Innocent Bystanders

A couple of new crime fighters at Chez Skinbad. Right after we got home from our fun-filled week of mooching at visiting Camp Geezer, Evil Con Carne’s 15th birthday hit. We had been dogless since the first of April and ECC kept telling us the only thing he wanted for his birthday was a dog. Our yard had never looked better, by the way, but I guess I should forget about that.

We had a decompress from the long drive day in Salt Lake at my parents and visited SL County’s animal shelter and the Humane Society’s as well. It was tough. As an aside, I would guess 80% of the dogs were pit/pit mix or labs. We had a couple brought out to meet, but it wasn’t clicking.

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Where have I been all weekend?  I didn’t even know there was a tropical storm headed this way.

UPDATE: New track puts it right over us; it’ll be a weakened storm but should dump a lot of rain on us, which we really need as long as the flooding isn’t too bad.  40 to 50mph winds, might even still have a visible eye formation when it passes.

ALSO: Holy moly, the knee knows something is up.  I have just been issued a “joint-alert” regarding a change in barometric pressure.

 click on image to see larger more readable picture of catastrophic mayhem and disaster

Tropical storm Edouard, which sounds stupid so I’m calling it “Eddie”.  It’ll pick up some steam, but doesn’t look like an asskicker.  That line would take it about 60 miles south of us, so we’ll get some rain out of it.

My hometown is kinda halfway between the “M” in 2PM ET and the “5″ in (35 mph) On that line, just to the right of the last storm symbol on the track .

Good for me, but I think Michael is gonna get killed.  Good luck Michael!  Keep your head on a swivel.

Yesterday was quite the day. After coming home from 90 Degree/90% Humidity T-Ball for my daughter in the morning, it was off to Grant’s Farm for a birthday party for a friend’s daughter. Thankfully, the party was in a pavilion, so we were out of the sun for the most part. But it was still hotter than shit. And to make things better, the party pavilion was next to the area where people can feed the camels. Nothing makes cake and ice cream taste better than the whiff of two camels nearby.

But Grant’s Farm, being (for now) part of the Anheuser-Busch family, does have one thing going for it: the hospitality tent gives out free beer! Even if it is A-B products, free is free. Anyway, the highlight of the party for me was the beer. And this camel thought so as well:

Did I mention it was really hot yesterday?

Well, after the party, I stopped at the gun store nearby to pick up some cleaning equipment for the rifle I currently own, and scouted own my next purchase. I want to buy something fairly easy to maintain, smaller than the Soviet rifle I own, and not very expensive, both in the firearm and the ammunition. I have narrowed it down to a Ruger .22 pistol, or a .38 Revolver.

I concede that I will probably never need to mow down grizzly bears, zombies, rampaging yeti, or the bad guys from the Star Wars movies. As a result, a hand cannon or another big rifle seem too much for me. Besides, I can’t justify right now dropping a ton of money on a piece I would (hopefully) never have to use in the heat of action, and take to a range once in a while. So, that is why I am leaning toward a .22. Between my rifle and a .22, I believe I would have enough to defend myself and something as valuable as my Val-U-Rite Vodka.

This post is intended as an antidote for the blatant militarism recently exhibited on this site.  It was shameful, just shameful.  I’m embarrassed now to be associated with a bunch of frickin’ warmongers.  I believe in peace and love.  That’s the Lutheran way.

Here’s Peter, Paul and Mary with Pete Seeger.  I actually saw PP&M live once, and yes, Mary was pretty chunky by then, not the hot hippie chick I remembered from my youth.  But that does not detract from their compelling message of peace and love.  You need to wait for the voiceover commentary at 2:28 — it will make you weep.

You know, I had a tough decision: post close up photos of my feet after running and contrast it with a close up of my feet with my orange Crocs, or this.

While this was not a Kafkaesque situation (personally, I’m an O Henry guy), it does resemble the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, only this time, all options are bad.

Enjoy.

This is so cute:

Thanks to Mrs. Michael.  Who should be working to sell our house in Ohio, instead of wasting time watching stuff like this.

Well, I really screwed up the last post I did. But seriously, who hasn’t confused Berlin, CT with Berlin, Germany?

Anyway, here a few more things to be thankful for as we start another week of work:

Rosario Dawson hosing herself off. Seriously, who cares why.

Packers Fans taking Brett Favre’s situation in an understated manner.

Somebody else hates commercials as much as I do.

Most people merely dislike commercials. I fucking HATE them. I loathe them with all the bile in my bloated liver. Hatred for ads is embedded in my marrow, programmed into my DNA, woven into the fabric of my soul.

That’s why the people who invented TiVo/DVR and satellite radio are gods. They have golden thrones reserved in heaven, while advertising fuckfaces like Big Daddy Drew will burn for all eternity because they profited from making everyone else’s life just a little bit more miserable. Ever written a jingle? Die. And then say hi to Hitler for me.

