March 08, 2008
Big Sister
One of my best friends is a twin. His sister is about two minutes older than him, and she is just too cool...and smart...and cute. Anyway, I've never known a boy dog who knows so much about girl dogs in my life. Do you think sharing the womb has anything to do with it? He knows how women think...he understands them... I swear to the Maker, they can read each others minds. She also knows how boy dogs think...that's why she is so cool.
When they're together...you can almost feel the connection...Damn strange.
I'm just sayin"
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March 06, 2008
Speaking Of Guns...Death From Above
You do not want to hose your garden with one of these
Can you imagine someone chasing your ass with this thing?
It is an old model, but it is still some major Bad Bad Juju.
Posted by Yabu at 09:33 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
March 01, 2008
It Could Have Been Worse
My Uncle got his ass blown out of the sky by one of these.
He was flying one of these.
He told me his adversary was seasoned...more experienced and a a better pilot in a dogfight. He also stressed that although his plane was supposed to be superior...it wasn't...or he didn't know how to take advantage of his new machine. He said the German was on him like white on rice...or something like that...couldn't shake him. He also told me that after he bailed out, the German pilot (who just shot his ass down) flew by and waved at him. He could've killed him if he wanted...but he didn't. Is that honor or respect?
Although, after he floated down, he spent some time in a German Prison Camp, but he lived to tell his story. He said he was treated fine...with honor. He told me pilots have their own code.
I guess that was then.
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February 23, 2008
Gas Money
When was the last time you stopped for gas and did not fill it up?
This morning, I saw some kids pooling their money so they could put 5 bucks in the tank.
Nothing wrong with that...I've been there. Hell, when I was their age I can remember putting 1 or 2 dollars in...even 50 or 75 cents. I can also remember, on several occasions, stealing a can of someone's "lawn mower" gas to get by, but I always left the can in their front or back yard. We would usually park on another street, and slink in from the rear.
I can tell you this...a can of gas is heavy when your running with it.
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February 12, 2008
Ain't nothing Like A Good Blow
I've spent boo coo time on one of these., but not in Texas.
Sewer Rat, Foredeck Monkey, Trimmer, Driver...whatever.
Too much fun...and way too much fun with the chute up.
Damn thing will almost plane to weather.
Never got off it without bleeding. Been on 'em when it was blowing 45 steady, and gusting way more than that. Been damn scared worried a few times.
Posted by Yabu at 10:33 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 09, 2008
Late One or Two Nights
Stayed up fucked up after midnight the first night...arrived home after midnight the second night. Hanging with a Special Operations get down bad ass motherfucker who has spent the last 13 months on the Afghanistan / Pakistan border looking for the bad guys. You do not want to fuck with him...trust me...he is truly some bad bad juju.
I'm glad he is my friend. Anyway, we did a day of this...very cool interesting.
This is for him...he doesn't get his game on until After Midnight, and he is shaking a whole lot more than a tambourine...
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February 06, 2008
This Lady Has Been Around
Headed out for a few days to spend some time with this bitch. She does have a "past".
I love a woman that has been around in the right way.
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January 20, 2008
A Little Juju
Just talking...about Moo Duk Kwan
In the past, I spent 25 months with this guy. He is, by far, one of the most interesting people I've ever met. Not only is he the most confident person I've ever known...he is the most accomplished person in matters of "defusing a bad situation" I've ever known. He is the guy who used acupuncture to heal my knee. It worked. He is the guy who made me appreciate fresh cut flowers. He is about my size, and is the one who taught me not to walk on my tip toes. He taught me to spin the sticks. He taught me how to think fast. He taught me some long sword, and some short blade. He taught me some long staff. He taught me confidence. He taught me speed. He taught me size doesn't matter. We played a lot of chess. We are friends.
He, above all, believes in compassion.
Now, having said this, my conclusion is he is the baddest motherfucker I know...and I know some bad asses.
Kind of Mystical...
He has the Juju.
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January 19, 2008
If That Can Could Talk...
...I'd be in jail.
I was visiting with an old friend the other day and he gave me a reminder of the balls we use to have. You would not believe where that can has been, and what has been hidden inside of it. We were crazy...and lucky.
It is weighted perfectly...just like a can of oil...but it ain't a can of oil. It is for moving stuff you don't want anyone to know about. It has been through many airports and across many borders. The damn thing makes me sweat every time I look at it...brings back some memories for sure.
It is now retired to the shadows in the Juju crib...empty...forever.
Posted by Yabu at 09:34 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
January 05, 2008
RERUN
Yesterday, I saw an old flatbed that reminded me of this.
I look back on some of the shit I've done, and even I can't believe it.
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December 23, 2007
Nutshell...Maybe
The Roman Philosopher and Orator, CICERO, stated that:
"history is the witness that testifies to the passing of time; it illuminates reality, visualizes memory, provides guidance in daily life, and brings us tidings of antiquity."
I must agree...however far fetched that may seem.
What goes around, comes around.
I am a complex man....
Posted by Yabu at 05:07 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Round Two
In response to a comment on one of my previous blurbs: You know you are, and you are still Pretty Fucked Up.... bitch, you just can't seem to get in the game.
I say, "Fuck You"...you should have never dogged me and praised my woman in the same sentence. Not healthy...
I would appreciate it if you would just stay the fuck away from my crib. You can kiss the north end of a duck flying south.
Get a life...
