Valour IT, And Adoption

Well, it's that time again... time for Valour IT's friendly little competition/fundraiser. Project Valour will provide voice-controlled laptop computers to wounded Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines recovering from hand and arm injuries or amputations at home or in military hospitals.

Four teams have pledged to raise $45,000 each, but the only one that counts, the only one you want to assist, is the Marine's team, led by Cassandra, of Villainous Company. From now 'til November 10th, which, you should know by now, is the Marine Corps' Birthday, you can click on the donation button in the upper right hand sidebar. What a great gift for the Marine Corps, and all military servicemen and women who will benefit from this, donating in the name of the Marines. Guys and gals who refuse to wear mint green shirts, and wear tons of "product" in their hair... like someone we know...

On a different note, but one of the same spirit, Tree Hugging Sister, of Coalition of The Swilling, is looking for folks to adopt Marines for the Holidays. To find out more, click the link, or to adopt a jarhead, drop her a line, at: thsister-at-gmail.com. Be sure to include, in the subject line, "13 Marines of Xmas."

Thanks in advance for your help!

Bare

Well, I did it. I finally went out and bought some damn shorts. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll post a picture of my ultra sexy bird legs.

Funny thing... when I finally crumbled, and walked into the Mart of Wally, there were racks of flannel surrounding the shorts. Flannel!!! In Florida? It's got to be for Halloween costumes. That's all I can think of...

These Floridians is crazy peoples.

Trees

I was grateful to stop at Eric's place a couple of weeks ago. Of course, the company was great, but one of the best things for me was being able to see leaves that are actually changing colors. I miss the hell out of that, and I've been reminded of it as I stop by Mushy's blog, The Imagesmith's, and even blogbro RSM. I know that there are many others out there showing the fall colors, but these three I've noticed in the last week...

Mushy's got some great pics here, here, and here. RSM has a great shot here, and The Imagesmith has his here, and here. Some awesome pics, guys.

It's something I do every year, this riding around to look at the colors. I'll hop on the bike and ride towards the Mississippi, or up into Wisconsin's Little Switzerland. Beautiful area.

But alas, this year, Florida. No bike. No leaves turning. Yeah... I drove up to TN, and that rocked, but I don't get to see it down here, and that's throwing my sense of time off. It's frickin' Halloween TUESDAY! Doesn't seem like it. At least to me. Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and then Christmas. Holy Mother of Gott! Where'd the year go?

I've been wondering: do deciduous trees down here lose their leaves at all? Or are they there year 'round? If so, do they blossom in the springtime, as they do at home, before the leaves start to bud? It ain't like they're that different from what we've got back home. Sure, there are the palm trees, and maybe a couple of others that may not be found further north, but most are your plain ol' trees... oaks and maples types.

Can they be that different down here?

Trashy

Jes' for 'Neck. I think he's got a crush on me.

Here ya go, 'Neck...

Plastit Surgery

The other day, my buddy Jerry sent me this picture, of last week's US Magazine, out of concern:

He was concerned about Jen not being able to find love... must mean I'm failing, or something. Well, as I'm reading the Jen headline, my eyes focus on the main story. Tara Reid Exclusive "My Plastit Surgery Nightmare." Okay, I know it's not PlasTIT, but doesn't it look like it, the way colors line up? I guess that sounds better than Franken Nipple, or Franken Boobie, as she's been known. I won't go into that story, as she's gotten that repaired.

I don't know why she felt she had to do that in the first place. I thought they looked just fine.

See?

And, of course, since I mentioned Miss Aniston, I've got to toss in a pic of her, too.

Mmmmmmmmm....

Slayer

Today was spent thinking about my brothers (and sistah), and Slayer... the tunes running non-stop through my grape. Pretty good day, if I do say so, but my teeth are a bit sore from grinding out a beat.

All of us guys were huge fans, and we were always quizzing our sister... "Who is this? What song? Which album?" We did that for all of the music we listened to... I think I we used to drive her crazy.

