gold. The recently transplanted cuke already has three buds on it, and the bees are seriously taking care of my beans.

On to the fun:

A guy I work with broke his mirror off when he tested how hard he could back up without seeing a telephone pole in the parking lot, so we got him another, and I was to paint it last night.

I get a beer to drink, grab the can of spray paint and start shaking it. Shaking the paint while I walked around the house, I watched a little TV, walked around the yard, and back inside. On my way downstairs to paint, I switched hands with the paint so I could get another beer out da fridge. Shaking the can down the stairs, when I got to my bench I sat down the paint and went to open my beer.

cha-chik-SPLOOOOOOSH!

My dumb ass didn't switch which hand I shook, just the cans. I shook my beer for about 25 seconds before opening it.

At least I didn't drink the paint.

So the AME Zion pastor said, "Sure. God would drive a Mercedes, why can't I?"

The cabin is now habitable. I wanted to have about eight more beers, go fishing and sleep over on Saturday, but we(he) had to get back.

In other news, my friends down the alley thought that yelling at 1AM is acceptable. I thought they needed to meet the police.

I doubt they'll be making a lot of noise into the wee hours any time soon.

The only U-boat with a bar

If you're in the Appalachians, you now think that the boat comes with a bear in it.

Cousin Luke and I will be in Boston tomorrow doing some wiring and painting. Well, he'll be doing the wiring, and I'll be painting, as electricity makes Andy go ouch.

The cots will be going down there along with bed rolls and pillows (in space bags) so that whenever we're down there and too drinky or a thunderstorm parks its ass over us, we can stay overnight.

We'll get some pictures and maybe I'll catch a stick or two.

The dog looked 18, Officer!

It is officially swamp-ass hot here in da Ville, at least for the next day or two. I was walking today, and I believe that I heard my balls squeak as they rubbed against my legs because of the sweat.





Yes, this is the same town that had fifty degree nights two weeks ago, requiring, no, encouraging me to have beer/fuego nights on the porch.





I guess the good part is that my garden is exploding, including my four volunteer tomatoes and my volunteer cucumber. Hooray- garden.


The vols will probably be big enough to transplant when the Yooj is in town, so he'll have some work to do.

LOOK! A FRENCH BEAR!

Who knew?

Today is Wednesday, June 4th, the 156th day of 2008. There are 210 days left in the year.

On June 4th, 1942, the Pacific Battle of Midway began during World War II; three days later, American naval forces claimed a decisive victory over the Japanese.

In 1878, the Ottoman Empire turned over control of Cyprus to the British.

In 1896, Henry Ford made a successful pre-dawn test run of his horseless carriage, called a "quadricycle," through the streets of Detroit.

In 1940, the Allied military evacuation from Dunkirk, France, ended.

In 1989, Chinese army troops stormed Beijing to crush a pro-democracy movement, killing hundreds, possibly thousands, of people.

And in today's news:

Kari Byron talks about the night we spent together.

Maybe I'll just move the garden indoors

The roof has been leaking into my downstairs bathroom and creating a huge-ass mess. I've re shingled. I've patched, gooped, glopped, spackled, and covered the offending areas with every product that even hints at keeping the out-doors out-doors. It's time to strip off the old and re-roof and lay down new wood.

How hard could that be? You ask.

Not very is the answer.

So, I'll just get a dumpster, and put it up in the driveway...

SHIT- I STILL HAVE A FUCKING KARMAN GHIA IN THE WAY!

DAMN YOU, EVIL PEOPLE FORGETTING ABOUT YOUR SHIT AT MY HOUSE!

Do you have your fishing license?

After work today I'm going down to the U-boat at Boston to do a little fishing and a little provisioning so that we can do some over-nights and not go to bed with rumbly tummies.

I know what you're thinking, and no, you don't always catch enough fish to eat, and even if you did, we don't currently have a way to cook them, so unless you want to do a little Tom Hanks Castaway action, bring a fork and enjoy the raviolis.

