A new post? Delusional again.

Ugh. Sometimes I really hate the way my brain works.

0430: 4:30 am for you non-24 hour types, a random thought forced its way into my melon. My brain latched onto, and wouldn't let go of the absolutely absurd idea of putting Dazzle camouflage on of all things, hockey pucks. It's not like the game is difficult as is, so let's make it even harder for players, especially goalies, officials, fans, broadcast cameras and the play-by-play guys.

NHL, et al. pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, he is certifiably delusional today...

Try these...

"Hello, I have a question about your targeted advertisement demographics.  It's my understanding that you sell feminine hygiene products.  I'm not quite certain people over the age of 18 who live in, or have recently visited, or are thinking about visiting the U.S.A. is the efficient use of targeting labels.

Yes, of course I understand that many men purchase products for the women in their lives, does your market research indicate that we, men, actually have a say in this?

I really don't think that will go over swimmingly well."

"Here Honey, try these.  Yes, I know you always use those, but these were on sale and the company sent me an ad on Facebook.  They even asked for my feedback.  I'll tell them you love them, maybe they'll send us a free sample, or a coupon.

Honeybun, have I told you lately how cute and adorable you are when you're angry?

What's that you say?  You're about to become gorgeous?  AWESOME!!!


Hey.  Wait a sec.  Why do I have to sleep on the couch?  What did I say?  I was just trying to be helpful.

You're WHAT? Cutting me off.  You can't, you don't know where I'm getting it.

No baby, it's just a joke, seriously.  Lorena honey, what are you going to do with those scissors?"

See  you tomorrow, that is if I can get any sleep on the couch...

Fun with Words.

If you haven't yet noticed, I like to play games with words.  Not word games per se; crosswords rarely hold my attention long enough to get through the across clues once.  Find-a-word, ugh hate em.  Scrabble. I can take or leave, preferably leave.   I did have a letter tile, Scrabblesque type app on the pc for a while. it tracked your longest scoring word and the best scoring one.  I assumed I had won the game when those two words, in the same game were; "TRUSTY URINAL". Never on a first name basis with them, but nearly every time I needed one I could find one.  That's trusty enough for me.

Does a proctologist in performing his specialty analyze or does he have anal eyes?  In attending an important business meeting does one use social eyes, does he tell social lies, or perhaps it's just a chance to socialize?

Real eyes, real lies or realize?  Is looking inward internal eyes?  Marty Feldman had un-stable eyes?

Look into those special eyes and tell emotional lies?

My ideal eyes would have been a striking shade of blue.  Sadly, it was unreal eyes, and I just got humanized.

We won't go into how long a friend and I sat in a little pub playing with variations of "My clone sleeps alone."  The only rule; the sentence or phrase had to contain at least two 'own' sounds.


I'm not particularly skilled at palindromes, The best I can come up with would be wow.  A man, a plan, a canal, Panama.

Puns are fun too.  An archeologist's career lies in ruins, a farmer is outstanding in his fields, I would have been a doctor but I didn't have the patients.  You do know what a pun spelled backwards is?  Nup.  And A nup's a nup.

Thanks for combing.

Seizure tomorrow.

Mooooove a little closer baby.

From the Wastelands news desk at KORN radio.
(reference)

Not really me. 

A Missouri man was charged with attempting to have sex with a cow... for a second time.
(story here)

The article states; "Unlawful sex with an animal is a Class A Misdemeanor punishable by up to one year behind bars." 

Does that statement imply that sex with animals can sometimes be of the lawful variety?  Inquisitive and inquiring minds want to know.  I'm asking for a friend.  

Will the local bovine brothel supply the stepladders or would one be required to bring his own?   I'm asking for a friend...

It does seem it would be a long walk for a goodnight, post-coitus kiss though. 

Izzat Redman yer chawin'?  Nope, nebbermind, it's alfalfa...

Now, to be a little more understanding and fair in my rush to judgement, this happened way down south in south-western Wasteland, dang near tabakky juice spittin' distance to Arkansas.

There are places in Greene county where one should not be surprised if one should hear the strains of banjo and guitar wafting in from the mountains, little, old mountains, but mountains nonetheless.  Just step on the go pedal and GO very fast when you start hearing "Squeal like a pig..."

Given the social, political, and religious ideals prevalent in that part of the Wasteland bible belt  I might put money on our bovineophile being a registered TRUMP supporter.  Should be right at home amidst the bullshit...