R and I were the musical ones, and we were always playing, he on the drums, and me on the guitar. We spent hours playing Slayer tunes... R used to be able to play just like Dave Lambardo, Slayer's drummer. It gave me goosebumps, at times.

Here's a couple of the tunes we used to play... enjoy.

Not A Wedding Post

Well, you may know that I went to a wedding this weekend, and if you didn't, you do now. Pretty good time, other than sweating to death.

I'll tell you more about it, later. Oh, and I've got wedding pictures.

Limber

Alot of guys fantasize about having a gymnast for a girlfriend... hell, just having one, period. In a few cases, I guess I can see it... a newscaster back home is a former gymnast, and damn fine looking, too. But alot of these same guys also like contortionists... for many of the same reasons. This, I can't see.

Below are a couple of clips. This girl is pretty as hell, but I've got to say, with the exception of one pose, and I'll let you guess which one, it does nothing for me. As a matter of fact, some of it is downright creepy. Feet and head are supposed to be facing the same direction, but not in these ways...

Could be just me, but it just doesn't work for me. Hows about you?

WooHooo!!!

Current temp? 68 degrees. Oh, yeah....

I'm heading back outside.

Rabbit

Strange, how things be.

One phone call, a discussion about a bill back home, and some very small talk, and I'm left with the impression that I'll be having hasenpfeffer... unseasoned, and still in the hide... when I get back home.

A Word For A Sponsor

Last week's trip to TN would not have been possible, but for a friend who said, "Get yourself up here, and we'll fix you up."

Mr. Straight White Guy fixed me up, indeed. I crashed in his back yard, nestled into an Ajungilak fart sack that he had loaned to me. Damn... that was a kickass bag.

I don't know what the rating was on that particular model, but we had frost on the ground, and on our sleeping bags. I did not use a ground canvas or therma rest (V-man got to that first). And I was warm. WARM. Hell, I didn't realize how great the thing was until I had to get up in the middle of the night. Going from that bag to the outside air... fuhreezing. I hurried back to the bag, where it was warm and dry.

No moisture got into the bag, and the following morn, I hung it over the railing of his huge deck. It quickly dried. I imagine that it would be sweet as hell to take hiking... lightweight and easy to pack, with no fear of mildew.

When I grow up, and get big, I will be the proud owner of one of these sleeping bags. Count on it.

160 Proof

This weekend, I had the privilege of sampling a fine Austrian rum... STROH. Wow... WOW. 80% alcohol by volume, and you can feel it.

This stuff is great and horrid at the same time... one sip spreads a friendly warmth throughout your entire being, and two unleashes hellfire. It has a warm smell of butterscotch... and kerosene. Seriously, this is good stuff, but you ain't going to be swilling it. Or if you do, I bow to you.

Easy sipping. Or mixing. That's what the stuff is for. Check it out if you get the chance...

Chiquita or Dole?

Blank

You want to see the look on V-man's face, when confronted by a shovel wielding Eric?

Check out his site...

The color's about right, too.

A Sighting

This was written a couple months ago, but I was not brave enough to publish it. I recently read a post elsewhere that let me know it was okay to admit to seeing things that most don't.

One morning, just outside of Savannah, Georgia, I saw a creature that I used to think only a legend. The sighting has stuck with me since, though I've told no one for fear of ridicule. After over ten years, I've decided to break the silence. I don't know if the others who witnessed it have spoken out, or kept silent as well.

We were at Ft. Stewart, playing the aggressors against the Army's Airborne. 82nd or 101st? I don't remember... and it doesn't really matter now, does it? I think it was the summer of '93, but that really doesn't matter, either.

Anyway, after a few days out in the field, sweating our asses off, and always moving, we were allowed to "go into garrison." Basically, our company was allowed to take a short break from the war game. We parked the vehicles back into the treeline, and made ready for the night. Our radio watch shifts were assigned, and we hit the hay.

I had the last shift, and as the darkness grudgingly gave way to light, I heard a rustling in the brush, quite aways off, but it sounded like it was coming on. I grabbed the NVGs (night vision goggles), and looked into the night. A flash of movement, a movement of vegetation, and then there was nothing.