Leopard Vs. Crocodile.

And finally, I have a new addition to the house. My latest arrival is called Mosin-Nagant 7.62, and it will defend the home well. Also, the fucker is so heavy, I could just use it as a club if necessary. I had a photo of the rifle, but the Kodak Easy Share Program on my computer ate the photo. So, I have to settle for this video:

to make a house a home.

Is that how it goes? Or:

• It takes a heap o’ firearms on your pool table
• It takes a heap o’ inebriated pool urination
• It takes a heap o’ erotic exotic cheeses
• It takes a heap o’ moron bloggers
• It takes a heap o’ homos cuddling on the couch

I don’t know. One of those. I link this* only so those who might not be receiving enough inspiration from Pure Lutheran Doctrine^BS might have all options before them.

It basically says you’ll be better off buying a smaller house with a short commute than buying a large house with a long commute because you give inordinate consideration to the occasional gatherings of family and assorted moochers who might be looking for an excuse to drop in.

Of course Michael is his own man. Therefore it is probably for the best that he go through with the large house purchase and quickly have it fitted with plenty of bunk beds and condom dispensers.

*I can’t hat tip where I found this. You would ban me.

Had this story happened in a certain pool in Texas, we may be reading about a Kimber helping facilitate some new steaks on a new grill. But, instead, we read about a bull escaping in England and landing in some guy’s new pool.

Apparently, the bull, named Broombrae Tramp, was brought to a farm to “mingle” with the female cows. From there, the young lad decided he wanted to make a break for it, only to land in the new pool of some businessman. And pool owners being pool owners, they could only think of themselves and be useless.

“I don’t think they were terribly pleased with us - we stood in the garden with glasses of wine and shouted unhelpful suggestions.”

Mr Stewart’s children Samantha, 12, Lucy, 10, and Finbar, 7, were delighted with their unusual party guest.

But all is not lost. The pool can be saved.

The outdoor heated pool, designed by Alba Pools, will need minor repairs and to be refilled.

Oh well. In true European Nanny-Statism, the bull was helped out of the pool and allowed to live another day, instead of winding up on somebody’s plate, which is what would have happened here in America. Just as long as the pool owner doesn’t blog incessantly about the repairs to the pool, or the missed opportunity to unload a magazine into a cow, all will be good.

I guess.

Look, ending a sentence with a preposition may be poor grammar, but who the hell cares? I’m here to list a few things for which I am grateful, given the shitty state of things out there.

Yeah, I could talk about family, health, and all that crap. But that should be understood. If not, we need to get our collective heads examined upon removing them from our collective asses.

No, I am here to express gratitude for some of the little things out there that make a weirdo like me happy. So, here goes:

• That leftover strawberry shortcake given to us by that old lady next door. Hey, toots. I appreciate that you felt compelled to give us some store-bought leftover strawberry shortcake from your daughters’ visit a few days ago. That shit was to die for. But I have a problem with that plastic container thingy it came in. IT TAKES UP NEARLY HALF THE FUCKING REFRIGERATOR!! How the hell am I going to store my bread, cheese, and dead hobo parts? And you want it back when finished? Are you shitting me?!? We’re not in The Great Depression II yet! Besides, I wouldn’t want to eat anything you store in that plastic after my ass gets finished with it. Good Fucking Grief!
• Awesome Vacation Ideas That Cheat Death. A cage hanging over a shitload of crocodiles? Sign me up!
  

  Just 4cm of acrylic will separate brave punters from the jaws of Choppa - a feisty saltwater croc.

  Top End tourists will climb into a clear box before being lowered into Choppa’s lair.

  They’ll then spend 15 minutes inside the 2.8m high cage and watch Choppa, who lost both front feet while fighting other crocodiles, trying to take a bite out of them.

• Bald Squirrels. Fuckers deserve it after tearing into my petunias.

• And Finally, Women’s Tennis, Especially Serbian Players.

What A Time To Be Alive!

I saw this little fella darting around one of my flowerbeds this evening. He flew like a hummingbird, but was the size of a big-assed bumble bee. I thought it was a baby hummingbird, but upon closer inspection I noticed the antennae, and his body was furry, not shiny. Turns out it’s a bug.

Hemaris thysbe, the Hummingbird Clearwing Moth or Common Clearwing (wingspan 38-50 mm), readily visits flowers by day throughout the eastern half of the U.S. and Canada, where it ranges far to the north, even into the Yukon. It is not difficult to see why many gardeners would mistake an Hemaris thysbe moth for a small hummingbird as it hovers, sipping nectar from flowers through a long feeding tube.

Huh. Did not know that.

Our pal Muslihoon has a big date tonight, and Demone is here to help.
 

Save the Led Zep for the 3rd date.  Everything else applies.

Good luck, we are all counting on you.