***

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Thursday, September 20, 2018

Name that veggie (herb?)

Was given a bag of this stuff. Kinda smells to me like a cross between basil and light anus anise. Bag just says product of Hawaii.
Any ideas?

Which kinda reminds me of a bad joke:
Two guys were flying out to Hawaii on vacation and were arguing about how to pronounce the state. One said it was Huh-why-ee, the other said it was pronounced Huh-VIE-ee. So they asked another passenger his opinion, and the man said "it's Huh-vie-ee".
So the second man, all cocky and shit, said to the passenger, "Thanks for proving me right!"
To which the passenger replies "You're velcome, Mein Herr"

Saturday, September 8, 2018

might be my best move yet

I knew when I approached the Michigan border coming up from Oklahoma that something was going to be different. I wasn't sure what exactly, as nearing the state border, I was somewhat apprehensive. There was a large, multi-hued sheen of mist in the air that I no longer remembered when I moved out to start my naval career in 1981.
It became more and more opaque as I closed the distance to my long vacated home state, and as I crossed the border, I was amazed at being immediately surrounded by a horde of golden unicorn-Pegasus (Pegasi?) trumpeting harmoniously through the strangely curled horns jutting regally from their foreheads in joyous rapture, as rainbows of brilliant hue shot gloriously out of their collective asses. The air was clearer, the skies somehow bluer, and I no longer felt the weight of despair that had so pressed upon my soul lo these many years. (Not to mention on my bladder, causing many embarrassing moments of incontinence on oft occasion....)
Looking back, knowing I would never again leave my home of birth to travel the wide outer vistas of other lands, I realized the cause of the sheen that had so discolored the skies as I returned to my childhood home. It was caused by the many unfortunate unicorn-pegasi being unceremoniously splattered against the invisible yet undeniable wall between this glorious world, and that of Not-Michigan on the other side, not realizing until too late they were heading in the wrong direction...

And so, Dear Readers, thus begins the tale of my new life in West Michigan, in the lower peninsula, under "the bridge". And its looking good so far.

Rose and I are safely ensconced in a small fifth wheel, in good working condition, on my childhood friend's property. We have already started clearing out a small herb garden for the plants I laboriously and with many trials and trepidation brought with me from Oklahoma. And as an herbal aside here, they fucking love it here! Most of them have literally doubled in size. My various basils and mints are in tires half buried in the sandy soil here, and are already trying to escape their steel reinforced rubbery confines. (I haven't had the heart to tell them about winter yet, or the lake-effect winds we will be blessed(?) with in the coming months. I think I'll leave that as a surprise...)

And I have PIGS!

Lady on craigslist was giving away 3 potbelly mix boars and two sows (BOTH pregnant) and my buddy, hereafter and forever to be called Steve in this blog, both for brevity, and because that's his name) managed to locate a fairly reliable source of pallets, and cobbled together a fairly sturdy, yet  exceedingly unsightly pen for them. Shelter being erected today...

So. Basically that's it. I'm here, Rose and I are happy, and with the possible exception of having to constantly dodge the actually pleasant smelling rain of multicolored golden unicorn-pegasi shit, believe this just may have been, my best move yet.

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

some thoughts on value added living

As I get older, and approach closer to my (hopefully still far distant) mortal coil shuffling, I find myself becoming both more excepting of our mutual fate, and yet more upset by the conclusions I come to as my time here lengthens and my time remaining shortens.
No this is not a maudlin, Oh-Woe-Is-Me kind of post. This is just some thoughts and gripes of a cranky old world-weary traveler, wanting to put his stockinged feet on a log by the fire and sit back with a cold brew and fellow cranky bastards, and gripe.
So. Grab a beer. Kick back. Put your stockinged feet up there, and let's get cranky...