I was about to wake the VC (vehicle commander), when he sat up and let me know that he had heard it, too. Our driver, who'd had the shift before mine, was also awake and looking. We passed the NVGs back and forth, finding nothing. We discussed it... we weren't supposed to be attacked, but then again, the previous day, after a visit by the guys scoring "the game," we were attacked by a helo. The bastards tipped our enemy off. They would do it again, later, but I digress...

About the time we were ready to put the NVGs away, there was a short grunt or growl, and a god awful stink, followed by a rustling. This time it was coming straight at us, very rapidly. The brush was moving, and you could hear distinct footsteps. As I grabbed the NVGs again, it broke from the brush, ran past us and the front of our vehicle, on towards the vehicle parked next to us... about thirty meters away. There was a yelp of suprise from the radio watch over there, and it disappeared back into the woods, leaving us all standing there with an adrenaline rush.

Unreal.

I told one person, and their immediate impression was that it was a skunk ape, based upon the bad smell. I kinda laughed about that one... the bad smell was our VC dropping ass. Hey... after a week of MRE's, your shit, and it's announcers, do stink... no matter who you are.

Nah... the creature seen was a Real. Live. Armadillo. Yeah... you read that right. Live. I know. I know. They can't exist. But they do...

Were it not for this experience, I'd still think that southerners tossed ugly ass toy creatures alongside the roads.

What sightings have you had?

Thank you Tommy, for having the courage to admit to seeing a live possum.

GAHHHHHHH!!!!

Can't load pics, can't comment on munu. Errors galore.

"Error 500. Bugger."

"Invalid [] range "i-c" in regex; blah, blah, blah, blah...."

Fucker.

A Question

Hey... tattoos.

Like'em?

Color, or Blackwork?

Personally, I can't stand the damn things, but I prefer blackwork with a flash of color here and there. ;)

How 'bout you?

A Weekend

The weekend... holy mother of gott. What a frickin' blast.

I made a run to hook up with a bunch of folks to celebrate the birthday of Eric, king of the Straight White World. New faces, familiar faces... good faces all. Met Cal Tech Girl, of Not Exactly Rocket Science, Big Stupid Tommy, Ken, bodyguard of Jimbo, SWMBO, the beautious wife of Elisson, and Dax Montana. Got to see The Velocidude, Mighty Yabu, Recondo32 and Georgia, again... this time under much better circumstances than our original meeting. Saw fellow Bad Example family members, Bou and her sis, Mo, Sissy, Teresa, and blog bro, Johnny-Oh. Also caught Denny, Elisson, 'Neck, Zonker, RSM, and J, a friend of Eric's... met at previous meets, and damn good guys. Hell... it was a great group of folks, period. A fine crew of Birthday singers. Though, RSM did evacuate early. Again. RSM... sneaky premature evacuator ninja.

We feasted upon great authentic illegal Mexican chow, drank much beer, and got to know each other better. There was singing, burning, and hard times given to all. Even rumors of inappropriate touching. And that was only the first night.

Saturday saw an excellent breakfast, more drinking, and some very kickass ribs done up by the birthday tyke himself. There was cake, rockets, more singing and guitfiddle playing, fire, chocolate vodka, drunken phone calls and four men with balls of iron who weren't afraid to sleep out in Eric's backyard. Zonker almost made it but he had one of them there hotel rooms. He bolted right around 4:00 am. Big chicken.

Sunday mornin' saw a shovel playing reville, and a breakfast cooked for us by Elisson and SWMBO, with Ken and Jimbo frying up some Taylor ham. An excellent send off meal. Unfortunately, that was the end. Wish it could have went on for a hell of a lot longer.

I'll try to give you some more info on everybody, later, but I want to thank Eric and his very tolerant and lovely bride for putting up with us all. You guys truly rock.

Beat, As With A Shovel

When I was working for the now defunct Beloit Corporation, we had a job in a mill about four hours away. We were to drive up, check in to the hotel, and then meet in the lobby at noon for our safety meeting. Afterwards, we would head into the mill to unload toolboxes and parts for the next day's job. We were to be done at three. Didn't quite happen that way...

