I snapped this while damn near drunk and staggering around with my friends a year or so ago. Just kidding about the staggering and drunk stuff, but it is one of nicest places I’ve been. Anguilla, BWI. Once there, it doesn’t take long to get into the groove. Fresh fish, homemade rum, cockfights…laid back. If I ever have to break for cover, you can find me there. Seriously, nice place. The latitude and climate is perfect. Never gets cold, never gets too hot.
I have a post in my head about how fucked up it is with Iran, and what it will take to sink their Navy, and what will happen if the Middle East goes wonkers anytime soon. How do you defend against Russian Sunburn missiles? But instead, I give you a shot of the fried chicken I made last night. For now, it beats the hell out of talking about the disruption of the flow of oil and how that will effect Western economies. Closing the Strait of Hormuz is a lot worse than my fried chicken. I made some white gravy, some mashed potatoes, some green peas, and a skillet of spoon-bread. Damn good, is all I can say. My Grandmother would be proud of my meal, but not proud of who’s driving our country.
Anyway, here’s the chicken.
I love dogs…I love animals… I love ugly girls, and pretty girls…I love smart people…I love just about anything that’s not trying to kill me. I knew a dog who tried to kill me once. Went for my throat, he did. I have the scars on my left elbow to prove it. I once had a girl who tried to kill me…went for my throat once, yes she did. Pinned me between the front seat and the steering wheel of my car, broke the neck off a long-neck beer bottle, on the door, and tried to slash my throat. That bitch went crazy on me. It was close. Really really close. She did put a nice slice in my coat. I didn’t hit her…I’ve never hit a woman, but if my friends weren’t there to help, I would’ve done whatever was needed. I thought I was dead. I caught her right arm with my left hand, and my buddies yanked her off my lap and out of my car. Bitch was pissed, to say the least. Wild animal pissed. The thing was, I wasn’t gliding one in on the side…I just think she snapped and wanted to kill me. I’m a good guy, but after that, when she threatened my parents…enough was enough. I told her parents, if she ever came to my parents house again and threatened them…I would kill her. I didn’t live with my parents at the time, but I was close enough to get there quickly. Bitch was crazy, and although she was a beautiful woman on the outside, extremely intelligent…she was whacked out on the inside, in the head. They put her in the Funny Farm. No choice, she lost it. I hear she’s still there. I thought I was a better judge of character. Live and learn. She fooled me, that’s for sure. But, I never gave her a key to my crib. Good move on my part if I don’t say so myself. Got up with some old friends when a friend of ours died suddenly a week or so ago, and we started talking about old times. They said I owed them for saving my life. They might be right…I got the tab.
But, the point of this post is about Pooter. Pooter is a short-haired mutt dog that belongs to a friend of mine. He weighs about forty pounds. Great doggie. My friend, who has some folding money, decided he wanted to ride a Jet Ski from the Statue of Liberty to Miami. Looking for a Guinness World Record, for the hell of it. He bought a cigarette boat, modified the transom so he could drive up on it to refuel. He made it…he was on that fucking ski from dawn to dusk, everyday. He also had a big-ass tour bus monitoring his position as he went south. It stayed on the coast roads, and they had some catdaddy communication equipment. Interesting trip.
Back to my story.
After he got his record, he had the boat moved to a large lake in Tennessee. We did some joy riding…this boat was fast…I’m talking smuggling fast. I’m talking Miami Vice fast. I’ve driven it many times, and it is by far the fastest boat I’ve ever been on. Pretty stable at speed as well.
First, I need to say, we love and protect our animals. We will kill for them, but sometimes shit happens. We’d been doing a little cove hopping one day, the weather turned bad, and we broke for the dock. We floored it, and I’m telling you, when you put the gas to this puppy, it would scream the scream you like. Pooter always liked to ride on the back…on the cushion that covered the cockpit stern. No big deal, we’d done this a million times. He was the boat dog.
We slow down as we approach the dock, it was raining and blowing like hell, and discover Pooter and the cushion are missing. Damn, you can give me all the shit you want, but we immediately did a 180, and floored it. We fucked up, we knew it, and it will never happen again. So, we’re doing about 80 or 90 mph down the lake (full tilt, as fast as we could go) when I spot something in the dead center middle. We thought it might be a log, but no, it was a dog.
Pooter and his cushion obviously blew off the boat. Pooter found the cushion and somehow managed to get on it, balance himself, and wait for us to come get him. He knew we’d be coming back. He knew we would, and he was right. Lesson learned…don’t give me any shit. Pooter now has a harness that will keep him aboard. No way he can blow off. He’s a great dog…he had to have hit the water at a HIGH rate of speed. Shit, we were doing 80+…in 40 knot winds. FUCKING CRAZY. We were just about airborne.