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December 13, 2007
Dead Flowers
This is for my good friend Doc.
Bwahahahahah!!!
I guess you had to be there.
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November 21, 2007
The Mayflower
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April 20, 2007
I'm Stuck In Fucking Boston...
...not that it matters...but these people talk different...are hard to understand...and drive like crazy motherfuckers.
Different planet.
But like my good friend (she knows who she is) said, "I'll buy dinner for the Swimmer and Hillary...if he'll drive her home.
Bwahahahahahah!!!
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April 14, 2007
Bear With Me
I was camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains with a friend of mine, and our women. We pitched our tents beside a stream full of rainbow trout, and we took our share. Life, and dinner, was good. A Park Ranger stopped in on us early the second night, and he ate well…he was a good guy…but, he was the Law, and he now knew who we were.
The next morning, about an hour after sunrise, I wandered off to take care of some business. The rest of my tribe was preparing a breakfast of coffee, bacon, fresh trout, longnecks, and hoecakes. You could smell it for miles. So could the Bear.
Everyone knew I always kept a large caliber revolver in my pack. Yes, it was in my pack and not with me…stupid on my part…that will never happen again.
As I came out of the woods, there was a fairly large Black Bear on site. I guess he was hungry.
He saw me. I did a quick scan of our site for my friends…not there…I looked for my pack…not there...not that I could’ve gotten to it. In a split second I’m thinking, “I might be fucked”. The bear turned in my direction, but didn’t charge…he moved several yards closer, and the hair on his back was raised, but he didn’t charge…he was staring me down. My nuts were tight. Real tight.
About five seconds later…seemed like hours…the bear started after me, and I heard five shots…boom…boom…boom…boom…boom. The bear was down, and if I hadn’t just done my business…I would’ve done it in my pants. The next thing I know, my friend in running toward me, with my gun, and he puts number six into the back of the bear’s skull…point blank. Dead bear…hell, he was already dead…I think the first five got him…who knows? My friend is reloading my gun…the girls are flipping out…I’m in fucking shock…
So, I thank my friend for (possibly) saving my life with my own gun, and then start thinking. I know someone heard that…but it is early…we’ve got to do something …fast. The Park Ranger knows who we are. Damn.
Our cars were about a mile away, fortunately all downhill. I said, we’ve got to take the bear with us, or we could be in deeper shit. We were already in deep shit. If you find a bear with six .357 hollow points in it…well…you know.
We broke camp…in a hurry. We rolled the dead bear onto a makeshift dragger (tent and two poles), and drug that fucker back to our car. Actually, it was an RV. We loaded its dead ass into the back, and broke for cover. Remember, the girls loved this. It took all four of us to hoist this dead bear into the RV, and all four of us to conceal the body. Everyone was doing the Watusi, if you know what I mean.
My buddy is driving, and as we’re coming down the mountain…we get pulled over for some taillight shit. Must have been in the stars. Everyone in the RV was tight…real tight. I mean we had a dead bear in the back. We gladly took the ticket. The cop never even considered searching in the back, which is amazing because we were all nervous as hell. I’ll never know.
We finally get to Charlottesville, and pull into our bar. With some help from the grill man, the manager, and a couple of other friends…we put that fucking dead bear into the dumpster out back.
Never heard a thing about anything.
Anyway, I gave the gun that my buddy most probably saved my life with to him.
Wouldn’t you?
I have since replaced it.
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April 11, 2007
If My Daddy Could See Me Now
The Big Ten Inch is for catdaddy Velociman.
Bwahahahahahah!!!
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Can You Get Me On...
your Wavelength....come back baby, come back.
Posted by Yabu at 12:10 AM | TrackBack
April 07, 2007
Curling A Steamer
I have never done any crap blogging, but my good friend Jimbo made me remember. He's on it here and here.
I got off a flight from somewhere to somewhere one time and had to take a leak. I enter the men's room only to find that someone had curled a steamie in the sink. Yeap, in the fucking sink. I also believe the same person was trying to range his Johnson by utilizing the fucking mirrors. I have done that before. Ranging my unit, that is.
When I was a kid (boys will be boys), I won all the "distance pissing contests"...I can pee for miles, but I have never taken a shit in the sink. I've curled one in many places, but not the sink.
Damn!
Anyone ever pissed on an electric fence? Trust me...you will only do that ONE time.
Bwahahahahahahah!!!
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March 04, 2007
Texas Wild
One of the wildest bitches I ever met was from Texas, and her name was...
I can't make this up...swear to the Maker.
Posted by Yabu at 09:19 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
February 20, 2007
The Dish Treatment
I hate dirty dishes. Always have. Inherited the clean gene from my ancestors. I also inherited the do what it takes gene. I know how to use the latter.
I also hate washing (a bunch…like all of ‘em) dishes. When I was in college and living with a gang of like-minded people, we had a solution to the problem of dirty dishes. We’d wait until they were all dirty, and rather than clean ‘em, we’d just throw ‘em away. All of them…everything…pots, pans, plates, bowls, forks, knives, spoons…everything. Hell, we would've thrown away the sink if we could...maybe the entire kitchen.
Beats the shit out of washing dishes.
Anyway, after I determined there was a better way (and much more economical) to deal with the dirty dish problem; I became obsessed with “there will be no dirty dishes syndrome”. In the past…I have been known as DishBoy, among other things. WagonBoy is another blurb altogether.
