Richly enjoyed the St. Paddy’s Day
Weekend Taze Fest on "Cops" this past. Three thousand hours and forty million volts
of fetching fun and frolic!
One by one,
the drunken, the disorderly, the poor, wretched refuse of the world, male and otherwise, got
their boozed-up butts zapped by their betters who were more than
happy to let fly the volts of justice from
their “Yes, Sir" guns (“Yes,
Sir,” as in: What are the first words to escape the idiots’ cuss holes after their little electric
chicken dance on the streets, lawns and dirty kitchen floors of America?). Good entertainment! Good stuff!
Encore!
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Tedium--Most days I bike just for the health of it, never just for the hell of it. Too much work involved in biking to enjoy a simple spin
over a span of road I have spun nigh on a thousand spons now. But some days I put on my back pack, load it
with packages, then bike to the post office (about 10 miles round trip). On other days I bike to the grocery store
(about six miles round trip). This
morning I did all three. By now, all of the ladies at the post office know me. And I know all the ladies. I make an average of two trips per week there mailing out my books that people have ordered. I think these women understand that if everyone was like me the USPS would be back in the black, not roiling in the red, and thus I get the red, rather, the black carpet treatment.
At our local Publix this morning I not only bought some bananas and celery, but did that which I had been dreading for the past few months, viz., weighing on the heavy duty obesity scales they have there (they go up to 500 lbs). Well, what a friggen relief. Despite living pretty high on the hog these past weeks, I had not gained an ounce—in fact, maybe lost a little. Thus, with that mild concern laid to rest, it has proven a great day.
Jeez! After reading the above to proof it, it looks like, you know, like some of those lame “Letters to the Editor” I lampoon on this blog. Pretty boring. Talk about like, you know, like stale and numb, or whatever. Problem is: Ain’t much happening hereabouts. No pit bull attacks, no geezer on geezer crimes, no homeless headless beheadings, nothing. The natives need to get restless and provide me with new material.
Over on the wrong side of the state, where most of the really neat news happens, some blighter on his bike did manage to get himself shot dead, but alas, no such luck over here.
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Makin’ Memories--Michelle
is looking at the map again. Although it
has been barely a month since our last major jaunt, she is already anxiously
eyeing the next. Thus, by my
calculations, it won’t be long before there is another interruption in this
blog for a spell. Blogologists, please
take note.
(Below: On a train in Norway. Bottom: Norwegian horses.)
(Below: On a train in Norway. Bottom: Norwegian horses.)