Can someone PUHLEASE tell me who started this nasty rumor that's been going on for some time now, that it takes money to live? 
Whoa! Easy there Tiger. I said "live". I did NOT say be lazy. 
Yes, I will acknowledge that if I want to sit on my ass all day and be waited on hand and foot, I will probably need money. A farmer does not farm all those extra tons of produce as a gesture of true good will or because its fun. He wants money. Money he can use to sit on his ass and be waited on once in a while. Like to go out to dinner, because he's sick and tired of eating a strict diet of only corn, (or wheat, or soybean, or beef, or chicken or WHATEVER, okay?) because he's less diversified in his crop to concentrate on one thing to make the most.....wait for it.... MONEY.
And ol' Alice there at Mel's Diner And Hooker Emporium ain't gonna wait on you cause yer all that good looking, Bub. 
Nope.
She's gonna say "hi" when ya walk in, smile as you take forever to decide whether you want the flapjack special, or just the plate of regular pancakes, cause yer to d..u..m..b.. dumb to realize they're the same fucking thing, but one sounds manly..... and be sweeter'n the cream in that coffee she spit in before dropping it off at your table, because if she were a grouchy old BITCH, you wouldn't leave her...MONEY.
And the girl at the pole doing all those gyrations you always figured were anatomically impossible, yet extremely appealing, she ain't doing it as some weird kind of exercise regimen, buddy. Nope. She's hoping you got something worthwhile to slip in that little G-string piece of nothing she's wearing that really ain't hiding nothing And again, here, we're talking about that big bulging wad in your pants. That's right. MONEY.

Now I 've never once said you don't need money for THAT. I could actually get in with all that gyrating going on. IF I wanted to waste (or usually even had) the money. I never even said that that sort of stuff wasn't what made life kinda fun once in a while. I said you don't need money to LIVE.

People have been living since the dawn of time without money. If they felt like eating, but didn't want to dig in the dirt or sit on a tree stump for hours without end waiting for dinner to walk close enough to hit it over the head with a rock, they could always find someone else willing to do those things, and then trade for it. For instance, I'm sure Moog would have been willing to give up a couple hours of stump-sitting, rock swinging effort to that cute Neanderthal babe in the sabertoothed bikini in exchange for climbing that pole leaning up against the tree and sharing her 'coconuts' with him... 

People need money to live either more lazy, or easier, lifestyles. You don't need money for air, (unless your tire happens to go flat and you realize the amount of air it takes to fill said tire just went up to $2.25 for each five seconds it takes until its full again). You don't need money for food. Food grows in dirt. Think about that the next time your at the checkout and realize you just spent Junior's college fund because you wanted a 3 ounce chunk of steak for dinner tonight. You don't need it for shelter, laughter, hope, dreaming, or even love. Unless its that girl on either the pole against the tree or the pole in the middle of the All American Diner, who sells love by the hour.

As far as I can tell from the lofty heights of my many years of becoming as crotchety as I have, you need money to pay the FUCKING GOVERNMENT to ALLOW you to live.
Air is free until the gubmint can finally pollute it enough that you'll need to buy it by the bottle in order to breathe. Water is free until.....uh...wait...gubmint done got that one. Anyone want a fresh beer while we're sitting here? Or maybe a non-pollutin', plastic, recyclable bottle of pure, natural, really honest to gubmint, Fresh Spring Water? And we're not talking that stuff pulled out of the local outhouse and run through no reverse osmosis filter system neither. We're talking real water. You know, the stuff that comes out of the ground and is cleaner than yer sainted mother's thoughts on sex. 
And you know the ground is dirt right? That shit's free too. Unless you want to sleep above it, grow food on it, roll around in it, (perhaps with that little pole-ish girl....) or feed yourself from it. Then you'll need the aforementioned money to buy it. Maybe from some guy who has too much of it, maybe from a realtor, it don't matter, its still owned by the gubmint. Don't believe me? Try claiming ownership while not paying the gubmint its pound of flesh. And anything you happen to produce from that fucking dirt will require additional tributes to be paid to the omnipotent ruler of all, the gubmint. 
If you want to produce crops to trade to Mel at his diner so you have somewhere for Alice to spit in your coffee and sit and watch pole girl wiggle her wiggleables, you must pay to trade them. Unto Gubmint render what is Gubmint's.
Want to get said wiggling pole girl to 'live' on your 'dirt' and wiggle just for your edification? Better buy (with money) a shitload of condoms. Or you're gonna have a heap of young'uns gonna be running around. Each one of which, of course, will all cause the fees you pay to 'live' on 'your' dirt to increase. 
And kids need learnin', right. Education? Sounds good in theory, but thanks to Gubmint, not only does it increase exponentially for each child, but the higher(?) the 'education' the more it costs for diminishing returns.
Colleges no longer teach one how to make a 'living'. They, through judicious use of Gubmint money, teach how to live off the backs of those who already know how to make a living. But if you were to take away their precious green sheets of life, they would no more be able to survive than they are to fly without the (possibly justified) assistance of being thrown off a cliff. Albeit the flight would be fairly brief, and rather unidirectional....