So, several years later, I was living with a buddy of mine who hadn’t seen the light…he just couldn’t get in the same game with me…this fucker was a slob. Have I mentioned I hate a nasty kitchen?
He would leave dirty dishes all over the house, and I would collect all of ‘em and put ‘em in his fucking bed. I did this every time he slipped up…and that was often. I would put the nasty-ass dirty dishes in his bed, and make it up for him. Yes indeed I would.
Finally, he moved out and told all my people…
…Don’t fuck with Yabu, or he’ll give you the dish treatment.
Posted by Yabu at 09:56 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
February 17, 2007
Old School Cool
I had exactly this same Schwinn Stingray. Same color, same slik, same everything.
I bet I put a million miles on that puppy, most of 'em on the Slik only. I could almost make that fucker fly. It was bad to the bone before there was bad to the bone. I was too cool for school.
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January 28, 2007
Dirtbags
Thank you Jimbo
Al Whore would've been in the picture, but he was playing "screw your buddy" with Hanoi Jane.
Posted by Yabu at 06:10 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 16, 2007
Three Steps Were Not Enough
I've been on the bus with these fuckers...swear to the Maker it was snowing. One of the wildest days of my life. I cannot, to this day, understand how they were able to take the stage and actually play music...but they did it...slayed the crowd as well...amazing.
Posted by Yabu at 05:30 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 15, 2007
Foredeck Monkey
When I first started racing sailboats, I was assigned to the Sewer. The sewer was mine. All I did was clean up the Italian Feast of Sheets, and pack and repack sails…and get people shit. I was the Boy. I finally determined it was more efficient to launch, and takedown, the Spinnaker out of a huge laundry basket from abeam. It took me awhile to prove my point, but in the end, my method was adapted. I learned all about knots. Ask my Bitch. I also learned that the chute is usually launched from the bow for a reason. Bloopers, as well. They met me halfway.
Anyway, we’re in the middle of a leg, and there wasn’t much going on for me, so I popped myself a cold beverage. Bad move. My good friend, who also happened to be number one, said, “drop that fucking beer, the B-B-Q ain’t started yet…we’ve got boats to pass. Jump the fuck back Jack. Damn! I did as I was asked told, but I threw it at him instead of dropping it. I was lucky; he was too busy to beat my ass.
We passed ‘em all, and won that race.
My smart-ass attitude got me promoted. I was now called to foredeck monkey duty. Physically, I’m the right size (float like a butterfly, sting like a bee...is an understatement), so what could I say. I was ready. Maybe?
Now, let me say before I go any further, know this. These people, my friends, are fucking crazy ass balls to the wall, took this shit seriously. Very seriously. There were groupies waiting for us 'em, back on shore. They wanted to come in first win, if you know what I mean.
Working the foredeck, in a blow, is dangerous business. If you’re doing an “end-over-to-end” jibe of the spinnaker pole, and number one doesn’t turn the boat to coincide with the swap, you have a major problem. I’ve taken a spinnaker pole, powered by the force of nature, full force to the chest several times. I’m lucky I wasn’t killed. If it’d hit me in the head, I’d be dead.
I’ve never sailed without bleeding.
After a couple of years I moved to trimmer, and that was a lot of fun, but if you don’t have a capable foredeck man, you are screwed.
Racing a sailboat is all about teamwork.
I miss those days.
Bottom Line: I just plain like to go fast.
Posted by Yabu at 12:36 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
January 09, 2007
Big Ass Pig
My God Daughter (she’s twenty eight) and me were taking a stroll. Before we left, her Mom handed me a shotgun…just in case. It was one of those that has a really short barrel and holds a bunch of shells. It was loaded to the max. A pumper, if you know what I mean. OO Buck, I think. After the fact, I knew…it was.
Anyway, we were deep into the woods when we heard some snorting, rustling and shit, from the left…and all of a sudden this big ass hog came out of the bush. He is no more.
Scared the shit out of me though.
I popped that fucker point blank...three times.. She is fine, I am fine, but that fucking pig is a dead motherfucker.
Did we eat it? No...we let the bastard rot.
It should be against the law NOT to own a shotgun.
I’m just sayin’
Posted by Yabu at 10:49 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
January 08, 2007
Red Beans And Rice
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December 29, 2006
Pioneer 10
Pioneer 10, launched in 1972, was the first man-made object to leave our solar system. It passed the orbits of all nine known planets and left our solar system with all of its systems functioning properly.
Pioneer 10 was fitted with this plaque which illustrates the hyperfine transition of neutral hydrogen, the figures of a man and a woman, the relative position of the Sun to the center of the Galaxy and 14 pulsars with their periods denoted, the solar system with the trajectory of the Pioneer spacecraft, and a silhouette of the Pioneer spacecraft relative to the size of the humans.
This is the launch...gotta love a night launch.
Pioneer 10 is heading in the direction of the star Aldebaran in the constellation Taurus. If Aldebaran had zero relative velocity, it would take Pioneer about 2 million years to reach it
Some say it is already 30 billion miles from Earth.
No one knows where it is today...except Yabu.
Posted by Yabu at 10:51 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
December 19, 2006
Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582)...
...lived a life of continuous military conquest.
He instituted a specialized warrior class system and appointed his retainers and subjects to positions based on ability, not on name, rank, or family relationship.