I need to run some errands while at lunch today, so I'll be able to get some pictures of the place with Rastis P. Leroy Jr. out front holding the solar lamp.

I might even take the boat out.

In other news:

These hot days and cool nights are killing my pepper plants. Good thing there're more in the dining room waiting to go in.

To the moon, Alice!

Yeah, I don't have a whole lot to say seeing as I haven't been testing gravity lately, and I haven't been working in the shop much (sorry about your table, Yooj).

My brother Darrel sent this to me, and absolutely love this picture.

I didn't drop the ball. I set it down. Now go to hell.

This just in:

I won't be at work on Friday(tomorrow if you're reading today, or today if you're reading tomorrow).

I hope to finish painting the inside of the cabin and a lot of the outside. Ooh- I could stay over and go night fishing. Thank you, brain. I'm glad you're around.

So, for your viewing pleasure:

Once upon a fart

I made some hash the other night, and I thought at the time that there may have been a tad too much garlic in it, but when I let out a good one that emptied the office yesterday, I knew there was just enough.

Operation same pants fart is underway.



Quiet please for the movie.

Well, hello there!

Hillary may actually get my vote, but inadvertently

They had 2nd street closed so that we could waste $4 gallon gas waiting for Hillary's caravan to pass, and the cops were keeping everyone back. These dudes don't mess around.

I saw a cop push hand-belt droopy-shirted urbanite back onto the sidewalk after warning him several times that he couldn't cross the road.

I would pay to see that everyday.

Now, for a naked picture of Heigl:

HA HA!

Here's someone else we'll apparently never see.

Now, on with the show:

Barely had his foot on the gas

Big Brown by 5 1/4 lengths. Looks like the best chance in a long time for a triple crown winner.

And, my apologies to the Yooj, as Affirmed was '78, and Seattle Slew was '77. I don't know why I always want to put Seattle Slew right in front of Spectacular Bid ('79). Maybe it's an alliteration thing.

In other news, I'm sure by the end of this summer, my face is going to be synonymous with the phrase, "homicidal driving."

It was so nice yesterday to be at the cabin painting in the silence. It was even better catching fish (one bass, two nice sized bluegill) without hearing that jump-around thump-thump-thump sound of ghetto cruisers.

In other words, hold my gland...

Sheesh- you make one small change...

And now, so that maybe the Yooj will gain some focus:

And now for the rest of us, and especially Dan:You gentlemen have had a sneak preview to next month.

Under her dress, I did caress, I must confess...

Apparently everyone (all three of you) have been rendered speechless by the lovely Heigl, so I am therefore forced to cease posting her pictures in an effort to spawn conversation.

Instead, I give you this:

Do you know who's bum this is?

I'm sorry we lost you, but now there's more room in the boat

Instead of a grass-roots effort, I believe we need to put Yankee John under the grass.

Since he apparently can't find his computer with both hands, I shall observe one minute of silence for his departure from us...*fart*...there goes that.

Anyway, on with the show:

I took a movement on your blog

In order to get Yank-me John off his damn dead ass...no, I want him on his big damn dead ass- writing.

You're erudite. You are quite the wordsmith with many cunning slights of phrase. You're still retarded, but but you speak well for some one with three brain cells fighting for superiority. Unfortunately for you, the one called Mussolini wins in the semis, and it still has to take on Selassie in the final.

So I took off John's link and put on one that I can't read but has some neat pictures. At least John can look at those and maybe work on a poo, I mean, movement.

Speaking of pictures:

Spodaciously attired urbanites

I don't know if I'm going to make through the summer without killing someone. I'm tired of the ghetto blasting boom-boom coming from cars. I'm tired of retarded people pretty well daring me to hit them as they walk out into traffic.

Someone's not going to become a West Broadway martyr, they're going to become ghetto jelly as I continue to back up and run over them again.

I need to go fishing. Who's up for it?

woopsie

find a current. I mis-posted.