I wonder if he will be required to register with the American Beef Council as a sex-offender?

How would you like your steak?  Raw and horny you say?  At least I didn't make the steak, it's what's for dinner joke.  "Don't have a cow, man!"

Hey, I made it another day without whining, whingin', kvetching, bitching, pissing and moaning about how hard this job is.

As always, Thanks for coming.

See you tomorrow.

Take me out coach.

Five down, one hundred and thirty-three to go.

I'm not now, nor ever have been very athletic.  I was fit and trim once, a very long time ago and I am in shape now, round is still a shape right?  But I'm also myopic Mr. MaGoo nearsighted, a bit of a klutz, as graceful as a drunk stroke victim, all that and with the speed of a tree sloth, a stoned tree sloth.

Yes, I was one of those kids who tried to skip gym class, never had much luck with that, or the kid who tried to get out of it by writing a note from my mom to excuse me.  Never had much luck with that either, my hand writing is ATROCIOUS.  So, when I say I hated gym class, P.E. in the later years, you might have an idea of where I'm coming from.

Dodge ball.  Proof positive that Physical Education coaches are big sadistic bastards meanies.  Those red rubber balls scattered over the floor of the gym meant only one thing, it sucked to be me.

"Chip, take off your glasses and get out there."

"But coach, I can't see without them."

"Don't care Chip, we can't take the chance of a ball hitting you in the face and breaking your glasses."

"But coach, we aren't supposed to throw at people's heads."


"Don't care Chip, you know how some of these kids are.  Now, get em off and get out there..."

Ugh, sucks to be me.

(Raises hand) "I'm out, you got me, good throw, that one hit me."

"Chip, get back in there.  We haven't even started yet."

"Gee thanks coach."  Still sucked to be me.

Yes, I was also one of those kids who was always the last pick.  For nearly any team sport.  Except flag football.  A big lumbering brute normally out sizing the rest of the kids his age.  Put me on the front line, they can't see over me and have to run all the way around me.  It didn't matter much, I still sucked.  I played left out on the football field, end, guard and tackle for softball, and went deep for basketball, really deep, back to the locker room deep.

It's a good thing I didn't stake my life on being able to play professional tiddly winks.

Six down, one hundred and thirty-two to go.

Thanks for playing.  K, luv ya, buh bye.

See you tomorrow.

It's a party.

Four down, one hundred and thirty-four to go.  Yay us.

Happy Birthday "Murica."  Let's go blow shit up.

I don't get it.  People are talking about spending $300-$400 bucks on fireworks for the 'Holiday'.  Is it really that much fun? 

No, I'm not a complete stick in the mud fuddy duddy.  I have spent money on smoke, fire and noise.  But never more than a couple of sawbucks.  Like many things with me, a little goes a long way.  A gross of bottle rockets usually sated me with a few dozen to spare.  "Here kid, you want these?  I'm done with 'em."

Several years ago a large group of us had a yearly blowout birthday bash for America.  Everyone pitched in to buy an assortment of explosives, a pot luck barbecue and beer, sometimes lots of beer, food and explosives.  Some of our shows bordered on legendary.  Well, okay.  Truthfully, maybe not so legendary.  But close enough that people we didn't know came to watch.  Usually from the safety of their cars parked at the end of the road.   Evidently, they weren't completely insane.  They left that to us.

Bottle rocket and Roman candle wars for some of us.  Not this one, I don't enjoy getting shot at and usually hit, I do present a large, slow-moving target.  I chose to spend my afternoon in the shade and armed with a cold beer or two, (okay, maybe more than two, the cooler was always within reach.) selecting, arranging and preparing music playlists. Classic rock for the big party, and usually appropriate patriotic and classical for the big show.  The crossover segue was usually Mr. Jimi's version of the Star Spangled Banner.  Our shows usually lasted the best part of an hour or more. 

With the last bomb's bursting we switched back to rock, more beer, and more food.  The die hard resumed their war, the temporary cease fire to bury the dead, or make a resupply run to the nearest firework stand over.

The next morning the farm always looked a war zone.  Along with the detritus of the spent ordnance the field was littered with dead and dying soldiers.  Geez, people, if you're gonna drink, pick up your bottles. 

Okay, maybe I get it just a little.  Happy Birthday America. 

Five down, one hundred and thirty-three to go.  Yay me.

Thanks for coming, don't drive drunk...

With luck, see you tomorrow.