He understood the principles of microeconomics and macroeconomics.
He established the Japanese tea ceremony which was used originally as a way to talk politics and business.
He was smart enough to understand, that sometimes, you must play on both sides of the fence.
He was the Great Field.
Imagine that.
Posted by Yabu at 12:28 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
December 03, 2006
Bad Hits
Do you think I pissed someone off?
No...not me...
Yes! Let's adapt their tactics! The only way to fight terror is to become terrorists!
Wait, what were we fighting for again? I forgot.
Raoul
Raoul is a fucking Pussy, but at least he left a comment here.
Heheheheh!!!
Posted by Yabu at 09:35 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 30, 2006
The Rules Changed...
..many years ago...when that fucking pussy Jimmy Carter dropped the ball on November 4, 1979 .
No shit...
People need to understand that Islam, radical or not, (apparently there is no moderate) knows no borders. The war in Iran was a big mistake. Yes it was. We should've gone after the muslims, wherever they are. They know this, and therefore, they believe us to be weak. We are at war; does the MSM not understand this? The IslamoFascists will not stop until they're dead. They have nothing to lose.
Fuck the MSM, FOX included. Fuck 'em. Are the American people really more interested in what Britney Spears is doing, or an alligator eating a crack dirtball and the hero deputies who saved the life of this piece of shit? They should've let the gator feed. I know, I know...they didn't know the guy was a crack head until they rescued him. But, then they should've thrown him back in.
We can win, but as I've said many times before...we must adapt to their tactics. If they hide amongst women and children...then the women and children become valid targets as well...and they will get killed. Dead.
I'm sick and tired of hearing there is no solution. There is a solution. We must crush these motherfuckers at whatever the cost.
Personally, it's not me I'm worried about, but our future generations...well, that's another story.
I think if Muslims want to live in the 7th century, we ought to help 'em out and make that happen. We can do it. We can win.
Fuck a bunch of world opinion...we must do the right thing...we must ensure the survival of our values...of our way of life. We must do whatever is necessary.
It is time to slow dance.
If we don't do something now, they will wreck our economy, and worse.
Do I feel better now?...not really.
Posted by Yabu at 01:24 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
November 29, 2006
Let Us Take Higher
My good friend owns a hotel a couple of doors down from this.
I'm serious.
Blogmeet anyone?
Bwahahahahahahah!!!
I would suggest the scalded garlic Yak butter.
Posted by Yabu at 10:51 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
November 25, 2006
My First Cool Ride
Do you think I had a good time in this? I know several people who will back me up.
Bwahahahahah!!!
Posted by Yabu at 10:53 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 21, 2006
The Burma Blockade
Rerun for the hell of it. I was just talking to one of the pack. Damn...memories.
I was young and at the age when all young boys roam in packs like a bunch of wild ass wolves.
When I was a young kid (I call it the bicycle age of my life), I ran with a wild bunch. Sometimes at night, we'd sneak out for a mission. We'd meet up in the "electric yard" at the predetermined time, and review our plans. Then we'd head for someone's back yard, which had both a swing set and a log pile. Everyone had a log pile back then.
We'd move the swing set from the back yard to the middle of the road in front of the house, preferably in the apex of a curve. Then we'd move and reconstruct the log pile between the supporting poles of the swing set. We also barricaded the ditches on either side of the road with logs. Then we'd cover the whole mess with freshly chopped branches. We all had hatchets or machetes.
Now the road was impassable, they'd have to get out of their vehicle and move our creation to continue on. This was part of the plan.
We'd lay low and wait for someone to slam on the brakes and stop. Although many people slammed into it head on, there were no resulting injuries. When they "exited the vehicle", we'd pelt them with eggs and laugh like hell while running like wild horses and making our escape.
We called this "The Burma Blockade"...also known as "Breaking For Cover".
I remember many more "different" missions.
Posted by Yabu at 10:32 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 19, 2006
The Great White Hunter
I was living in Marietta at the time. I’d been hearing peculiar sounds (pitter patter click click) in the early morning hours, for weeks; I knew what was causing them. The traps weren’t working…
I had to do something…Radical…
My sister in law and her daughter were in town. A, the daughter, was sleeping on the couch in the living room.
3:00 am., I hear screaming…women screaming…my bitch was screaming.
I bolt from bed, throw some lounging trousers on, and head for the noise.
My bitch is standing on a chair…her sister is telling her daughter to stay put, and a huge ass rat mouse is frozen in the light, in the kitchen. Not moving. The women are panicked…no, not panicked…I should say excited. I tell her (the sister in law) to get my pellet gun…it’s behind the chest-of-drawers in my bedroom. She brings back the BB gun…I say NO, wrong gun…I need the other one…She says DAMN!, and fetches the right one.
Meanwhile, the rat mouse is still frozen…my woman is still on the chair, and her niece is still on the couch. I insert a .177 hollow point pellet, (my pellet gun is a one pumper, 1200 fps), and pop that fucker from about 17 feet…Didn’t kill him though…it was flopping like a fish out of water…blood spewing all over the place…my bitch is screaming “shoot it again, shoot it again?….Now, do you know how hard it is to hit a mortally wounded flopping rat mouse , with a pellet gun? Pretty damn hard.
Anyway, my aim was true…and the second shot put it down for good. It was a mess to clean up, though.
I’m now known, in a small circle, as the Great White Hunter!!!
