Note the snow is almost at railing height... in only 4 hours!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Snow in Nederland!!!!
Pics of the fluffy white crack that makes me dream crazy at night, awaiting the snowshoe to the hill, because I doubt the van is up fer a jaunt of this magnitude, 4x4 or not....
Note the snow is almost at railing height... in only 4 hours!
Note the snow is almost at railing height... in only 4 hours!
More as Jumbled...
So every now and then, I loak around in the shadows of my computer, searching for something that Ive never seen before (which there is plenty), or looking for something that I dont remember and might have found interesting at one point.
So Here are these tasty morsels that I found just floating around in the pics folder....
This is an image of the moon I think and the labels are the naming convention used. Now you know.
Garrett took this one. Just like his dads photo, where the fish jumps out of the hands, it happened here as well, just later. That was a great day. I wish I could actually catch fish...
This is the leftover remains from the tornado that meandered through Hallum in Nebraska and destroyed everything. Apparently there was much joy.
So Here are these tasty morsels that I found just floating around in the pics folder....
This is an image of the moon I think and the labels are the naming convention used. Now you know.
Garrett took this one. Just like his dads photo, where the fish jumps out of the hands, it happened here as well, just later. That was a great day. I wish I could actually catch fish...
This is the leftover remains from the tornado that meandered through Hallum in Nebraska and destroyed everything. Apparently there was much joy.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
For Sale....
It was a mistake I know... I never shoulda.... so there it sits in the garage in Santa Fe, collecting dust, not running. You know I named it "The Bruise" after its lovely color scheme, of black blue and purple nurple. Did you know it has a sweet Yosh exhaust?
What the hell were they thinking, or better yet, what the hell was I thinking? Of course there is a reason behind this... bc if there wasnt itd just sit there and wait for me to rejet her... No no... I want a dirtbike again... and I keep finding these 450s for sale, usually bc theyre too fast for the owner, or the area has no riding, which is becoming more of a problem these days.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
It wasnt Me!!
Like the last ones I posted, it is important to remember that the following story is not mine. I read it on Craigslist and am passing it on to you. I cried laughing at this one, which is strange bc I never laugh OR smile.
Enjoy!!
Date: 2006-11-16, 10:56AM MST
My last few months have been racked with guilt and shame over a horrible incident and the need to purge myself has become overwhelming. So I turn to you for a compassionate ear.
Last summer, I took my girlfriend, I'll call her Beulah, and her son, I'll call him Eugene, to a water amusement park, attempting to nurture the bond that was forming between us. After a busy morning of paddleboats and bumper cars, we took a moment to refresh ourselves with a hardy lunch of chili dogs, cheese fries, and lemonade. Relaxing under shade trees, Eugene smiled a chili-smeared grin, as the sun cast its languid glow over the park. With the leisurely picnic ending, we hastily dispersed to the changing rooms, in anticipation of our next adventure—the giant water slide.
During our first run, I noticed a gnawing, internal discomfort, although the first sure signs of brown-capping weren’t apparent until Eugene and I climbed the half-mile of stairs to the summit, for our second run. Unfortunately, I had taken the opportunity, to wear a most-revealing, blue Speedo, in the hope of further enamoring myself to the beautiful Beulah. Lord knows, I have the body to accommodate such a blatant, public display of manhood.
However, I soon began to regret my decision, for the sharp, cut of the elastic dug into my swelling, gaseous abdomen. My intestines were bubbling like a whirlpool. By the time we reached the loading platform at the summit, I was squirming in wretched misery. Considering my options, I surmised that taking the slide was far more promising than fighting my way back down the stairs, through the crowd. Thank God I was next in line. My trouble would soon be over. The only obstacle before me was an elderly German tourist, staring pensively at the wild rapids. With obvious reservation, he shuffled slowly toward the mouth of the blue tunnel. Beyond the point of pleasantries, I bellowed, “Come on, Pops! Shake a leg!”
Turning toward the acne-pocked boy who was managing the ride that day, he made a feeble attempt in his native tongue to communicate his apprehension. I had no other choice! The brown star pulsated—nearing supernova. The manager boy recoiled in shock as I pushed the old man down the slide, headfirst. Cursing me with hostile foreign jibberish, he disappeared around the first turn. In an instant, I followed, hurling myself down the slick, plastic vortex.
The fury of the slide was incredible. Rolling and spinning, I gathered speed quickly. The angle of the chute dipped to nearly seventy degrees, increasing my velocity as I careened from side to side, the water turning to white, angry foam. Ricocheting from a high, banking wall, the impact smashed me like some fecal-laden pinata. I lost control, discharging a foul, liquid trail.