I feel bad about this, but it turned out okay, and for that I’m grateful. One of those things that most people wouldn’t want to admit. I’m all about the truth.
Sometimes people should take a good look at themselves in a mirror. Ask themselves, WTF am I thinking, or am I thinking. Things are bad for many people these days, and don’t seem to be getting any better. I know many people who just don’t pay attention to current affairs or events. They ignore things, because they don’t want to believe ‘em. They believe if they don’t think about ‘em, they’ll go away. It’s like when shit is happening in their front yard, they only look at the back yard. I don’t understand that. We are fast approaching a fork in the road; you can either go right or left, so to say, but you must decide in which direction you will go. What will be best for you and yours? Hell if I can answer that, but I do know if you stand at the turns and do nothing, you’re done. Just a thought.
Anyway, here’s a pimped out mirror the Juju Woman made. The dog in the reflection is Stretch’s buddy Lionel, a Wheaten Terrier. Good dog he is. You ought to see ‘em when they get together. Just plain damn too funny.
The Juju Woman doesn’t pimp everything out…no she doesn’t, but I told her she should add some fur to some of ‘em. She threatened to cut me.
This is old old old…one of the first many many many years ago. I still see it everyday. Doing stained glass is a progression. Wow, that’s far out. Bwahahahahah! The only reason I posted it, it that we did some martini’s last night. Made me remember how sideways I can get.
You ought to see my pepper garden.
My detective friend…Inspector Teresa Clouseau, is on the case. I learned a long time ago that troubleshooting computer technical problems begins with the “process of elimination”. I don’t have a problem with my iPhone battery, but I don’t run all the bells and whistles. Don’t need ‘em. This is good information for people who do. Her attention to detail might be helpful, plus, she takes great pictures of stone walls.
Cool Runnings!!
I kid you not. My little buddy Stretch will not give up. He just will not give up or run from anything. He knows nothing of size. He is short in stature, but long. His lungs are long, that’s why he almost sounds like a full grown Lab when he barks. He is faster than you think, and can cut on a dime. His genetic wheelbase. He can jump higher than most, and will not hesitate. He is fiercely loyal, but a sweet dog at the same time. He loves kids and adults. He loves people in general, unless he gets a bad “vibe”. When he gets a bad “vibe”, I pay close attention. You see, he doesn’t know how to lie, or fake it. He’s all about the truth, what he feels. He’s a good judge of character. If he gets the “willies” when a stranger is around, I pay really close attention. He’s never wrong. Never. I can read him, and he can read me. I’d say we bonded. I keep him in shape, and he keeps me alert. He lets me know about things before I can hear ‘em or feel ‘em. You could say he’s a watchdog. I call him my partner.
Anyway, here he is patrolling the Stretchengetti. Something going on the other side of the fence that I couldn’t hear or smell. He doesn’t miss anything. I always trust him. He is my friend, and my little buddy.
I had a conversation with a *NIX hater last night. She hates Unix and / or Linux…but she can’t explain why. She is a born and bred Windows girl. She will not entertain the thought of anything different from what she is accustomed to. She is a “point and click check-box chick”, and she knows everything. She asked me what could be better than Windows? Look, I gave up on these conversations years ago, but I said “Pipes”, and I’m not talking about burning some rope. She has no idea what a command line is, or a pipe…no clue, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Actually, I could care less. So I showed her how to enter a command and take the result (output) and automatically feed (input) it to the next command, and so on, and so on, and so on. Pipes can be as long as needed, and you can script ‘em if you want. Anyway, pipes rock.
I don’t care what OS anyone chooses to use, I really don’t, but if you’re going to dog one over another, you need to get your ducks in a row.
Bottom line: I stopped providing “support” to personal friends a long time ago. It is not worth it. I just tell ‘em to hose it down and set it on the curb for collection. I broke my rule last night…I tried to help someone that was not able to be helped. Never again with a friend. I broke my own rule. Last time that will happen. I know nothing, and my papers are not in order. Try another route. I’m done.
January 27, 2012
State Of The Clowns
Did anyone watch the State Of The Clown speech the other night. What a fucking repetitive joke. Jokes are only (usually) good the first time you hear ‘em.
Anyway, here’s my buddy Sire, the Head Rib Cooker. He doesn’t light the grill until he’s had about eight beers or so, and that ain’t no joke. This guy is serious about his ribs. He doesn’t know his age, or where he was born, but he can damn sure cook. He also doesn’t know his “given” name. Interesting guy. He’s not “book smart”, but he’s wise in other ways. He was dropped off on a island when he was a baby. No formal education whatsoever, but a very smart guy. We became friends. He’s hard to understand, because his “language” is a combination of English, French, Dutch, and Spanish. When I can’t understand him, I go to sign. He has basically invented his own way of communicating. Hell, it works.