Posted by Yabu at 11:32 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
November 16, 2006
Two Sides of the Wrong Coin
In honor of my good friend, who died in a freak accident many many moons ago, I'm posting his last scribbles. He was truly, one of a kind.
Two Sides of the Wrong Coin
Read More »
Posted by Yabu at 02:08 PM
The Will To Fight
Fat in Indiana has a good post up which asks the question:
Have we lost our will to fight?
Go read it.
Posted by Yabu at 12:41 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 14, 2006
Shieldmaiden
was built in 1964, was a canarded delta wing aircraft, designed to 'ride' on the shock wave contained between the lower fuselage and its movable, downturned wingtips. Because of kinetic heating at high speed, the B-70 was built from titanium and steel honeycomb parts.
She didn't make the cut.
They made two...one crashed...I've touched the other one.
Posted by Yabu at 11:17 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 12, 2006
Recalculating
That’s what my GPS says because it smart enough to know I’m a back-road scenic man. Damn thing is amazing.
Anyway:
If the chips are down, these are some of the people you would want on your side.
Silent Too Tall Shirt Off My Back Anytime
Sissy Eyes
Tied For Two My Bitch The Doll
The Blade And The Scot Got Your Back
Highly Edible Mo Sister Of Bou
And, by the way, the catatonic drunk is very very lucky. This asshole was going to fuck with Eric and me. Almost happened…good for him it didn’t.
There is just something about hanging out with intelligent people that gets me off.
Thank you my friends. Everything was good.
I’m off again in the early am.
Posted by Yabu at 05:35 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
November 03, 2006
In a moment of weakness...
...I'll look back on that night.
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October 07, 2006
Bottle Rocket To The Neck
St. Augustine, July 4th, 1976, Nighttime
We were on the 3rd floor balcony of an apartment overlooking the Matanzas River between the Bridge of Lions and the Castillo de San Marcos, drinking heavily, watching the flotilla, and shooting three foot bottle rockets. I was the head aimer. It was my job to ensure the launch trajectory was high enough to clear the crowd and the ships as they sailed by. We had about a hundred of these rockets, and after a few shots, I had my launcher rig dialed in. "DO NOT touch my rig", I told everyone. "It is perfect."
I went inside to get another beverage, and when I returned, some dumb ass was whooieing with my launcher. I told him to back off, and started to check the angle. It looked good to me, even though I was probably seeing two of em'; I really don't remember. Worst case, I'd have to make a minor adjustment. Wrong.
I slid another rocket down the tube, and lit her up. Well, that damn rocket went about 50 feet, and then did a downward sideways loop right into the crowd. It hit some guy right in the neck, and exploded. Ka Bam. He was down like a sack of potatoes.
Well, we all broke for the back door, and ran full tilt to the St. George Tavern a few blocks away, and continued our evening.
Later, we heard from a guy, who knew a guy, who knew another guy, who knew the paramedic on the scene. The guy who took the bottle rocket to the neck was OK, just some burns and bruising, and his equilibrium was whacked out for a while, but he made a full recovery.
To this day, I cannot believe we got away with that one.
Posted by Yabu at 04:33 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 06, 2006
Train Tripping - 53 Hours
I use to go to Sacramento on business quite often. I finally figured out how to do it right. Instead of flying to SAC, I'd fly to Chicago (Midway), and get on the California Zephyr. Well that's not exactly true, it's not the Zephyr yet, it is just the train. It departs at 2:40 in the afternoon, does Iowa and Nebraska at night, and arrives in Denver at dawn. Once you've seen a mile of those two states, you've seen it all. Anyway, the train is watered, and then begins to slowly chug up and over the Rockies. High enough, the snow never melts. Then, your hauling ass downhill for Salt Lake City. The train arrives at dusk, it is watered again, more engines are brought forth and they split it into three trains. The train station in Salt Lake is very close to the Mormon Tabernacle, and if you've never seen it glowing at night, you are missing a beautiful sight.
The first third of the train (now the California Zephyr) presses forward across the High Sierra to SAC and on to San Francisco. The middle (now the Desert Wind) heads for Las Vegas and terminates in the city of Angels. Problem is, all the Angels out there left along time ago. The tail end (now the Pioneer) heads north for Seattle.
This is a great way to see the country, in my opinion. When I was doing my "train tripping", I could purchase a ticket for the same price as a one way flight to SAC. You get, a private "room" with two bunk beds, windows that open, a semi private head, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner - cruise ship style. Two seatings, early and late. Also, the Bar Car. It is transparent, open 24 hours, has a live band, and is just very very cool. Set up for maximum sightseeing.
It's about as much traveling fun you can have in 53 hours, and you will be Mooned... by all the rafters going down the Colorado river. It is custom.
This is a beautiful country, and if you must go to the Left Coast...this is the way to do it.
Posted by Yabu at 11:58 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 15, 2006
Fucking Pussies
Well, now is the time to post about Helen. What a Bitch.
What do I remember?
I had a great time…my woman had a great time. That would be the bottom line.
I remember “that? the people I had a great deal of admiration and respect for ran like scalded dogs when confronted with “a challenge?. Fucking pussies…all of you. You know who you are.
Bwahahahahahah!!!
Any of you motherfuckers want to comment on that?
Posted by Yabu at 06:22 PM | Comments (16) | TrackBack
September 11, 2006
Spiking The CAP
Helen, GA...10:27 pm. September 09, 2006
That was some Cool Ass Punch.