A child screamed somewhere behind me, as I slid toward certain humiliation below. Frantically, I grabbed at the back of my Speedo, in a desperate attempt to flush myself clean. To my dismay, a fetid school of dung-guppies spilled into the churning maelstrom.
Nearing the final turn, the old man was standing upright in the tunnel in front of me, I’m sure, to exact some sort of revenge. His sinewy muscles were tensed, rage filled his dilated eyes. But with youth, and gravity, on my side, I swiftly took him out at the ankles. A palsied hand grabbed me as we tumbled out of the chute, and into the pool.
Moments later, a wailing boy fell behind us, riding the crest of a polluted wave. Thinking fast, I collared the old man, and dragged him onto the concrete deck. A lifeguard confronted us as people ran screaming from the pool in pale-faced terror. I explained to the guard how the old man had soiled the waters, how obviously the speed and excitement had proven too much for a man of his age and condition.
Unable to comprehend my story, or explain himself, the old man could only respond with a flurry of incomprehensible shrieks, vective, and obscene gestures. I suggested that he was hysterical from embarassment and that in the best interests of everyone that he be removed from the park—immediately.
The guard eyed me with suspicion, but had no alternative but to believe my story. Fortunately, the force of the waters had washed me thoroughly of any incriminating evidence. I gathered Beulah and Eugene, and made a dash for the parking lot. I’m sure the truth eventually surfaced, but not until we were safely on the interstate, heading back home.
The Time I Lost Control of My Bowels on the Water Slide
Date: 2006-11-16, 10:56AM MST
My last few months have been racked with guilt and shame over a horrible incident and the need to purge myself has become overwhelming. So I turn to you for a compassionate ear.
Last summer, I took my girlfriend, I'll call her Beulah, and her son, I'll call him Eugene, to a water amusement park, attempting to nurture the bond that was forming between us. After a busy morning of paddleboats and bumper cars, we took a moment to refresh ourselves with a hardy lunch of chili dogs, cheese fries, and lemonade. Relaxing under shade trees, Eugene smiled a chili-smeared grin, as the sun cast its languid glow over the park. With the leisurely picnic ending, we hastily dispersed to the changing rooms, in anticipation of our next adventure—the giant water slide.
During our first run, I noticed a gnawing, internal discomfort, although the first sure signs of brown-capping weren’t apparent until Eugene and I climbed the half-mile of stairs to the summit, for our second run. Unfortunately, I had taken the opportunity, to wear a most-revealing, blue Speedo, in the hope of further enamoring myself to the beautiful Beulah. Lord knows, I have the body to accommodate such a blatant, public display of manhood.
However, I soon began to regret my decision, for the sharp, cut of the elastic dug into my swelling, gaseous abdomen. My intestines were bubbling like a whirlpool. By the time we reached the loading platform at the summit, I was squirming in wretched misery. Considering my options, I surmised that taking the slide was far more promising than fighting my way back down the stairs, through the crowd. Thank God I was next in line. My trouble would soon be over. The only obstacle before me was an elderly German tourist, staring pensively at the wild rapids. With obvious reservation, he shuffled slowly toward the mouth of the blue tunnel. Beyond the point of pleasantries, I bellowed, “Come on, Pops! Shake a leg!”
Turning toward the acne-pocked boy who was managing the ride that day, he made a feeble attempt in his native tongue to communicate his apprehension. I had no other choice! The brown star pulsated—nearing supernova. The manager boy recoiled in shock as I pushed the old man down the slide, headfirst. Cursing me with hostile foreign jibberish, he disappeared around the first turn. In an instant, I followed, hurling myself down the slick, plastic vortex.
The fury of the slide was incredible. Rolling and spinning, I gathered speed quickly. The angle of the chute dipped to nearly seventy degrees, increasing my velocity as I careened from side to side, the water turning to white, angry foam. Ricocheting from a high, banking wall, the impact smashed me like some fecal-laden pinata. I lost control, discharging a foul, liquid trail.
A child screamed somewhere behind me, as I slid toward certain humiliation below. Frantically, I grabbed at the back of my Speedo, in a desperate attempt to flush myself clean. To my dismay, a fetid school of dung-guppies spilled into the churning maelstrom.