Damn computers.

In the ghetto

I was driving down fourth street here in the 'Ville on my way to a store by the university, and I was ASTONISHED at how fucking ghetto the area is. Now, I realize that working people don't want to be stacked on top of each other the way the old neighborhoods were built, but that doesn't mean the current occupiers have to wreck the area in which they reside.

I know that most of the property in that area is rental, but just because you rent doesn't give you the right to have a nasty, littered yard, park your ghettoed up fucking 70's hooptie up in your yard, and rob the stores nearby.

Two years ago hardly any store on 4th had bars over their windows. Now most of them do.

I've been living in this area of town for thirty years. Don't even stare at me like I'm invading your turf, because I have two things going for me: I too have guns, and I have enough money for a lawyer.

C'mon, you fucking aunt-jemima looking bitch; step out in front of my car.

I'm pissed. I need...

I feel better now.

Hey- what's that noise coming from under your desk?

We'll be heading back down this weekend to the U-boat to hopefully finish painting the front bedroom and common area and then start on the outside.

We had a lot of wind the last time I was there, and I got a nice shot of the flag:

Oh, and uh, this:

I like to keep my audience riveted

Due to the overwhelming request that I had for the posting of a certain actress everytime I put something up, I give you the lovely Heigl.

Even though I started out with the best picture I had, and therefore "blowing my wad" before being done (don't I hear that often enough), I had to resort to the internet.

So, while supplies last, I will offer you at least one reason a day to fold on over to Oragami.

Well, today you get a twofer.

In other news, I found what I was looking for before, so now in reverse order.

<---Compare this

with this:

Now, I don't know about you, but right now I'm dreaming of the Heigl twins making a Kaiser sammich in a fishing cabin.

Fished and Painted, and didn't come home drunk?

I got some more painting done at the U-boat. It's really brightening up.

Contrast this:

With this:

See? much better. Actually I couldn't find the picture I was looking for, so I figured Heigl would have to do. I hope you're not too distraught over me not showing you yet one more picture of a 20x20 concrete shack.

PETA CAN KISS MY LITTLE DICK

PETA assholes are calling for the suspension of the jockey that rode the ill-fated Eight Belles in the Derby until after an investigation to determine whether he felt anything during the race.

Here's what he heard and felt: hooves stomping! I can hear and feel them up in the stands, so how fucking loud do they think it is when in the middle of the scrum? Sweat shit in a bucket are they retarded.

Goodbye, Eight Belles. It stinks that you broke both of your front ankles and couldn't even make it off the track.
Guess what? In the wild, you know the wild- where horses run all the time? Well, she would have lain there in pain until she died or was attacked by some other hungry animal.

At least in death she'll be remembered. Test: who came in second in last year's Derby behind Street Sense?

I don't fucking know either.

painting, painting everywhere and not a drop of ink

Cousin Luke and I went back to the U-boat to do some painting this last Saturday, and woh Nelly how different does it look. It's almost inhabitable. Here's me doing some trim work *snort*. It was immediately evident that white paint reflects more light than 20 year-old tan.

Luke then went on to floor duty which was to be a light gray like you see on the porches of older houses. The front bedroom actually looks its ten by ten size, and you can see from this picture that it also looks one hell of a lot better than that old nasty green.

But before all the work started, there were two fun tasks that needed to happen in order to make the U-boat more man friendly. And since both Luke and I are ate-up retards, we chose to put a pulley and a cleat on the light pole and run up a pirate flag.

Not to let our lunacy end there, I mounted a fake periscope on the vent stack on the out house. Now, before you ask why the shitey-shack, remember that we are going to paint the u-boat sawfish and bull on the outside. I took an old broom handle and tapered an end and left a knob end on it. After painting it gun metal gray, I glued a mirror on it so that it will catch a few seldom-comers by surprise with a reflection of their headlights at night.

The backlight kind of sucks on this picture, but I'll take a sunny 80deg day over a terriffic photo.