Want an apple Tom?

I wonder how much nonsense I have to type in order for me to feel I'm not cheating?

Is this enough? 

Umm, nope.  I guess that means I have to give it the old college try.  Win one for the Gipper and all that.  Ugh, me and my bright ideas, restarting the Ramble, trying to make daily posts. one hundred and thirty-one down, seven to go for six consecutive months.  Wot the hell was I thinking?  Two hundred and thirty-two days since I mulliganed the reboot.  Six and a half score of inane, insane, rambling, ranting, whining, whingin', complaining, excrement collection lining for the protective enclosures of Melopsittacus undulatus.     

I wonder if Shakira needs a subscription to the Ramble? 

Don't, just don't.  Once seen, some things can never be unseen. 
But your curiosity has been piqued now, hasn't it?  

It's a really tough job to do right,  I'm not certain  you have the skills required. However, should you give me an apple, I might just let you try your hand at painting Aunt Polly's fence.


So, how's that canned chicken taste now?

I know,  "Eww! Gross. Why would you do that to us?"  To be fair, I did warn you. 

I know, I know.  "Dood, you ain't right in the head." or "Whoa! you're ate up.  What is wrong with you?  Were you dropped on your head as a child?"

Well, yeah.  A few times, and a few more as an adult...

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED!  Cheater code avoided...

Thanks, as always.

See you tomorrow, probably.

Running on Empty...

Ten posts to go to make it six months. 

"Yeah, good luck with that." He said, as he furiously tries to come up with drivel to post at midnight, (past for you, future for me. though only just).  It's nearly 6 pm in the wasteland, and as Buster might sing;

It's not even summertime yet.

The Wasteland Weather Service has issued a heat advisory which is in effect for Thursday. 

* Timing... heat index values are expected to rise to around 40°C / 105°F on Thursday afternoon and continue into the early evening hours. 

* Impacts... the combination of hot temperatures and high humidity will likely lead to an increased risk of heat-related stress and illness.  Heat stress is cumulative and this will be the fourth of at least 5 days with heat index values above 37°C / 100°F.  The very Young, the elderly, those without air conditioning, and the clinically insane who are participating in strenuous outdoor activities will be the most susceptible.  Also, car interiors can reach lethal temperatures in a matter of minutes.  Precautionary/preparedness actions:  A heat advisory means that a period of hot temperatures and high humidity will occur.  This combination will create a situation in which heat-related illnesses are possible, especially for those living in un-air conditioned (Really, Un-air?) homes or apartments.  People in the advisory area are advised to avoid poorly ventilated areas and prolonged  ANY work in the sun.  Also, keep plenty of liquids on hand and try to stay in an air conditioned environment.   To reduce risk during outdoor work; the Wasteland occupational safety and health administration recommends not working in an outdoor environment.  

Record Report

Issued: 3:38 PM CDT Jun. 15, 2016 – Wasteland Weather Service

...Record high temperature set at the Wasteland Regional Airport...

A record high temperature of 37°C /98° F was set at the Wasteland Regional Airport yesterday.

This surpasses the previous record of 35°C / 96°F set in 1913, 1918 and 1952.

(That would be CE, not WTZ .  Subtract 100 years for the wasteland conversion values.)

Yay us.  And it's still not even summertime yet.

There appears to be one advantage of livin' on the edge and letting the safety net expire, I'm a lot less likely to slack off for a day, or a week or two. 

The Down side, you get more driveling nonsense like this. 

As always, Thanks.  Be cool fools...

See you anon...

Crowding the deadline.

Oi, I'm in sooooo much trouble here.  It's now 9 p.m. and there is nothing to post at midnight.  three hours.  Ugh.

I'm too old for this nonsense.  Moving a 12,000 lb. refrigerator by myself in the heat and humidity of June in the wasteland.  I may be exaggerating the gross register tonnage a bit, but only just barely.  On the dolly, through two doors, into the yard, around the house, up the hill, around the house again, through the front door, because the damn thing won't fit through the door to the garage. Into the kitchen.  Whew, that part is done.  Are we done yet?  Nope, pull the old one out of place, load it on the dolly and traipse back through the house to the front door again, of course.  The damn thing won't fit through the door to the garage either.