Nearing the final turn, the old man was standing upright in the tunnel in front of me, I’m sure, to exact some sort of revenge. His sinewy muscles were tensed, rage filled his dilated eyes. But with youth, and gravity, on my side, I swiftly took him out at the ankles. A palsied hand grabbed me as we tumbled out of the chute, and into the pool.
Moments later, a wailing boy fell behind us, riding the crest of a polluted wave. Thinking fast, I collared the old man, and dragged him onto the concrete deck. A lifeguard confronted us as people ran screaming from the pool in pale-faced terror. I explained to the guard how the old man had soiled the waters, how obviously the speed and excitement had proven too much for a man of his age and condition.
Unable to comprehend my story, or explain himself, the old man could only respond with a flurry of incomprehensible shrieks, vective, and obscene gestures. I suggested that he was hysterical from embarassment and that in the best interests of everyone that he be removed from the park—immediately.
The guard eyed me with suspicion, but had no alternative but to believe my story. Fortunately, the force of the waters had washed me thoroughly of any incriminating evidence. I gathered Beulah and Eugene, and made a dash for the parking lot. I’m sure the truth eventually surfaced, but not until we were safely on the interstate, heading back home.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
If....
If I were to get something new? *Dreamy*
Itd be between the Honda and the KTM 450s, I mean its a mud rocket for only a couple 7 thou!!
Anyone can afford that right? No!
So Im gonna settle with no bike until I can afford an XR400, which isnt on the website. but perhaps the most durable and diehard bike Ive ever had, riden, drooled upon.
In retrospect, I have regretted some decisions of the past, hence I must get this 449cc of combustable single cylinder action workin for me. Sooner. I guess Ill just have to cut the top off the van....
Itd be between the Honda and the KTM 450s, I mean its a mud rocket for only a couple 7 thou!!
Anyone can afford that right? No!
So Im gonna settle with no bike until I can afford an XR400, which isnt on the website. but perhaps the most durable and diehard bike Ive ever had, riden, drooled upon.
In retrospect, I have regretted some decisions of the past, hence I must get this 449cc of combustable single cylinder action workin for me. Sooner. I guess Ill just have to cut the top off the van....
Slowly But Surely, Getting Ready For Dirtbike Season....
I found some super retro boots from probably the early 90s. Theyre the top of the line for 1991. You can tell by the extreme over usage of contrasting pink and purple on a white leather foot encasement. Lots o' plastic too. Never been used.
Now all I need is a bike. I think the selections Ive narrowed it down to will come tonight.
As you see in the background I have rebuilt a collection of TV substitutes, begining with a David Sedaris book that makes me chuckle. An author that JennyR in Egypt introduced me to, as I peed my pants in laughter. This one is super good as well, as I rolled around the motel in tears at page 2.
Real fugly.
As I wear them around the office on a saturday I am reminded of what this really is. Not a walking shoe. Kind of a ski boot. No Traction. Minimal comfort. High output.
I think this is one of those products that wear in slowly. When finally worn in to marginal level of comfort, 5 years later, its time to get a new pair anyway. So all the pain for nothing. The worst example of that I can think of is a bike saddle. The tiny tender piece of skin on your ass that takes all this punishment to make the seat fit. When its the seat that it reshaping your taint ("chode" in the midwest).
I think this is one of those products that wear in slowly. When finally worn in to marginal level of comfort, 5 years later, its time to get a new pair anyway. So all the pain for nothing. The worst example of that I can think of is a bike saddle. The tiny tender piece of skin on your ass that takes all this punishment to make the seat fit. When its the seat that it reshaping your taint ("chode" in the midwest).
Now all I need is a bike. I think the selections Ive narrowed it down to will come tonight.
As you see in the background I have rebuilt a collection of TV substitutes, begining with a David Sedaris book that makes me chuckle. An author that JennyR in Egypt introduced me to, as I peed my pants in laughter. This one is super good as well, as I rolled around the motel in tears at page 2.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Craigslist - Golden Moments
Ok this is the two funnier excerpts from Craigslist that I can remember. It may be NSFYM but this is what keeps me laughing and crying the night away like last night, as I stared into the void at 4 am. Enjoy!!
But Id like to introduce you to a couple of the worst Santa photos ever. If you find yourself in THIS Santa land be scared!!
Date: 2006-10-20, 3:41PM EDT
I have this cat whom I found as kitten, too young to have been weened properly and sick - without intervention he wouldn't have survived on his own much longer. I nursed him back to health, had to hand feed him for awhile, and I became very attatched to him. He's now really healthy, a beutiful orange tabby and we get along great, but our relationship hit a very rocky point one morning. We've patched things up, reasonably well, but memories of this particular morning will always haunt us - particularly me.