Since I couldn't let a trip go without wetting a line, I went down to the dock with my 404 and proceeded to catch a HUGE log. But, alas, it got away with my lure. Such is life. Some times you win, some times you lose, some times it rains.

John, I am so ready to stay overnight and go fishing.

The cool thing is that the great baloon race (part of the Ky Derby festival) was going on as we were on the highway home. A neat end to a very productive day.

Not for the squeemish, and definitely not how I wanted to wake up

Yesterday morning I used a toothpick to clean the gookie out from under my toenails since I left my clippers and file at work. After the dredging ceased I thought threw the crusty bugger in the trash.

You know how it feels when you're about to enter REM? The peaceful sinking into the bed, every thing's right with the world, let me just slide my arm under my pillow like...OH SWEET MOTHER FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHER FUCK WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS THAT? SHIT, I'VE GOT A TOOTHPICK JAMMED UNDER MY FINGER NAIL! AHHHHHH! OH FUCKING SHIT THAT FUCKING HURTS!

Do you know what hurts more than getting one stuck an eighth-inch deep under your nail? Pulling the damned thing back out!

I don't understand this. While I was drinking and playing around bees, saws, an axe, and a sledge hammer- nothing. But I get hurt when I go to bed? Royally fuck that.

I got out of bed, put my finger on ice and had another beer down in the shop, where I knew I was safe.

smoke 'em if you got 'em

The bees are in, and will be checked in a couple of days.

Hopefully this time next year we'll be swimming in honey.

After getting them ready by smoking them and wetting them, Luke's fi'n to dump 'em in.


Brush 'em into the hive, put the lid on and wait a few days to see if the queen has been released from her own little box.

The grass in the opening is to keep others out and more of the bees inside building out comb instead of leaving to forage.

Neither one of us was stung, even though a LOT of the bees toward the middle didn't get enough water on them. It turns out that they really don't like being jostled around like you have to do to get the wet ball out of the box. There were several dozen buzzing like they were coming in on a bombing run, so he put the lid on the box, and then we went inside and had a beer.
An hour later they were all calm and going into the hive.

the yard will be abuzz

Our package of bees came in the mail yesterday and cousin Luke picked 'em up. When I went over to feed them the special bee food known as sugar water I took a few photos of the package.
Since blogger is experiencing technical difficulties with loading them, I offer you this:

mmmmm...fishing...

I went down to the cabin yesterday to get the floors ready for painting, and during breaks for beer and to un-beer I went down on the deck to fish.
Several nibbles but no real bites. Almost caught a snapping turtle to go ahead and get it out of the way for the season.

Anyway, the real story is that fucking assholes from Indiana like to drive 65 in a 70 zone FOR THIRTY MILES. Fuck Hoosiers, fuck their goddamn Fifo brethren and fuck the lady in the van in front of me that refused to relinquish the third and fastest lane to me because she apparently liked the formation flying in which she was engaged.

I'm now sufficiently pissed and want another beer.

good day fuck wads wherever you are.

These are so geeky cool

http://echosphere.net/star_trek_insp/star_trek_insp.html

cleaning out the man cave. hold on- that didn't sound right

I preparation for cleaning and painting, we have done some out tossing of old shit, like the idea that cousin Luke's son will ever get laid in the cabin.

Patio furniture and folding cots will be the replacements to old anything that can absorb water and harbor rodents and spiders

dry as a funeral drum

Deluge part dos didn't arrive, so my cousin Luke, my brother Darryl and I went down to the U-boat in Boston on Saturday for to haul away a bunch of junk in preparation for cleaning and painting. Fifteen beers later, the place was cleaned out and the truck loaded up.
We hadn't even finished unloading the truck in front of Bob's house(why have the trash in front of mine?) when a junk-scrounger pulled up for all the metal parts. He got the goods, we got the shit out of there, and things are going along well.
If my other brother Darryl doesn't need me for painting rooms in his new house, I'm going to see if I can head back down there this week for some more prep. Of course, that's only if it warms a bit.
I'll get pictures as it progresses.