A fifteen minute job 30 years ago, now took me all afternoon.  For a few reasons, one, I'm old and fat now, two it was 32° C / 90° F outside, yes, the same outside I had to traipse through, pulling a 12,000 lb. fridge up a 75° slope that was covered in 3' of snow...uphill both ways.  Eight miles...  Finally, my  depression and anxiety issues are exacerbated by frustration, and anger.  I had to take a few breaks to cool off, both literally and figuratively as well.  It's done, now I can set back and enjoy the dinner my little sister brought me.  Ummm food, food is good, no food, no good.

HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER!!! That SONIC double cheeseburger would feed a Syrian refugee camp for a week.  I can't believe I ate the whole thing.  I ate it, Ralph.  Hence the fat remark made earlier.  I should be a competitive eater.

His mom must be sooooo proud.

I've said it before, I'm likely to say it again.  Just because you can, doesn't necessarily mean you should.. Ugh.

S'cuse me, I got to waddle over yonder and take my shoes off...

Thanks for coming.  At least I've written some more timely drivel...

See you on Monday.  Peace...

Profiled...

Yeah, I know.  First world Caucasian problems.  As insignificant as it may be, it is really the only way I am able to relate in being typecast. 

Last week I went in to renew my ID.  I fully expected to stand in a couple of DMV lines for hours.  To my surprise, the place was nearly empty.  Cool, no wait, no muss, no fuss.  In and out in record time.  Groovy.  Awesome, right until I handed the clerk my renewal notice and the first words out of the young man's mouth, and I kid you not; "Is this for a Concealed Carry Permit?"

I think I've been profiled...

Seriously, is the a photo of a man looking for a CCW permit?   What is with this world?  An innocent, peace-loving, old, almost hippy is automatically assumed to be packing heat.

What's next?  Law Enforcement officials targeting people based on the color of their skin, or bathroom police demanding to see your junk before allowing you to pee?  I suppose religion, sexuality, gender and gender identification are on the list too.  Punk rockers, Emo-kids, Goths, Renaissance fair junkies, Anyone who wears mis-matched socks because it's cool?  Fat kids, Skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks.  Tough kids, sissy kids, even kids with chickenpox.

It isn't much, but I'm still an ally...


Thanks for coming.

See you on Monday.  Peace.

Dude, hold ma brewski.

Does anyone have a connection with the cable network TLC?

I'd like to pitch an idea for another soft-scripted, pseudo-reality, puddle of runny male-bovine excrement television program. 

Redneck Retreat.

Booze, Bibles and Roadkill BBQ.

The premise, we isolate, say four dozen rednecks, hillbillies, good ole boys, evangelicals and trailer trashites here.  

We'll supply them with weed, a still or two for moonshine, a meth-lab and The Nascar Network.  Then we sit back and film the hijinx and hilarity.   I picture a "Survivor" type format, with the contestants being divided into clans.  I thought about assigning clans based on genetics and DNA.  But that might mean we only have one tribe.  Through the course of several challenges, the beer burp off, the "Hold my beer, and watch this." and the ever popular sleep with your cousin, we narrow the field down to a final winner who receives these, replica clones of course, non-running, and sitting up on concrete blocks for yard decorations.

We can start the series off with the Duck Dynasty boys, The Honey Boo Boo Clan and the Duggar family, all 256 of them.


Wooooo hooooo!!! Mucho grassy ass compadre!!!
Here, hold ma' beer.  This is gonna be EPIC!!!  Yee-HAWWWWWWWW.

See you tomorrow.

Are you going to eat that?

I got nuthin.

Evidently even more of nothing than normal.

Recently, a vengeful and demanding Dominatrix kidnapped a Latvian man and held him ransom, or for some sinister and nefarious purposes, perhaps in one of those weird dungeons with the leather, lace, and latex suits.  Or so my warped sense of humor told me when I saw the headline;

"Beaver takes man hostage in Latvia."

Story here.

Ah, the things we, meaning guys, do to get in touch with the beaver.  This isn't the first time a beaver chased a man and held him hostage.

Yes, I know, so not funny and terribly sexist.  And probably weird too.  You should try living in my head sometime.  Wait, never mind, it's already overly crowded in there.   The lunatics are running the asylum.  Though as a plus, Fridays are special, the cafeteria serves fruit cocktail in runny Jello.  If you're nice to the lunch lady, she'll give you an extra cup.

If you're really nice to her, she'll give you one of the 'special' Jello shot cups.

Are you going to eat yours?

Thanks.

See you tomorrow.

You! Outta the Pool!

We can't fix stupid, legally...