Got to the mill, and some bright guy decided that we would start sub-assembling parts to speed up the installation. We wheeled all of our toolboxes and gear to the side of the machine (which was still running), and got started. We finally left the mill at nine. I was never so glad to leave...

It was probably the longest day of my life, and it wasn't because of the work. Hell... I've had work days that lasted for thirty eight hours. No... it was because of how I started the day.

A buddy of mine had gotten a new job, and was going to be moving to Indiana, so we all got together and closed the bars up. Now, in Beloit, that was two o'clock... still plenty of time to get some sleep before the next day's travels. But instead of hitting the hay, I stayed up drinking with my brother and him. I went to bed at seven, got up at ten to eight, and was out the door in ten minutes. I don't remember much of the trip up there... I do know that I was damn lucky.

By the time I made it, I was aching. I hurt all over... and was looking forward to hitting the rack. When we got to the mill, and started working, my spirits sank. And the vomit nearly rose. I was worthless... I couldn't hardly blink without fighting the urge to hurl. Thank Gott I never did, but maybe I would have felt better... a weak stomached co-worker used to begin his day by puking as he walked into the mills. It's not that he wanted to, but it did make him feel better. Paper mills are foul smelling places that turn your guts. Add the heat, and...

I made a vow that I would never drink like that before, or during, a road job. Never. And, for the most part, I've kept that promise, though I did nearly the same thing this weekend. Good Gott a'mighty...

I knew that I had a job early Monday morning, and that it could possibly be a long day. But when you get the chance to hang out with friends, the importance of such concerns become trivial.

After a weekend for the books (which I'll post about later), and with minimal sleep on Sunday morning, I made a long drive, got home late, got up at five, and put in a day that was slightly over sixteen hours. Hey... I know that it's something we've all done (and if you haven't, you should do it at least once, if only to join the club), but I'm so not used to it. I was sleeping on my feet, at one point. And on our lunch... which was our only break... I spent the time between mill and restaurant snoring... LOUDLY. The cousin-in-law just kept laughing...

You'd think I would eventually learn my lessons, but some of them are worth ignoring. 'Specially when you get to hang with the crew that I was stuck with privileged to spend time with this weekend.

Fred Finklestien

I've got a ton of crap going down, so posting for the next few days is going to be near non-existant. So I've decided to bring back "the game" for the few of you still coming here...

To entertain ourselves when we used to travel a lot, a friend and I used to come up with very strange stories following the formula found in Berenstains' B Book. We didn't stick to it totally, but tried to keep all nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and verbs starting with the same letter. A couple examples can be found here and here. Some of the letters work better than others, but I'm going to save my favorite for another time. Ah, hell. I'll do it now.

I'll kick it off, and feel free to follow in the comments. You don't need to use whole sentences... if you only can think of a word that fits, throw it in. No need to keep it clean. Repeat words are not a problem. Ready? Using the letter F or F sounds (ph):

"Filthy Fred Finklestien frantically phoned his friend, Phil..."

It's not a novel, so characters may come and go. Just have fun with it....

A Question

A couple of weeks ago, we had a guy come into the shop, a prossible buyer, to buy a couple kits, and look around at the operation. He'd been in before, when I was home early September, so my aunt was already familiar with him.

Nice enough guy, he asked a few questions about the shop, talked to my aunt a bit, then left. As soon as he took off, my aunt starts telling me about him. Harley rider, Merchant Marine, single, lives not too far away. Then it got weird.

"You know... you and B (the male cousin in law) should ask him to come hang out with you on Thursday nights. I bet he'd like to throw darts... then you could play, too. I'm going to call S (the female cousin), and see if maybe B and him could go riding. B is always looking for someone to ride with."

I just looked at her and shook my head. Too weird.

So then I go over to B and S's place to work out, and S is talking about B getting together with this guy. Insists that he give him a call. B and I both thought it sounds too strange. S said we were being difficult.