Speaking of pictures, there's a familiar funny at the very bottom of the blog. Enjoy.

When the rain comes, they run and hide their heads

The rain is a pourin' down. I was going to take my lunch outside and watch the planes practice for the air show, but now I don't think that's gonna happen. Were I to stand outside now and look up for 15 minutes, the void where my brain should be would fill up with water and slosh around when I walk.

Trends being what they are, it has been historically the case that when we have good weather for Thunder over Lewavul, it'll rain on Derby Day, and vice versa, so I'll take my air show getting rained out.

Since Louisianna has horse racing, I'm sure the good doctor has been to a few races. And since Yankee and I drank a lot of beer at Churchill one Sunday I know he has, and I know damn well that Cousin Luke has, since I've lost money next to him on several occasions. For those wanting a refresher, here you are:

http://www.drf.com/flash/drf_pp_tutorial.html

The harder I handicap, it seems the worse I do.

It's the Lord, Noah

I will be building up the burm this evening, as we are to get muchos rainos this next four days. Who knows, maybe I'll start a paper boat regatta in the basement.

Is there prayer for sump-pumps?

The good news is that I'm looking forward to people drowning in the Ohio river this Saturday. Well, not looking forward to, but merely expecting.
Thunder over Louisville is this saturday, and that means a huge crowd on the waterfront to watch fireworks. Here's the catch- the city is not going to put up any sort of fence or barricade to keep people from the swollen river. The city expects people to use their best caution and exercise restraint.
Wa-wa-what? We wouldn't need traffic lights and stop signs if people were capable of that.

In other news:
http://www.derbypost.com/betting.html

and remember, no one ever wins out of the auxilliary gate. Isn't that right, John?

Don't worry, I've seen that finger before.

someone get me a snorkel

John, you're going to have fun with this one since you know the place.

Yesterday evening it began to drizzle. As it wore into night, the drizzle became rain. At midnight a thunderstorm parked its ass on top of us. I believe the meteorologist said we received an inch and a half of rain in three hours.

I heard the sump pump running in the basement, and I thought I'd check out how it looked, since I had earlier moved all the stuff out of the way that could get ruined. Holy mother of fuck what I saw- the water was coming in the basement door from AROUND THE SIDES AND FOUR INCHES UP THE DOOR.
Knowing full well that this meant there was seven inches of water at the base of the outside stairs, I thought I would be smart and snake out the drain from outside. I donned my yellow foulies and my water-proof boots and went out to do some work.
Did you know that wood ramps in the rain are slippery? Well, I picked myself and my now half-spilled beer up off the muddy yard and started down the steps. I got to the bottom step and put my foot out. Now, I've never been a math wizard, but I should have known that if my waterproofs go up my leg five inches, and I know that the water is seven inches deep, that would leave me with two inches of ice-fucking-cold water that would, without restraint or compunction, flood my boot faster than a submarine on an emergency dive. I immediately pulled my five pound boot out of the arctic sea, setting off a set of events that are funny now-if you're not me.
I wasn't expecting the extra weight on the quick-jerk reaction and put my arm out to steady myself on the edge of the step well. I was about three inches shy of where I needed to be, so instead of stopping, I found myself falling toward the concrete. "AH-HA!" I thought, "I'll spin around and my back will wind up against the door and I won't fall."
I was pretty sure my deficiencies ended with math and diplomacy, but what I didn't realize is that this decision would mean that I would have to sacrifice my smarter, drier foot.

Having successfully snaked the drain, I heard the rush of the water going through the pipe and then I heard the sump pump start. "Yeah. I have defeated Poseidon's angry hoards at my gate," I believed, failing to realize that he was sending gallons of reinforcements by air.

I looked up at the top step of the bumpy funnel that led to my now re-clogged ass drain and noticed something odd- the water was flowing down so fast from the yard that it wasn't following the normal, time-tested, step-to-step policy to flooding my basement. I instead witnessed a mini waterfall in all of its splendor.