Money is no more than work. Nothing else. It is a tradeable, foldable, easily exchanged agreement of value for service. Or product for sweat. It is earned in direct correlation to the effort put forth. You want money? Put out some effort. Grow a tomato. Do it sitting on your ass at this fire with your stockinged feed up while drinking a beer that someone else made with their effort.
How's that working for ya?
What? No tomato?
Than try this: Go out and dig a fucking hole in the dirt, put a tomato seed it in, water it, nurture it, hell, sing it songs and fertilize the shit into it. Who knows, that might actually do it. But it will take effort. Yours or someone else's. And if it is someone else's, you better figure out what you are going to do to work for the value needed to trade that someone else for the fruit or their work. Literally. A tomato is a fruit. Its just confused...

And this country, its individual workers and producers, are being bled dry of its once proud heritage of patriots who understand this concept. Taken over and besieged by a new breed of consumers and users who believe money is a thing separate from effort and somehow has meaning in and of itself.
Perhaps if we had a gubmint that produced, rather than printing paper sheets of so-called worth out of thin air, or allowed those who do produce to do so without rendering unto Caesar the top of the crop as tribute for keeping us 'safe', and 'free', we each could have an occasional bit of our effort left over  to enjoy a moment or two playing in the dirt. Or going out to Mel's.

You do not need money to live. You need it to keep those in power, who produce NOTHING, from taking away the things you earned with your effort, your production, and your sweat.

But LIFE is free. Now put your fucking shoes on and go live it. And next time you bring the beer.

That shit costs MONEY.

Monday, August 27, 2018

late on the update, but here goes...

I picked up the truck on Wednesday morning, and IMMEDIATELY started loading the boxes I had packed already and sitting under tarps in front of my house. Except for the ones that had gotten soaked due to an unnoticed hole in my tarp, and the fact that I was loading them all on a pallet in the depression I had hollowed out for my inflatable pool. Which flooded. AND went over the top of the pallet.....

Took Rose to the hospital at noon to check in for her gall bladderectomy, which they had scheduled for 2:45, but wanted her to get there early enough for blood tests and xrays. Which they decided they didn't need as she had had them both done only a week before when they scheduled her damn gallectomy.

And of course, at 3:40 they came in to tell her it'd be about another hour, as they were running late due to some unexpected complications in a "few" of the earlier operations that were scheduled before hers.

6:28 they wheeled her out of the room and into surgery.

We didn't get home until after 10:00 PM. Fuck it.

Thursday morning I got all the wet boxes (minus the water ruined shit I threw out) repacked, and all the boxes loaded in the truck. Then went through the house throwing miscellaneous this and assorted thats into hastily taped boxes, and clearing out the smaller bits of flotsam and jetsam that we wouldn't need for our final night and early Friday loading party.

Friday. Don't ask.

What? You really want to know? Well, okay. But it gets kinda ugly from here on out.....


My loving brother was supposed to come help me on Friday, but had called Monday or Tuesday, and told me his son had to use the truck for "something that came up" and wouldn't be able to help me with the last of my packing.
Friday I had planned, with his and his thirty-something strapping son, to load the heavy shit.
HUGE deep freeze unit. Side by side fridge. Queen size bed with the head- and footboard from hell.
And I did.
Keep in mind, I'm crippled. NOT disabled. Crippled. Disabled means NOT able, and that does not, and never will, apply to me.