More later...
Posted by Yabu at 08:27 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
September 02, 2006
Maybe If…
…that fucking pussy Jimmy Carter had parked some B-52’s on top of Tehran in November of 1979, and issued the ultimatum: You release the 66 Americans you took hostage, or I’m going to kill about 12 million (population of Tehran) of you motherfuckers…and if I can’t do it by carpet bombing, I’ll nuke your ass. Do not fuck with me…your call…you have 24 hours.
It can be argued that the sacrifice of the few outweighs the sacrifice of the many.
Would the world be different today?
That crisis started the first Islamic revolution of modern times, which has brought the world to the brink of some Bad Bad Juju.
Posted by Anjin at 10:13 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
August 04, 2006
Hash Under Glass
We use to take a big ass chunk of Red Lebanese Hash…put it on a pin…fire it up…cap it with a glass…and suck up the smoke.
Kind of reminds me of the Middle East today.
If it were I, I’d smoke it all…if you know what I mean.
I’m just sayin’
Posted by Yabu at 12:37 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
July 30, 2006
The Dumpster
In the past, I have from time to time dabbled in the illicit movement and sale of plant matter, including the powder, to support my lifestyle. Let me say, the powder is the devil. Let me say that one more time…the powder is the devil. The Powder is some Bad Bad Juju.
But, I have moved some herb.
I was reading a post the other day about someone leaving something in a trash dumpster, by mistake.
Reminds me of the time my partner and I had some really good rope…we were heading to a meet to unload a kilo of some mombo zamdo, and we stopped behind a restaurant to clean out our ride. Cleaned it out we did.
Showed up at the deal, and we had no deal to close. What the fuck. Immediately, I realized what had happened. I threw the shit away by mistake…I cannot believe I did that, but I did. The fucking dumpster was behind a restaurant thirty miles away, so off we went. This was not a known friendly deal, so we were both wearing shoulder holsters, filled, and had to dance a little…if you know what I mean. The people with the cash said, “You’re fucking with us?…I told ‘em the truth, and said we’d be back in a couple of hours. I even offered one of ‘em to ride with us. They declined.
We get back to the dumpster, and guess who had to climb in…you got it…me. Now I can tell you, there is a huge difference between a “cardboard box? dumpster and a “food? dumpster. This was some nasty shit I was crawling around in. Fucking nasty…but I found the brick, and in the end everything was cool. Big John and me laugh about this little mishap every time we are together.
Bottom line…that was the first and last time I ever wore a gun to a drug deal. These people didn’t think my story was funny. I do.
That was probably some Bad Bad Juju.
Posted by Yabu at 09:32 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
July 24, 2006
Showing Off
I know this guy who started his own business, secured several large bank loans, and lost his wits.
He was doing quite well, had more business than he’d ever imagined, until he got a major case of the stubies.
He flies to Chicago for his high school reunion, and decides he needs to make an impression on his old friends, especially the ladies. Now, this guy was always weird with women, and I would say seriously socially challenged, but I never thought he was stupid. Until he pulled this shit.
He lands at O’Hare, rents a car, drives to the Ferrari dealership, and pays cash for a new 328-GTSi…over 100 Grand. The salesman asked him if he wanted to test drive it and he confessed he didn’t know how to drive a “stick shift?.
Pick me up off the floor!!! I would’ve loved to see the look on the salesman’s face.
So, the salesman takes him out to the back lot, and in 30 minutes teaches him how to use a clutch and a gearshift “get this? in a Maserati.
He then lurches off in his brand new red Ferrari to pick up a young lady, who by the way was not his wife, for a night of wishful thinking.
Less than 20 miles later, he’d done 27K in damage to the front end, given the girl some non-life threatening injuries, and basically humiliated himself. You see...he wrecked his new toy in front of all his friends in the driveway to the country club. They were all watching him make his grand approach, and he put it into a tree. Dumb ass.
Anyway, this little stunt cost him his marriage and his company. He was divorced and bankrupt before the car got out of the shop, which was 8 months later.
Now that is some Bad Bad Juju.
Posted by Yabu at 10:41 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
July 23, 2006
Time Travel
Yabu left on a trip the day after the day before yesterday and he will be back on the eve of the day after tomorrow.
How many days and nights is he away?
***UPDATE ANSWER BELOW***
Read More »
Posted by Yabu at 07:25 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 22, 2006
Monkey Man
This is what Tuco looks like after you share a bucket of his CAP.
"One bastard goes in, another comes out."
Time to break for cover.
Posted by Yabu at 11:10 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 21, 2006
Cornbread
Christina made me think of this.
My Grandmother died twelve years ago. We held a funeral service at the cemetery, and afterwards, friends and family went over to my Mom's for a reception. Pretty standard except for this: My first cousin and her husband, on the way to the reception, rented a trailer, went to my Grandmother's house, and loaded up everything they wanted. Now that is Cold! Anyway, they missed the prize. I am the owner of several cast iron skillets that have been seasoned for about fifty years.
I think of this every time I make Cornbread.
Cornbread is also my dog's middle name.
Posted by Yabu at 11:23 AM | Comments (10) | TrackBack
July 19, 2006
He Ain’t Dead Unless His Eyes Are Open!
This was written on 11/23/2003...not that it matters. What matters is, that, DAX is a crazy Motherfucker...I like that, and I kid you not.