But now the point: I shave after I get out of the shower. I throw a towel around my waist, but other than that I shave naked. Like I said my kitten - let's call him Butters - is hanging out in the bathroom the whole time. At this point he's maybe 4 months old, still young, but full of energy. He's playing, doing his thing, and eventually he starts rolling and playing around my feet. 'How sweet,' I think. 'This is a great cat.'
Next thing I know i'm on the floor, curled in the foetus position with blood dripping down my chin from a razor cut and Butters is hiding out behind the porcelin throne, starring at me with huge, dialated eyes.
yeah, he went there.
Dangling objects + kitten = kill.
For those who still haven't caught on, while playing around my feet Butters must have looked up and seen the ole' twig and berries, and decide that it would be a great idea to give the danglies a swat. He had good aim - very good aim...
I don't understand masochists.
---------
Date: 2006-07-17, 2:10AM PDT
Don't even fucking say a word. I like potato chips, and can't eat them very much or I'll get fat.
I tried out these Pringles Fat-Free chips because they were super low-cal. BBQ flavor. the fuck.
The can said they had 70 calories per serving, which meant the whole can had 490 calories inside total. I could munch through a can in a day with my lunch, dinner, etc. So I got several cans, and began enjoying one a day for the past four days. But what they dont fucking tell you...
Except in tiny print you cant read without a fucking electron microscope
...is that the primary ingredient is something called "olean" which I have since learned is Latin for "Unwashable & Indestructible Ass Grease."
Oh Yeah. I'm not even kidding.
So today, while I'm standing in the living room debating whether or not Laundry or Dishes will get done first, I get the urge to fart. I live alone, so sweet. I let the honk loose and its wrong. Something just sounded wrong. I know my own wind, and I have never farted a sound that sounded like a fart wrapped in a pillow.
Oh yes, something was very wrong. I had just shat myself. But this evil olean makes shitting yourself sound almost like a regular fart, and had I not been particularly attentive, it could easily have gone unnoticed, I'm telling you. THAT's how utterly covert and evil this olean stuff is. What the fuck?! What if I'd gone out to hang with friends or gone for a drive, what then?
So I walk carefully to the bathroom and disrobe. before I even sit on the toilet, I wad paper and carefully wipe from the front. Sure enough, it was light brown, and had the texture of soft spackle. You fucking Pringle bastards.
I sat down and pushed a bit, and lo, out came a jet that I didnt even feel an urge for one minute earlier. It piled in the bowl like brown marshmallow fluff.
The problem rose when I tried to wipe. I went through a whole fucking roll of TP and could not get it all off me. So.
I jumped in the shower. Yep, its gross, but it had to be done. There I stood, water pouring down, cheeks spread, and using my own hand to make certain I'm clean.
That was when I discovered that after using my hand to wipe myself (before I soaped the area) my hand came back covered in some sort of transparent grease. It was so fucking foul. The grease made water bead off my hand. It was tacky too, and very difficult to manage.
So I grabbed the bar of saop and went to work.
You fucking Pringle bastards.
The bar of soap came away coated in grease as well, and would no longer wash. I had to turn the water to hot and massage the soap for five minutes to get it to the point where I could use it again. It took me an hour to get the fucking grease off my pucker. I shudder to think of what its doing INSIDE ME right now, but I will damned sure never eat that shit again.
Fucking Pringle bastards.
This is where the joke about "anal leakage" came from. its real. Fuck Pringles.
But Id like to introduce you to a couple of the worst Santa photos ever. If you find yourself in THIS Santa land be scared!!
Dudes, don't shower/shave with your kitten...
Date: 2006-10-20, 3:41PM EDT
I have this cat whom I found as kitten, too young to have been weened properly and sick - without intervention he wouldn't have survived on his own much longer. I nursed him back to health, had to hand feed him for awhile, and I became very attatched to him. He's now really healthy, a beutiful orange tabby and we get along great, but our relationship hit a very rocky point one morning. We've patched things up, reasonably well, but memories of this particular morning will always haunt us - particularly me.
But now the point: I shave after I get out of the shower. I throw a towel around my waist, but other than that I shave naked. Like I said my kitten - let's call him Butters - is hanging out in the bathroom the whole time. At this point he's maybe 4 months old, still young, but full of energy. He's playing, doing his thing, and eventually he starts rolling and playing around my feet. 'How sweet,' I think. 'This is a great cat.'