The deep freeze wasn't to bad. I had the foresight to rent a refrigerator dolly, and except for winding it around the kitchen breakfast counter, and past the couch, once I got it down the outdoor steps, it was just a yank, pull, and a tug to the truck. Where I found I did not have the strength to pull it up the ramp and into the truck.
Tied a rope across the rails in the back of the moving truck, hooked up a come-along and a couple of tie-down straps to hold any progress I made, and winched it into place.

Tied the bed mattress up with a tarp under one corner, loops to grab hold, and dragged, manhandled the fucking thing out to the truck and up the ramp. Tied that sucker up GOOD. I could have totaled the truck driving into the Grand Canyon and they would have found that motherfucker still standing upright on the side of the truck wall.
Box spring wasn't so bad, just carried that.
Headboard and footboard were drag five feet, rest, drag five more, rest. Up the ramp the same way, and tied down.

Last item: the fridge. Its a BIG fridge.
Got it secured to the dolly, around the counter, past the couch, and realized I had to turn it around to get it down the steps. Got a dolly wheel caught on the door jamb, tipped it forward to pull back for momentum, and as soon as it bumped over, it started going top first over the steps. I TRIED to hold on to the dolly with one hand and the door frame with the other, but since my right shoulder don't work so well after the old .12ga injury, I failed with dramatic results.
Fridge went over stairs and did a complete 180 degree ass over end flip, landing in the weeds just past my walkway. I did a fairly spectacular ass over fridge acrobatic maneuver, and ended in the small sumac trees just past where the fridge landed. Didn't have the oomph left to lift the damn thing upright, so had to use my come-along on it to get it upright, died three times pulling the dolly to the truck ramp, not to mention the 15 or so times I had to rest the weight on my knees to rest my shoulder and back til I got it there, and then had to set up the come-along/tie down setup again to get it in the truck.

This all took me until almost 12:30. I know this, because I looked at my watch as my brother pulled in with his son and truck and a trailer in tow to pick up any metal I may have left, and the camper I had been using as a tool/storage shed. He was surprised to see me still there, as I had told him I had to leave by noon to pick up Rose's check and get on the road if I was going to have time to unload it in Michigan and return the truck by Sunday morning.

I left an awful lot of things behind that I wish I had taken. Nothing unreplaceable, but having to do it all myself, and being literally fucking exhausted, I just told my brother to take whatever was left, go fuck himself, and left. But until you realize how MUCH you've left, and what its going to take to replace it, you just don't think of the cost in both dollars and regrets. Hindsight being 20-20 and all that.

Gas for that loaded down moving truck, pulling a car trailer behind it was a bit more than I had hoped for. Got to Michigan with 18 bucks and change, and ended up taking 2 two-hour naps curled up with my knees in my face in front of the steering wheel so I didn't wrap us up on some wayward speed limit sign somewhere.

Found out when I got here that my buddy's wife had told her brother he could crash here with his wife and three kids until they closed on the house they were buying. Not a big deal as Rose and I are in a nice fifthwheel camper, but my buddy's storage building (HUGE), is taken up with the household goods of his brother in law, and all my goods are in a beat up 100+ year old barn at mybuddy's friend's place 10 miles away.

Its Oh-dark-thirty at the moment, but I'll get some shots tomorrow and show ya'll what it looks like here. Spoiler alert: Its Michigan, so its beautiful.

Broke, tired, a lot of regrets at letting my anger at my brother cost me shit I couldn't afford to lose, but I'm HOME. Grew up in these parts. Still recognize some of it. And when it all comes together, I'll be even happier I made the move. Plus Rose loves it here.

Oh, and I lost my wallet somewhere along the route getting here. If you come across it, let me know....