A man in Georgia, (southeast USA, not the other one) packed three pounds of an explosive powder that is normally used in target shooting to make things go BOOM, into an old lawn mower.

For target shooting, three pounds tightly packed into a casing of fatigued, stressed, and probably corroded metal.  What could possibly go wrong?

"What's the worst that can happen.  Here, hold my beer."  

Sharp as a bowling ball.

"Dude, the warning label says don't use it on metal targets and you should be 100 yards away for every pound of the stuff you use.  You're only about 25 yards away." 

"No sweat bro, it'll work.  I got this.  It'll be effen cool."

It worked, he successfully detonated the explosives,  BOOM!!!
And the shrapnel severed his leg. 

 

Washington Post story here 

I've said it before, I'm all for RESPONSIBLE firearm ownership.  This isn't responsible.  Just because one can, doesn't necessarily mean one should.

Calling all Gene Pool Rangers.

We aren't particularly allowed to 'fix' stupid.  Mother Nature, the Three Fates, Karma and the Law of averages can't keep up.  We still need more apex predators, lions, tigers, bears... velociraptors to eat the stupid out of our gene pool.  

I'm not certain I would call this an accident; he planned to make an old lawn mower go BOOM.  It worked.  Big Badda BOOM.  Granted, he may have gotten a little more than he had bargained for, but it still worked.  As my dad says when he's trying to be sarcastic;

"I didn't think, I didn't listen, I didn't pay attention...Oh, I forgot."

A little higher and a bit more towards his center line we wouldn't need to worry about how much more stupid DNA he'd pass along.  Assuming of course he hasn't yet bred.

Whatta Maroon!  Don't be stupid kids.

As always, thanks for your time.  

See you tomorrow. 

Tin foil hats.

I'm leaving this in the case I should happen to vanish quickly and unexpectedly.  It's not like they'll find this and censor it.  I'm not certain that my loyal following of a dozen readers is large enough to warrant intensive scrutiny.  After yesterday's research I'm probably on the Homeland Security watch list and may very well be on my way to Guantanamo, Cuba, again.  This time not as a guest.

In all transparency, I'm just living vicariously through my imagination.  In truth, I'm fleshing out the next scene (gaming session) in Act 2 of the Serenity game.  

In order to gauge the scale and severity of the upcoming catastrophe, my search history of the past two days, have included;

What are the effects of nerve agents?  
(In case of accidental exposure or emergency medical aid.   How will the lethal dose and the size of the crowds affect casualties.)

What is the most populous city on Earth?   
(To estimate the size of the Capital on the planet in question.  Tokyo-13.5million in the metropolis and 37.8 million, in the greater metropolitan area. 2015 estimates.)

What was the largest recorded gathering of humans in one place.  
(Again, to determine a sense of scale and the numbers I could expect to attend a very high profile, and very special commemoration.   (Kumbh Mela pilgrimage, India, 2013.  Believed to be the largest gathering on earth, Kumbh Mela is held every 12 years in northern India.  Estimates place the number of Hindu pilgrims who attended this festival at 30 million.)

What are the effects of a high altitude EMP on electronics.  
(To disrupt communications and degrade sensors performance to improve the bad guy's chance of success.)

Things are boiling to the point of over as another layer of the onion has been peeled back.  Some questions answered, more arising.   I have also told the players I planned to do to them what Fox did to Firefly.  Cut em off after one season.  I'm not certain they appreciated my humor.

*Note to all of the jack-boo...ummmm, diligent and hardworking Federal employees who are monitoring me.  As always, this is a joke, this is only a joke.  In the event of a real joke please tune to the emergency broadcast network for further joke information.   

As always thanks for coming. 

See you tomorrow, I hope.

***Note to Mr. Martin.  Cease and Desist.  Pay no attention to the nondescript sedan with the government license plates parked behind the nondescript white van sprouting multiple antennae.  Signed, your friendly neighborhood jack-boo...ummmm dog catchers.  Yeah, that's it, that's the ticket... Dog catchers.***

Armchair quarterbacks.

The Blues aren't playing hockey today, so that means no sports-thingy for me.  I know I could find a game to watch if I get needy.  The Caps and Bruins take the ice later tonight, the Kings and Anaheim as well as Pittsburgh and the Flames are both playing right now.  Instead, I've decided to get at least one entry written.  With luck, (touch wood, not that I'm superstitious or anything), I'll get it finished today, or maybe by a week from next Thursday. 