Next thing I know i'm on the floor, curled in the foetus position with blood dripping down my chin from a razor cut and Butters is hiding out behind the porcelin throne, starring at me with huge, dialated eyes.
yeah, he went there.
Dangling objects + kitten = kill.
For those who still haven't caught on, while playing around my feet Butters must have looked up and seen the ole' twig and berries, and decide that it would be a great idea to give the danglies a swat. He had good aim - very good aim...
I don't understand masochists.
---------
DO NOT EAT PRINGLES FAT FREE POTATO CHIPS. THEY WILL GREASE YOUR ASS.
Date: 2006-07-17, 2:10AM PDT
Don't even fucking say a word. I like potato chips, and can't eat them very much or I'll get fat.
I tried out these Pringles Fat-Free chips because they were super low-cal. BBQ flavor. the fuck.
The can said they had 70 calories per serving, which meant the whole can had 490 calories inside total. I could munch through a can in a day with my lunch, dinner, etc. So I got several cans, and began enjoying one a day for the past four days. But what they dont fucking tell you...
Except in tiny print you cant read without a fucking electron microscope
...is that the primary ingredient is something called "olean" which I have since learned is Latin for "Unwashable & Indestructible Ass Grease."
Oh Yeah. I'm not even kidding.
So today, while I'm standing in the living room debating whether or not Laundry or Dishes will get done first, I get the urge to fart. I live alone, so sweet. I let the honk loose and its wrong. Something just sounded wrong. I know my own wind, and I have never farted a sound that sounded like a fart wrapped in a pillow.
Oh yes, something was very wrong. I had just shat myself. But this evil olean makes shitting yourself sound almost like a regular fart, and had I not been particularly attentive, it could easily have gone unnoticed, I'm telling you. THAT's how utterly covert and evil this olean stuff is. What the fuck?! What if I'd gone out to hang with friends or gone for a drive, what then?
So I walk carefully to the bathroom and disrobe. before I even sit on the toilet, I wad paper and carefully wipe from the front. Sure enough, it was light brown, and had the texture of soft spackle. You fucking Pringle bastards.
I sat down and pushed a bit, and lo, out came a jet that I didnt even feel an urge for one minute earlier. It piled in the bowl like brown marshmallow fluff.
The problem rose when I tried to wipe. I went through a whole fucking roll of TP and could not get it all off me. So.
I jumped in the shower. Yep, its gross, but it had to be done. There I stood, water pouring down, cheeks spread, and using my own hand to make certain I'm clean.
That was when I discovered that after using my hand to wipe myself (before I soaped the area) my hand came back covered in some sort of transparent grease. It was so fucking foul. The grease made water bead off my hand. It was tacky too, and very difficult to manage.
So I grabbed the bar of saop and went to work.
You fucking Pringle bastards.
The bar of soap came away coated in grease as well, and would no longer wash. I had to turn the water to hot and massage the soap for five minutes to get it to the point where I could use it again. It took me an hour to get the fucking grease off my pucker. I shudder to think of what its doing INSIDE ME right now, but I will damned sure never eat that shit again.
Fucking Pringle bastards.
This is where the joke about "anal leakage" came from. its real. Fuck Pringles.
To be back in the flow...
To tell ya the truth, Texas isnt getting any better. I went and rode a Mopac trail here to gps some culverts and came across many startling eyeopeners.
1. Im outta shape already. I mean I was slow in NE but this is rediculous. This Tejas home cooking is bad news.
2. Dead cows attract vultures. This I knew, but isnt 30-40 a little excessive for a calf? I mean that burger musta been gone in like 30 min.
3. Parked Toyota vans look abandoned. And I met the sheriff at the same time!
4. This trail goes nowhere. Has nothing on it. Costs like 5 bucks, that I "forgot" to pay. And is boring like the rest of Tejanius.
5. Answer this question: Where are the "Cliffs of Insanity"?
6. Why am I still here?
1. Im outta shape already. I mean I was slow in NE but this is rediculous. This Tejas home cooking is bad news.
2. Dead cows attract vultures. This I knew, but isnt 30-40 a little excessive for a calf? I mean that burger musta been gone in like 30 min.
3. Parked Toyota vans look abandoned. And I met the sheriff at the same time!
4. This trail goes nowhere. Has nothing on it. Costs like 5 bucks, that I "forgot" to pay. And is boring like the rest of Tejanius.
5. Answer this question: Where are the "Cliffs of Insanity"?
6. Why am I still here?
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