Wednesday, August 15, 2018

I'm grateful

Picked up the moving truck this morning. Gonna take me two days to load up, because I'll be doing it by myself. Rose will help as she can, but as at the time I'm writing this, she's in surgery having her gall bladder removed. I won't let her lift anything even if she's able!
I've (probably) got enough for gas to make it to Michigan, and my buddy up there say he'll advance me the funds if I'm short.
Probably have to snooze in the truck overnight, but I'll set up a cot for Rose in the back to catch 40 winks, and I'll sleep in the cab with the dogs.
I figured y'all deserved an update, and I'll keep you up on my progress. I'm truly grateful for the support I've received here, and send a BIG THANK you and God bless to Wirecutter and Bustednuckles for having my back.
THANK you all.
Xenolith

Saturday, August 11, 2018

I haven't gone a month without a paycheck since I was 16 years old. After being disabled for the last 6 years and having to depend on the US Government for my living, I've been threatened off and on since 2015 of exactly that.
I've always managed to make the trip to the Administration office, sit and wait at their leisure most of the day, explain my points, get someone to actually read my case notes, and get the situation resolved.
And do it all over again in 3 months or so.
Now they tell me my waiver was refused; and I don't remember ever submitting for a waiver!  But apparently among all the questions I've responded to trying to get this resolved, one of the government flunkies was putting the answers in a waiver request.
My appeals process has run out of the number of times I can submit; even though I was never informed I was submitting for an appeal for a waiver I never knew I requested.
It's so much easier to pass the problem along than to fix the problem, all the while telling me to my face that "that should take care of it" and as soon as this gets into "the system", the problem will magically disappear as quickly as it magically appeared to start with.

I only get 1307.00 a month through the charity doled out to me that I PAID for through my sweat and the generous "donation" I've put into it over my lifetime of labor. I never asked to be disabled. I've worked all my life, and it MEANT something. I'd STILL rather work than have to take money from the government. If I were younger when I was shot, I could have probably found a new job. Or if I didn't have the choice of pain pills or debilitating pain that stops me in my tracks. (I take MAYBE three pills a month. I've got an addictive personality, and would rather hurt than be dependent. Hence my disgust at depending on the government...).

I've tried, with Rose working a menial labor job cooking mass meals for a juvenile delinquent group home, to make this place work.

I failed

I've had to come to terms with my failure. My home is in foreclosure, I've sold all my livestock, my garden has gone to weed, my cornfield sits dry in the Oklahoma drought. And I've given up.

I've made arrangements to move to Michigan, where I have my childhood friend (and more than a brother to me) and who has his own small farm, in order to make it easier on BOTH our families. Neither one of us are young anymore, both have our health problems, but our families together can make it where either one alone can't.

Long story here, I know. The bottom line comes to THIS has to be the month the government decided to finally fuck me over. No check coming.

 I need a truck to move my life to Michigan. The generosity in charity from the few readers I still have, and the support of Bustednuckles over at The Vulgar Curmudgeon has been fantastic. People have donated to help me when they don't even know me.
I need 300.00 more by early Monday to give PayPal time to make the transfer to my bank by Wednesday when I'm supposed to pay for the transportation to start another life over.

Yes, I'm begging. I've done enough of it at the Social Security office, you'd think I'd be used to it. I've tried to justify myself here, but it still galls.

PLEASE, even if it's only a few bucks, I have nowhere else to turn. I'd go on the streets if it were just me, but I can't put my wife through that (regardless of the fact she says she would stay beside me if it comes to that).

Thank you.

Friday, August 10, 2018

Might get there yet...

Thank you to those who have contributed to my truck rental. If not for your kindness, I don't know where I'd put my goods aor even where Rose and I would be sleeping after Wednesday.
I'm not there yet, but by the grace of God and the generosity of Patriots helping Patriots, I'll have enough by Wednesday to rent a truck to get me to Michigan.
Bless you all, and a grateful acknowledgement of your generosity to Randall D., James S., Douglas M., William Y., Stephen G., Gerhard B., Bernadette W., And Phil P. ( A True American Patriot).

Thursday, August 9, 2018

Loosing the farm

Thanks to the social security administration claiming they double paid me in May of 2013, when they sent my check to a closed bank account at Chase, then ended up writing me a paper check for my entitlement, I'm not getting my Disability check next Wednesday. They say they never received the payment back from Chase, which I of course never received either, as the account had been closed.
I am 2 months behind on my mortgage, and the farm is going into foreclosure. I have the opportunity to move to Michigan where a childhood friend has a small lot and will take me and Rose in. I had already reserved a Penske truck for the move, but have been informed by the Administration it is withholding my check (except for 26 dollars) and will not be able to rent the truck.
Rose recently went through gall stone problems and surgery, and a very scary hospital stay while they took care of a cancer on her pancreas. This had her out of work for quite awhile, and I've already been fighting to keep things going ever since I spent May of last year in a coma pursuant to developing double viral pneumonia.