Staying up until four in the AM is nice in college and all, but when you have to snake the drain about 2o times and build a dam out of bags of concrete and mud, not to mention dig a trench with camping maddok, fuck all of that.

While on campus today, I fell asleep sitting on the toilet. I don't know if any republicans came by and took pictures.

No Camry for Old Men

These last two weeks I have been calling around, looking on the internet and in the paper for used cars within my rockin' rolla's and bank account's peramiters. With gas rising and people thinking that they're sitting on goldmines, prices have been high, so they get the gentle 'fuck off.'

I started looking toward lots instead of individuals, because people are pricks when it comes to selling their own cars. I know, I've seen me do it. Dealers nowadays use their 150+ point checkup where they make sure that all the parts work as they are supposed to, including grabbing the car's tires and asking it to cough.
This is how I and cousin Luke found ourselves at a Toyota dealer on Dixie Highway with a fella named Bob. I told him that I was looking for used. We started over to some smaller cars to where he pointed to some Chevy compacts.
"I don't want any of the American shit. Their small cars suck. You have to go to luxury before you find something decent."
With an odd look, he looks around the lot for a few seconds employing his 6'3" height to full advantage and began steering us in the direction of some newer-used cars.
"This one's nice, and it's only twelve thou..." He looked back at me and ceased when he saw me repeatedly pointing lower and shaking my head.
"I want under ten."
"Oh, well, uh, I'll see what we can find."

Two cars fit the description.
A 200 rolla with 107k , and an 01 Camry with 89k.

I don't think he knew what he was getting into when he let me test drive them, including the term "brake check."
Assuredly, he had never seen a testdriver swerve at a pedestrian, and even less so have the driver instruct the person in the passenger seat (Luke was next to me, with Bob in the back seat) to "get 'em with the door."

Some other terms with which I don't believe he has been familiarized during test-drives:

"Shit on a stick, fella. Get moving."
"You slow mother fucker."
"The goddamned car's not shifting right."
"Drive it or park it, dickwad."

A chuckle did come from the back seat when, after pulling to a stop and eyeing the future single mom (it's PRP for pete's sake. You know I ain't lyin') in the car next to me saying, "Hey Baby!"
When the light turned green I said, "bye, baby!"

I believe in test driving like I normally drive, and I bet he's got a few new stories to tell around the salesman campfire.

I'll soon be coming to a sidewalk near you.

had to change

I have been telling myself this last year that the old color on my blog was red, and not the protestant orange that John believed.
Well, it started to look more and more orange, so out it went since I hate the protestants almost as much as the catholics, jews, especially muslims, pretty much all of the let's-meditate-and-find-our-center-of-peace asian crackpot religious stew mobs. Are mormans considered double protestant?

So I went with irish-catholic green. Anybody who can drink and fight and get up the next morning and dig sewers apparently is my role model.



In other news:
I'm currently in the hunt for another car, so I'll be driving around this weekend to different lots and private sellers, so I'm sure they're be fodder for a good rant or two.

We Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Boredom

Wow! Did you guys see this? It turns out that this huge fucking ape climbed up a building in New York, and our air force had to take him out! Our military rocks! Support the troops! We need another surge! Four more years!

A commercial?

Shit. It was just a movie. I thought I was watching Fox news.