Evidently, NCAA basketball is in it's final throes this season, I suppose the NBA fans are being rabid fans, and the pitchers and catchers are getting ready for boring-assed baseball season.  I still don't care.  Yawn, Zzzz.

I've finally arrived in the neighborhood of a point.  Armchair quarterbacks, coaches, general managers et al.   No matter the sport I see it in all of my news feeds.  What is with opinionated die-hard, rabid fans?  In your infinite wisdom and due to the relative ease of the gig many of you should apply for those jobs full time, obviously, you are a step ahead of the men and women who have been doing this all of their lives.    

Jeez Louise, you'd think these people have nothing better to do with their time, or nothing better to bitch about.  Let it go folks, take a deep breath and relax.
Ommm...ommmm...ommm.

Doug Armstrong are you insane?  You gave up a 1st round draft pick for that bum!!!

And you, Ken Hitchcock, what the hell are you thinking scratching that guy and moving the loser up a line?  Arghhh, you guys SUCK!!! 

Obviously I've made it another day.  Thanks as always.

See you tomorrow.  Probably...

Foolish things.

Okay, not really, probably.

So, which is more believable as an All Fools day gag?

• I'm done, finished, this is the last post of Midnight Ramblings, 
• I've actually got another 9 months of posts ready, thus bringing us to January 1st 2017. 
• Following the unfortunate incident at the adult bookstore, yes, that incident, the one involving the inflatable sheep love doll, the jar of crunchy peanut butter and the Go Pro camera, I am about to be incarcerated for 3-5 years.  That other incident was deemed free speech and was determined not to be lewd and lascivious nor obscene.  The charges stemming from that incident were dropped.  Whew.

Pick one from the list, or make up one of your own,  Thanks, as always.

See you on Monday, if you're lucky.

Call me, anytime.

Crazier than the proverbial loon, that one is and she wonders why I dumped her.  I'm not talking about just crazy, I'm talking about a grade A, nuttier than a fruitcake, paranoid, delusional, batshit crazy, padded cell lunatic.  She was jealous, controlling and despite being well educated had never found a conspiracy theory that didn't make absolute perfect sense.  To top it all off, I've now found out through the grapevine that she is a Drumpf  Trumpeter.  What in the hell was I thinking?

It wasn't just this one.  I seem to have a stellar record in this department.  Fear of commitment have let the good ones slip away and attracted the crazies, the ones that should be committed; religious fanatics who would like nothing more than to save my soul, those with addiction issues, those with really jealous significant others, the needy, high maintenance types.  Yada, yada, yada.  You know the types, the ones that show up on COPS, Locked Up or on Post Office walls.

To be totally fair and brutally honest I'll accept at least half of the blame, I'm not easy to live with.  Even I have problems being around me at times.  I'm opinionated, loud, obnoxious, brash, rash, rude, crude, lewd and socially unacceptable.  On the plus side though, I've had all of my shots and I'm housebroken... mostly.

At this point in the continuum of the time stream that is my life, I'm probably better off single.  I'm not saying someone couldn't walk into my life tomorrow and turn me into a blathering idiot, it has happened before, just that it probably won't and neither she nor I need the hassle.

I do my own laundry, (sexist much Chip?), The microwave does the cooking and an extra blankie on the bed keeps me warm at night.  Failing that, I still have a big white dog, (yep, it's still Elvis).  Yes ladies, I'm single...Call me.

Thanks for giving me a bit of time.

See you tomorrow.

News from the Wastelands.

News from the wastelands, right.  No news, as always.  It's early Lanuarius, the month of Janus here in the wasteland time zone.   Rainy and  7°c / 45°f .  Snow, bloody (expletives deleted) snow predicted for Saturday, and frigid sub-freezing (expletives deleted) temperatures for Sunday.  Are we having fun yet? 

I'm a curmudgeonly old fart with cold weather exacerbated aches and pains, seseasonal and other depression issues and I hate the cold.  It's my blog and I'll piss, moan, whine, whinge, kvetch, and complain if I want. 

In other news from the wastelands, still nothing new...

Gentlemen, I do appreciate your service to the country.  You answered a call, either voluntarily or because your number was drawn from a bingo machine.  But really?

"Housekeeping to the Outpatient Laboratory.  Housekeeping to the Outpatient Laboratory waiting area.  The waiting room is full of shit."