I need help.

Anything.

Thank you.  Steven Vanderhoff aka Xeno

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Teach your brat to change their own fucking tire. It's their only hope!

Can you change a flat? It amazes me how many today can't. There's even a damn commercial on TV about a kid that doesn't know what a freaking lug wrench is.
When did we become a nation of inept consumers? Fifteen years ago I made a pretty good living as a handyman. I'd charge 15 bucks an hour to straighten pictures and hang curtains, change a gasket in a faucet and unclog a sink.
This was in Florida, and most of my customers were little old ladies with too much money, and no common sense. Which is a fairly prevalent individual in West Palm Beach....
Now I find myself sickened by the reliance of not little old ladies who don't have any  idea how plumbing works, or are too frail to get out and climb up a ladder. These days it's college 'kids' in the prime of their life, raised by 'helicopter' parents who are incapable of the simplest tasks. Not because they aren't smart enough; most of them could out think me I reckon. Nope. It's because it would never occur to them to do anything requiring skills.
Their privileged thought processes exclude the very possibility that they should actually think HOW to do a thing, but rather, how to arrange for someone ELSE to rescue them. They have been raised to believe they should  never feel pain, never be criticized, never lose playing the game of life. If by some unthinkable circumstance they should feel neglected, it's ALWAYS someone else that's the cause. And heaven forbid you should try to point to reason and try to explain to them that tires go flat, money runs out, or worse, they should fail due to not even trying! They wouldn't hear you anyway over the wails of their own lamentation over the UNFAIRNESS of it all.
About ten years ago, when I first moved to Oklahoma, I worked for one of these parents who was raising one of these college aged nutjobs of today. His son was 12 at the time, (and yes, is in college today, AND a Democrat), and this man paid ME ten dollars an hour for odd jobs. Including walking around his property to pick up any fallen limbs that may have dropped before mowing. Admittedly, I walked VERY slow to avoid missing any. And it was a LARGE property. And when I DID find one of these offensive earth bound limbs, I made it my mission to walk it back to the brush pile behind the barn regardless of its size. The job took HOURS, but I was nothing if not thorough.
My dad would have died of laughing fits hearing of this man. A perfectly good twelve year old son, and PAY someone to do menial chores?
In my life's experience, I've learned many skills. I can change a tire. Hell, that's the LEAST repair I can do on a car! And, incidentally, a skill everyone should possess. I can do plumbing, electric, carpentry, masonry, farm, raise critters and kids (same thing really), sew a decent seam, shoot a gun, tan a hide (again on a critter OR kid), cook a meal, and wipe my own ass.
I learned through expediency. I didn't come from money, not complaining, mind, my dad HAD money, he just didn't raise pussies. I learned from my parents teaching a good work ethic, self sufficiency, and personal responsibility.
But I'm actually both happy and sad about today's lackadaisical little inept snowflakes.
As long as my generation is around, we'll always make money off these privileged wimps, which makes me VERY happy. I'm also sad. When the day comes we're finally gone, they will be too.
Life is tough, and doesn't take kindly to fools.

Friday, April 13, 2018

Name that 'shroom

Anyone have a definitive suggestion add to what the hell this is?


Preferably with resource documentation?

Don't plan on eating it (yet), but it looks tasty. Kinda like a confused morel.

Thursday, March 29, 2018

What's the lesson here?

I worked every week of my life since I was 14, and picked fruit of all types every summer since I was 8 before that.
I'm college educated.
I served this country for 12 years in the military, and will willingly stand in the forefront to this day to defend her against all enemies,  foreign AND domestic.

I'm disabled, and receive an entitlement (to which I am ENTITLED to for PAYING FOR IT by my labor being taxed all those years for just such an event of disablement) of 15,600 a year.