Anyway, the guy shows up again, yesterday, and is very interested in the place. Even talked about payment options. My aunt and he talked for awhile, but I didn't get to visit too much as we are falling behind. Again... very nice guy, but everything you say is answered with, "Great. Great... I see." "Hey... that's excellent. Great. Uh huh. Yeah, I see." I was in back laughing... he was doing that while my aunt just kept on talking. You couldn't make out a word being spoken, as they were both at the same volume, and about the same tone. But I digress... he leaves, and she's excited about possibly selling. Normal. I thought.

I got over to my cousin's place tonight, and found out that we are supposed to set up a time to grill out with the guy... at my cousin's (who he hasn't met) place. That way he and B can get to know each other. B and I got scolded for saying some pretty nasty stuff, which I won't say here. We just couldn't get over it.

So, Ladies, do you think this sounds completely normal? Would you do this to your husband?

And Gents, have you ever had a woman in your life try to pull something like this? Doesn't it sound a bit weird to you?

I'll give my take on the whole thing later, only saying right now that it creeps me out.

Machine Head

Hasn't been the best of days... not good at all. But I'm still in a damn good mood. I feel like rockin' out. Too bad this laptop is my only source of tunes... it's volume pretty much sucks.

Thank Gott for YouTube... check out Machine Head. Cures what ires you...

More in the extended entry...

I've had the opportunity to catch these guys live... probably seven or eight times... most in Milwaukee. If you love this kind of music, you've gotta see them. Below is "The Blood, The Sweat, The Tears" performed live. Kick ass.

Fuck Shit Up!

Blistered Up

I watched a movie the other night, and since then, I've had a couple of songs stuck in my head. I mean, non-stop. They're good tunes though.

Check this one out... and if you can't tell me which movie I was watching, you need to be slapped upside the head. Then, there's another song from the same group, covered by someone else. (Quite well, if you ask me...)

Enjoy.

Wake Up Call

This morning started off with a small creep out. I woke up, and hovering over my face was a Decon box.

Okay... it wasn't hovering. It was on the visqueen covering the hole in the ceiling (I'd link the story, but my search just keeps telling me, "Bugger"), over my head, from the leaky air conditioner. But with that being on the plastic, it's an indicator that there are more rats. Large ones. I had a case of the heebie jeebies for a second... I could just imagine one of the bastards falling through the plastic. (It's only attached by staples, and the surrounding drywall isn't really that stable.) Just what I need to wake up to... a scared and angry rat landing on my head. They have a tendency to bite when frightened.

There's a call going out...

Birds

Man, I don't know what the hell triggered it, but I've been having some weird ass dreams lately. Alot of rotting folks...

It started with a dream about my uncle walking back from the island where they scattered his ashes. Then, I dreamed about Eric's ghoul of choice... zombies. Only, instead of fleeing from them, we (whoever "we" were) were looking forward to picking them off. We knew well in advance that they'd be coming, but instead of coming as an army, they came as a result of contaminated food. We knew that, and we still weren't picky about our chow. We were even joking about who got to shoot who if and when they turned. When it happened, it was a big mess...

Then last night, I dream that I'm rescuing a buddy who's been locked in some third world country. When we find him, he's lost a hand, his arm is rotting, and he's not much more that a living skeleton. I can't remember much more, other than looking at his stump, and seeing the handcuff fastened around his wrist, just below the seperation. How the hell did the cuff hold him? Anyway, we got him out amidst a heavy firefight, and a long chase that had us going in circles for what seemed like forever. Jennifer Aniston was there to greet me "you're my hero" style, but I didn't get to enjoy it. I got rudely awakened. Damn birds.

DAAAAAMMMNN BIRDS!!!

Zonked

Damn Zonker. He goes and makes us all think he's dead. Ceased to be. Pining for the sands of Syria. Then, once we've all resigned ourselves to a Zonkerless blogosphere, he decides to put in an appearance. Jerk.

After all the work I went through to design his tombstone...

It's All About The Customer Service

T1G in customer service is never going to happen.