I'd hate to see the way you drive

Now, I don't know about you, but I find myself getting very fed up with assholes that speak very slowly on the phone. I got a call from someone the other day at work, and it was someone from one of our stores calling me. This gentleman proceeded to speak like he was in stroke therapy.
I had stopped listening since it was too hard to pay attention to what he was saying. I remember thinking, "Mother fucker, you called me- don't you know what you wanted to say?"
Making the requisite 'speed up' motion of rotating my hand toward the phone, I was nearing the counter at Whiteys. When I made it up to the cashier, I had had enough. In the middle of his next sentence I blurted out, "I'm getting ready to order lunch. I gotta go," and hung up on him.
I did it in the same way you would say, "Get off my porch, dickhead, or the only thing you're gonna witness is your ass gettin' whipped."
Not planning on getting into a long conversation? Then spit it out! Are you talking slowly because you're trying to do three things at once? Call back when you're down to one.
I enjoy talking on the phone to people I can't see every day; I don't like having to be on the phone because people can't feel for the hair and pull their heads out of their assess, and especially if it's for work.
The thing about work calls that irks me a bit more is when people call me and then say, "hold on" so they can finish other business before they return to the phone call that THEY placed. Were you surprised that I answered my phone? When it makes that funny noise and vibrates (and didn't come from your mom's sock drawer), that's the clue to answer it. That's what I do!

If I haven't seen you in a while and I like you (fat chance), then let's talk. Otherwise speak your piece and hang the fuck up.

And we'll have fun, fun, fun, till allstate takes the 'rolla away.

Woo hoo!
I'm getting $4,600 for my rockin' rolla, so I'll be able to move up a couple of years for the purchase of my next vehicle.

I'll add another K to the total and try to get something made in this decade.
Since I'm not looking to make car payments, I don't believe I'm going to be going to pay too high a price for a car.


In other news-
If you haven't been watching "John Adams" on HBO, it's your loss. The screenwriting is superb. I'm noticing things being written in the same way that the Grenada TV folks did Sherlock Holmes, writing around descriptions, and including things in conversation that were written, but were very important.

Spoiler alert- His son gets elected president.

Play me a dirge, matey!

This past Monday I was driving in Old Louisville when some yutz in a Ford Explorer decided to take a left turn from the right hand lane. I didn't have time to say "shit," much less do it.
Not too much damage was done, but it might be enough to total it purely based on market value of the car, and not based on the fact that the thing is mechanically terrific and gets 28mpg.

I did, however, manage to hit the street sign, so if you're ever at the corner of Brook and Ormsby, look for my trophy on the north-west corner.

This just in:
While I was typing this, the phone rang and Allstate wants to total my car.
"Andy? This is Ditzy Mitzy at All State, and I have some bad news."
"If you tell me you're totaling my car, I'm going to come to your house. That car gets 28 miles to the gallon."
"I'm sorry, but the estimate was over $3,000, and it's state law that when it's over 75% of the car's value..."
"State Law? don't you mean All State's law? What are my options?"

Basically, they're going to look it over, decide what they want to pay me, and we go from there. I can't believe this- I'm getting fucked by an insurance company that's not even mine.

On the bright side, the guy that hit me was pulled over about two hours earlier for speeding. Both of his events that day happened in his girlfriend's Explorer. Now, there's a relationship tester!

Pretzelrama!

I used the phrase the other day in a professor's office. She was talking about students complaining and asking for special treatment. I asked her, "Did you tell 'em what they're doin's like asking for pretzels in the Sudan? It just ain't gonna happen."

I got a chuckle out of her, but you could almost see the animated cursor in her eyes as her brain tried to work out that little hum-dinger.

Classic.

We can drink, fish, and stay overnight

Hey fellers, I just wanted to let you know why you want to come to da Ville. Cousin Luke and I are renting a cabin on a small lake about 35 miles away from Louisville. It's a cinder block two-bedroom, front room/kitchen. Electricity, but no running water.

Luke and I were replacing some wood and framing up a window this last weekend, and will be cleaning out all the old stuff and painting soon. This cabin will be pretty spartan, with all the chairs and table being the plastic patty o'furniture, with maybe a metal flip and fu, I mean futon in the front room.

This isn't a major operation; you can fish from the dock or go out on a john boat and fish for crappie, then come back up and drink more beer.
I'm going to the cabin to do some more work, so I'll get some pictures of the place.
Of course, this means I have to carve another rudder...

I just figured if you're ever in the area, we can get away for almost nothing.