By Dax Montana
Read More »
Posted by Yabu at 12:01 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 15, 2006
Hot Air Balloon Riding
Today is a beautiful day, you can see for miles.
It reminds me of the first time I rode in a hot air balloon. My friend Julian has one, and Louie and I met him on a day like today - and took off (launched). We ascended to a couple thousand feet, and just drifted with the wind. Beautiful, is all I can say...Peaceful...Quiet...until...
…we started floating over populated neighborhoods - and the damn dogs were barking like crazy. From one neighborhood to the next - bark..bark..bark.
Hot Air Balloons drive the dogs fucking crazy. It was strange.
Anyway, we'd been aloft for about 5 hours and Julian decides it's time to set her down. We'd covered, as the crow flies, boo coo miles - and dusk was approaching fast.
We were crossing the river when we spied a field that looked promising for a landing controlled crash. Problem was: there were power lines between Earth and us, and it was almost dark.
Let me say - we had a radio, and had been directing the chase vehicle (full of some other friends) all day long. They were toe (lift leg) up - I'. Right.. Right.. no no I meant left.. OK OK good...we see you loud and clear. See not hear - whatever.
The Balloon Driver says - "I see a place where I think we can set down, but everybody get down in the basket - I'm going to go through the top of those trees to bleed off some speed." WTF. Man - he did exactly what he said - we hit those trees and wood was flying everywhere. I shit you not; we went those trees like a bolt of lightning.
We fucking slammed into the earth, and bounced sideways almost upside down for about 100 yards.
It was GREAT!!!
Posted by Yabu at 11:25 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 10, 2006
Eric's Story
I was in another town the other day, talking with my good friend Eric, and learned something. Eric, who is older than I, is the type of guy you want to have around when the chips are down. I mean, he is a standup get down type of guy and he'll cover your back. When the shit hits the fan, you can always depend on Eric. Eric understands Honor. Eric knows what true friendship is. Eric is a humble man. Eric is a bad ass. Eric is Bad Bad Juju.
Eric had just been to his doctor who informed him that, in his opinion, the muscles in his heart were deteriorating. His doctor said, you might die soon, but we'll run some tests in two days.
Eric said to me, "You know Yabu, if I die, so be it. I should have died when I was twenty. The last forty years were a gift. I remember when I was twenty years of age, laying in that rice paddy in Viet Nam amongst my buddies brains, intestines, and severed limbs. I was the only one not hit. The VC even blew up the chopper. Everyone died but me. So whatever happens, I'm OK with it.
This happened on his first tour, he volunteered for a second and was wounded multiple times on three separate occasions.
Anyway, I could hardly swallow when I asked him, if you do die, can I have your Pearl .45's? You might think this callous, but you're wrong, it's the way true friends communicate with each other.
Many years ago, we discussed this same situation. Very interesting - how people reflect.
Bottom Line: The doctor was wrong, and Eric and I have some more drinking and talking to do. Life is good!
But I still want the guns!!!
Posted by Yabu at 01:26 PM | Comments (3)
July 07, 2006
Sport Fucking
I am Anjin, and I am Yabu’s friend.
Once upon a time, Yabu toured Europe with a backpack and two beautiful women. He was fucking ‘em both, or they were fucking him, but not at the same time…it was the alternating night scheme.
I swear this is the truth, because when I met up with them in Rudesheim, they wouldn’t share.
Bwahahahah!!!…Lucky bastard.
Yabu said, after the fact, “They were using me for there own pleasure?. He continued, “It wasn’t my fault…they were insatiable?. “I had to do something?. “I was in danger?.
He did make it clear…they were doing him, and not the other way around.
That fucking Yabu is quite resourceful. Bastard!!!
Posted by Anjin at 02:07 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
In The Band
I met these two fuckers last week in Savannah.
Right, wrong, or indifferent…like it or not; they’re in the band.
Cool runnings my friends.
Posted by Yabu at 11:24 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
Bottle Rocket To The Neck
July 4th, The Past, Dusk - Dark
We were on the 3rd floor balcony of an apartment overlooking the Matanzas River between the Bridge of Lions and the Castillo de San Marcos, drinking heavily, watching the flotilla, and shooting three foot bottle rockets. I was the head aimer. It was my job to ensure the launch trajectory was high enough to clear the crowd and the ships as they sailed by. We had about a hundred of these rockets, and after a few shots, I had my launcher rig dialed in. DO NOT touch my rig, I told everyone. It's perfect...I'm dialed in.
I went inside to get another beverage, and when I returned, some dumb ass was whooieing with my launcher. I told him to back off, and started to check the angle. It looked good to me, even though I was probably seeing two of 'em; I don't remember. Worst case, I'd have to make a minor adjustment. Wrong.
I slid another rocket down the tube, and lit her up. Well, that damn rocket went about 50 feet, and then did a downward sideways loop right into the crowd. It hit some guy right in the neck, and exploded. Ka Bahm. He was down like a sack of potatos. We thought we'd killed him...no shit.
Well, we all broke for the back door, and ran full tilt to the St. George Tavern a few blocks away, and continued our evening.
Later, we heard from a guy, who knew a guy, who knew another guy, who knew the paramedic on the scene. The guy who took the bottle rocket to the neck was OK, just some burns and bruising, and his equilibrium was whacked out for a while, but he made a full recovery.