At one time, my brothers and I were talking very seriously about starting up our own shop. Hell, we still talk about it on occasion. Anyway, we figured that when it came to the mechanical aspects, my youngest brother and I would take care of it, with R doing the majority, the books would be kept by me, as I'm a little better in math than the other two, and The Perfect One would be our face. That guy can talk to anyone, where R and I would prefer not to talk much at all. And the thing is, he can tell you that you're being an idiot... no exact words were, "a dumb fucker", and you'll look at him and grin about it. Damnedest thing I've ever seen.

But when it comes to me dealing with folks... I've got none of that skill. Yeah, yeah, yeah... some of you have said that I'm better than I thought, but the truth is, I'm not as good as I need to be. Especially here.

My aunt usually takes the calls, and I'll deal with the walk ins. She get's flustered dealing with people who just stop by and say, "I need something just like this," displaying a corroded bolt or whatever in their hand. I have a bit of a phone phobia, so it's a good deal for me, as there's far fewer customers that will stop by the store. She will pass the phone off to me as soon as she hears the word "Harley," though, so I do have to deal with it a little bit. I also get to answer all of the Harley questions and requests in the email. Some days my jaws kill me from teeth clenching... as today.

Some of the crap is just stupid little things, and I shouldn't let it get to me. But it does. For instance, I was building a custom engine kit for a guy, and I'd had to make a couple of calls back home to someone in the know. My head is in this kit, not on bikes. Now, just a quick aside, Harleys basically come in three different types (well, four, counting the Sportsters), the Dynas, the Softails, and the touring bikes. If you called me and said, "Hey, bro, I've got a Road King, and I want to get a kit for it," I know that you need a kit for the touring models. It's easy, and it's the way most folks talk about their bikes... not many will call their Road King a FLHR, though that's the official model designator.

Anyway, this guy calls, and tells me that he's got an FLSTF. Hey, that rings a bell. Then he tells me that he's been on the website, and that we don't offer a kit for his bike. He has a couple of questions, but I'm already thinking, "With the year he said, we should have it, no matter what model it is." So I think for a second, and ask, "FLSTF? That's a Softail, right?" Silence. "Okay, you said you have an FLSTF... I'm pretty sure that's a Softail, but if I knew for sure, I could answer your question. There's three different bike types, and it does matter." A few seconds of silence, then a nasty, "I said, I've got an FLSTF." "Okay... hang on one."

Grinding teeth. Soft snarls.... I grabbed a Harley parts catalog which only showed the different parts for different bikes, and I write down the variations of the setup he's asking about. Luckily, I found a new bike flyer showing the different models and what they were. Sure enough... FLSTF is a Fat Boy... a Softail!!! "Okay, sir... you've got a Softail. There should be one on the site... let me check, for you." Another nasty shot, "I know... I'm looking at it right now."

WTF, asshole?!?!? You "can't find it on the site???" What the hell are you looking at then? You don't even know that your bike is a FAT BOY? Hell, most Fat Boy owners couldn't tell you the proper model designation... myself being one of them.

"Okay, sir... what other questions did you have?"

The guy did place an order, so it should have been cool. I let it eat at me, though. People can be difficult...

Today, we've got another guy being a royal pain in the ass. The story is long and complicated, but in the end it comes down to this: he ordered a part that we told him we did not have specs for (he didn't have them himself), and when we shipped it off, it turned out being wrong. My fault, I know, and I'm cool with it. A little frustrated about getting the order wrong, but I can take the very, very rare occasion where I just so happen to be not right. I mean, some of us have to prove our humanity.

The part I can't deal with is this guy has been a sarcastic, demeaning, and condescending fuck. No, actually, I can deal with that part. It's that I've got to kiss his ass when dealing with him. Customer always right, and all. We did get everything straightened out, after all, so maybe it's worth it in the long haul... no bad feed back. But in the meantime, I'm stewing. I would so love to find this pencil dicked weasel and flatten him. But I'm a good Christian fucker.

I think it's time for a glass of scotch.