Loud, obnoxious, bigoted, ignorant BULLSHIT!.

"LOOK AT THAT RAGHEAD GOAT FUCKER.  A .270 WILL SHUT HIS MOUTH..."
(for the uninformed, a .270 is hunting rifle used frequently here in the wastelands.) 

It's no wonder my blood pressure always runs high when I'm at the VA clinic. It's bad enough that it's higher than it should be, factor in lab coat hypertension and idiotic Trump chumps and it's a wonder I haven't exploded, much like an over engorged tick when placed in a microwave...

POP!!!

ding...

Ewwwwwwww, I ain't cleaning that up.

So, how about dem St. Louis Bluenotes?  He asks facetiously.  Dayum guys, did I fall asleep and Rip Van Winkle my way to playoff season, where the Blues typically pack it in and head for Disneyland?  They're still in the mix but have lost the last 4 in a row.  Four games they should have won, and probably would have won had they played all 60 minutes.  Another reason my blood pressure sucks.

I know it isn't much, but thanks for your support.

See you tomorrow.

The Big Dog Blog.

I've mentioned him several times before,  today,
I thought I'd give him time in the spotlight.

The big white dog (it's still Elvis) is a mutt, probably English setter and Walker foxhound.  Though I'm not convinced a great dane didn't wriggle under a fence and insert (yep, intentional) his DNA into the pedigree somewhere.  Elvis (still the big white dog, anyone tired of this shtick yet?) does share a few physical characteristics of the Scooby-Marmaduke breed.  Not that it matters, he's a mutt,  a companion, pet, not a hunter.  He never would have made it as a hunting dog.  In this part of the wastelands he would have been lucky to have be re-homed.   He doesn't have the personality, or temperament or the ability not to be scared shitless gun-shy.  That's okay, he, as well as I are not packing shotguns, traipsing through the woods looking for quail, grouse, or pheasant. 

If you make friends, meaning no sudden movements around him as he gets to know you, drop down to his level and give him a scritch or two behind his ears he'll be your friend for life.  He's about 6 years old and right at 100 pounds of mutt.  He's eager to please and with not as much bias as one may think, probably the smartest 'big' dog I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.  In fact, he is as smart as many much smaller dogs I've known.  If you're a dog person, you'll know what I'm talking about.  Chihuahuas are cunning little buggers, Newfies, ummm; not so much.   When you combine that eagerness to please, and his intelligence he has been an absolute joy to train.  He picks up concepts quickly and remembers them long term without much re-enforcement.

He started life as my niece's dog, but I've always been his alpha, caregiver, trainer and pal.  My niece couldn't settle on one name, Mario, Hank, Rosco and Buddy are a few of the ones she experimented with.  Until I put my foot down, "he ain't nothin but a hound dawg," his name is Elvis.  Although, Huckleberry, Huck for short might not have been a terribly bad choice.  Several years ago I inherited him full time.  That's okay too, he keeps me mostly sane and off the streets.


Is it possible for a dog to have a sense of humor?  If so, he has one that is nearly as obnoxious as is mine.  Two things come to mind,  he will intentionally step on my foot.  He will walk up, look down at my bare foot, and then step on it.  I know I have ugly four-toed feet, but they aren't a monster coming to eat you dude.

His second prank, and prank is the only thing I can call it.  He's done it enough times that it's not a coincidence.  And it is purely self taught.  I don't know that I could teach him to do this one.  He will walk up, lay his head in my lap for a head scratch, nothing unusual about that.  Now it gets weird.  He turns to walk away, stops, looks back at me and launches an air biscuit, wags his tail and trots away.  It appears my dog enjoys farting in my general direction.

As always, thanks.

See you on Monday, peace.

A larva just for you.

Hockey night here in the wastelands.  That can only mean one thing, I'm writing another entry.


Ear·worm :
/ˈɪərˌwɜrm/ Informal.

noun
1. a tune or part of a song that repeats in one’s mind. verb.
2. to work (itself or its way) into a person’s mind.

My current nemesis, with luck will have run its course by the time this one goes up.  This one comes from an televised advertisement.  It is insidious.  The director and the jingle writer have joined forces to conquer the universe.  The delivery from the actress, seals the deal.  Every time I think I've got it extracted and exterminated it shows back up on television,  ARGH!!!

Toyota Jan, you are evil I say, pure unadulterated evil.

My work here for today is done, you're welcome...

Thanks for sticking with me.

See you tomorrow.