To this day, I cannot believe we got away with that one.
Posted by Yabu at 01:02 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 04, 2006
Independence
US Declaration of Independence
Posted by Yabu at 10:28 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Riding The Sink
I wish I could take credit for this, but I can't. At least, I say I can't and I'll go to my grave sticking by that story.
Many years ago, a good friend of mine moved to Boston. Obviously, moving from the South, to Boston, was guaranteed to be traumatic. And it was, but that's another story.
He had an old Southern home with an extraordinary upstairs bathroom that had a tub with feet, and a sink with one leg, which had a foot with toes. The hot and cold faucet controls were left and right hands. It was, without a doubt, the most interesting bathroom I'd ever used. We did some crazy things in there. I mean, come on, a sink with hands, and a leg and toes. The girls use to paint 'em foo foo colors, the fingers and toes that is. We even put a cast on that leg one night, and we all signed it. Sick, don't you think.
My friend had already moved, so we decided to break on into the other side, and basically, pinch the sink, and ship it to him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The house was locked, but was not a problem. We entered through the back. That is another story.
The next thing I knew, we were upstairs in the bathroom, with flashlights beaming, laughing our asses off, and yanking that damn sink out. I'll admit, I'd never stolen a sink before.
We now have a freestanding sink, but never thought about how to get it down the stairs. No problem, all we need is a 4X4 piece of plywood, and we'll be good to go. I'm not going to tell you where we got that, but suffice to say, we had to break out the toolbox.
We're standing at the top of the stairs, doing the math, and dumbass me volunteered to ride it down. Stupid.
The plan was: for me to sit in the sink, hold the ropes that we'd attached to everything, and guide it as I was being lowered to the first floor by my faithful buddies.
Break: This damn sink weighed about a thousand pounds.
So: My ass is in the sink, they move me to the top stairs, and shit happens.
They: Let go of the lines.
Next: My young ass is riding the sink down the damn stairs, and it only took a couple of seconds before I was unconscious, I think.
Me and the Sink: Crashed through the front door, which was closed and locked with a deadbolt, breaking all the windows and glass panes, and down five steps into the front yard. Man, that fucking hurt.
Next: I was cut and bruised, laying in the damn front yard with a busted sink, while my friends were laughing so hard they couldn't come to my aid.
I got about 20 stitches from that FUN.
Have you ever crashed through a door and window while riding a sink?
I will never be able to shake that story...everytime I talk to my friends...it always comes up.
That was some Bad Bad Juju for sure.
Posted by Yabu at 12:09 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
July 03, 2006
When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go
I was traveling with two bitches lady friends in Europe. We were in London, (we'd been pub crawling all day) and were riding in the lower level of a big Red Double Decker bus, and I had to go, know what I mean?
I told the bus driver, you need to stop and let me off; I need the loo bad - now.
He said, no, you have to wait until my next stop. I asked again and received the same response.
Fortunately, there was no one seated in the back. I went aft past the passengers, anchored each leg against a seat, whipped it out and cut loose. I had no choice.
Well, guess what? He stopped that damn bus, and he was pissed. Excuse the pun.
I hit the back door with my two friends in tow, ran around the corner and disappeared into the first pub we came across and ordered some more pints.
The way I see it; I had two options, and the first one was unacceptable.
When you gotta go, you gotta go.
Anyway, it was a clean getaway.
Posted by Yabu at 10:42 PM | TrackBack
July 01, 2006
Eric The Red
Eric has posted what he believes happened. Threw me off the truck, or under the bus, so to speak.
It did not go down like that…here’s what really happened.
Eric is driving and Elisson is riding shotgun. The CRIP and me are in the back seat…He’s port, and I’m starboard.
Elisson is explaining how we can cut back to the other side, when Eric says, “This thing will turn on a dime.�?
Eric: “Is that a cop?�?
Elisson: I don’t think so,,,nope!�?
Yabu: “He’s too far away to tell�?
Denny, “Hey hey�?
Eric goes for it.
Bwahahahah!!!!
Turns out it was a cop and he had the blue lights on my boy Eric in a heartbeat.
So, we’re pulled over…tuned up and looking nice…and Eric does a really smart thing. Not only does he hand the cop his drivers’ license and proof of insurance and registration, but his concealed carry permit for the cannon. Very smart. Very very smart.
Bottom line: He WAS driving…not me. It was his decision to run the red arrow.
Ladies and Gentleman…that is the real story.
Yabu is clean!!!
Posted by Yabu at 06:39 PM | Comments (5)
The Story Remains The Same
I was telling a story, by request, with good friends in Savannah.
Here is:
NIGHT OF THE FLATBED
That was some Bad Bad Juju if you happened to own one of our targets.
Posted by Yabu at 12:18 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
June 30, 2006
I-40, I-85, I-77, I-26, I-95, I-95, I-26, I-77, I-85, I-40
32 HOURS
My ass is fucking exhausted tired.
I’m just saying.
Sweet Dreams!
Posted by Yabu at 10:30 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
June 27, 2006
Acid Fucking Man
I wasn’t going to post about that bastard…I lied. This will be short and sweet.
The first time I met Rob, I had to carry his dog drunk and drugged ass back from the bar to his hotel room. Then we started fucking around with loaded guns. It was interesting, to say the least. Then we…. well, never mind.
If it wasn’t for him, I would not know these people, and many others.