Open Letter To Matt (McConaughey)

Hey, 'Thew,

How's it goin', brother? Hope all is well with you, and continues that way. I hear you're going to be working on a football movie, "We Are Marshall," and you recently auctioned off your 'Vette, and built a playground with the money from it. 'Tis a cool thing. What have I been doing? Nothing that would compare, but like you, it's all cool.

I've got a favor to ask. It's been rumored that Jen has asked Kate to hook you two up. I know... it's just a rumor. Shoot, they even called you shy. Heheheh... what the hell are they talking about? You, shy. C'mon. We all know that the "shy" play draws the women. Look at all of the women who are lining up for me you.

I'm thinking that Jen thought I was taken, or unobtainable. Hey... it happens. I don't hold it against her, if she actually is chasing after you. But you and I know that if she knew that I was available, she'd be mine in a heart beat. Just the way it is, bro. Maybe I should get ahold of Kate, and tell her to let Jen know.

And I don't blame you, if you're hoping to hook up with her. She's a fine, fine woman. But I'm just asking that you back off. Dude, you've got tons of women wanting you. (Um... so do I..?) Hell, I know of a bunch of women bloggers that would be all over you, given the opportunity. Hell, I'll even post a pic of you, and let them leave their comments for you. Check'em out, man... there's some very cool women there.

Do it for Jen.

Stay cool, peace out, and good luck with the new flick, brother. And just for you, I'll say, "Hook'em Horns." Damn, that hurt. Heheheheh...

Later,

Joe

Click to enlarge

There ya are ladies...

Ghost Rider

Always a fan of Ghost Rider, I never thought about going to see the movie. Not until I saw the bike, and caught a bit of the trailer. Looks like it may be pretty cool.

I was wondering how it would be... which Ghost Rider host would it be, and who would play him. Nicholas Cage plays Johnny Blaze, the original Ghost Rider. It should be interesting to see how he does.

Besides, it's got Eva Mendes in it to save it if the story gets weak.

Not Salma, but still....

Another Toy

If it's true that sweating is healthy, I've got to be about the healthiest bastard in the southeastern states. Today saw me crawling up into the blast furnace attic, once again. This time, it was to retrieve a dead varmint.

During my first expedition into the black, I discovered that there was a critter making itself at home. Crap, large pellets, lay scattered everywhere. It was decided to offer up a feast for whatever creature this may be. I was thinking squirrel, my aunt thought mouse or rat. Whatever beast it was, it feasted upon our sacrificial offering of Decon.

This morning, my aunt reported a funny smell, but I couldn't smell anything, and we needed to get down to the shop. However, once we walked into the house this evening, there was no doubt that our sacrifice had worked.

I made my ascension into the attic, where the temperature was a cooling 212 degrees. The stench of decay was made strong by the heat... I'd wished it were a bit warmer to bake the meat. I'd have had a nice little roast. Anyway, I gets up there, and set to finding the bastard.

It took quite awhile, and I'd made my way about halfway down the length of the house, past the vents, where I discovered that I had either gotten used to the stench, or I had gone past it. I got myself turned around, and found the corpse within six feet of the attic entrance, half buried by some insulation. My aunt was right... it was a rat, almost a foot long.

I couldn't quite reach it, as it was behind some ductwork (the reason I had missed it earlier), so I got out my knife and slid the point underneath the beast, and slid it's lifeless body towards me. Imagine my suprise when I picked it up, and from the area right where it had been, I see movement. It was a little baby rat.

It was so cute, as it looked at me with it's beady little eyes, that my heart just melted. Here the poor little guy had his mother poisoned, and when she died, he curled up with her body. How Disneyesque. I named him Ratbi, and gingerly removed him from the insulation nest. Of course, it took a few shots with the knife to get him close enough to me, but he was okay... I didn't stab him.

Ratbi looked so sad, I just wanted to help the little guy out. He needed proper care, so I decided to assist him in the best way I knew how... I put the little bastard in an air tight bag with his mama's stinking corpse.

I really think he liked it. As I sealed the bag, he sat back on his haunches, saluted, and I'd almost swear that I faintly heard, "O Jeebus, morituri salutamus te!"