Fucking Oklahoma teachers are walking off the job because they only make currently 45,000 a year, and were given JUST a 6,100/year raise from the biggest tax hike in history, bringing them to 51,000+.

The MSM has been touting their dire situation non stop while singing their praises.

Maybe if teachers were given a merit based raise based on their success rate as teachers, I wouldn't mind. But Oklahoma is an all or none state when it comes to teacher's pay raises. Lazy, bad, vital, successful, doesn't matter. And I've dealt first hand with teachers here. Some of them are as ignorant as a rock, and some are dedicated, caring educators.

What's wrong with this picture?

And any fucking 'teacher' who could 'educate' me on how this makes sense, feel free to try.

But please don't use Core math to prove the point, I isn't eddicated enuff to git THAT shit...

Sunday, March 18, 2018

XenoBabes

FINALLY! I'm on a real keyboard with real internet access in my home!

So, since I am back up (more or less), here's a little something to celebrate!



Sunday, March 11, 2018

Call Uber

I was looking over some of my medical bills from when I got shot back in 2012. At the time, I lived four blocks from the nearest hospital where I was taken for stabilization. Despite the care I received there, I managed to survive long enough that they decided I'd probably live anyway.
But, (there's always a but...) I'd have to be moved to another, more updated  hospital for the surgery I'd need to repair what they could of my shoulder.
This second hospital was about seven miles from the original one I'd been taken to. So they loaded me into an ambulance and off we went.
That trip of seven miles and about 12 minutes cost me $1,600.00!

Now I admit I don't know what am ambulance, brand new and it of the box cost, but I'll be generous, and giving all the equipment and gear involved, I'm just gonna say 150,000. Which is 93.75X what the trip cost me. Let's include the wages of the two med techs. Say about an hour of their time X2, and give them $50.00 an hour (hey, I'm worth it!).o Another $100.00.
Gas. 3 bucks a gallon, and we'll say the ambulance gets a whopping 7mpg. There's 3 bucks right there.
So we come up to $150,103.00. Divided that by $1,600.00. Round up: 1/100th of the total cost of the ambulance, the entire pay for the techs, AND the cost of fuel paid for by the patient.
Not to mention the cost of the SECOND ambulance when you get the bill and have a heart attack...
Is this a great country or what?

Saturday, March 3, 2018

I just don't get it

300 lbs of kobi beef
12000 flutes of the finest champagne
34 lbs of gold dust covering ruby chocolate dessert statues

All to celebrate actors and actresses.

Is it any wonder they seem to think their fucking opinion matters when we fawn over them so lavishly?

I just don't understand how as a country we let this shit go on. We still have so many athletes out there living on less than 10 million a year,  and we waste money on Hollywood?

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Quick question

When a commodity is in such short supply that most people have never actually even seen it, much less have the ability to utilize it if they do come across any, wouldn't that make this commodity rare and therefore more precious?
We certainly wouldn't call this commodity common, would we?
You know what I'm talking about here, right? Something like 'sense' for example...

Monday, February 26, 2018

Being introspective. AKA Swimming in the pity pool

I've been pissed. Not somewhat irritated. Not experiencing a period of angst. Pissed.

Lately, the smallest thing has been able to set me off. And I don't like it. I don't like being wound so tight that it takes every bit of control I can muster to not kick the living shit out of my little dog when he wants to get in my lap cause he loves me, but he's getting to old to jump and needs a hand sometimes.

This isn't me. I don't kick dogs, and I don't get pissed when things don't go my way.

So what the fuck is going on with me? Time to do some introspective soul searching and figure this out.

And here's some of the off the wall crap I've come up with:

I don't like my forced retirement. I haven't worked since I got crippled in 2012. Not because I CAN'T, but because no one hires a 50+ year old man with a blown out shoulder.
Thanks to my contribution to social security, I still get a check every month. And FUCK YOU out there who say I'm on some sort of welfare. I PAID into this government dole system all my life, since I was THIRTEEN and held my first job. This is NOT fucking welfare, and I'm not trying to sit my ass at home and live off YOUR taxes. This is an ENTITLEMENT. Look up that word. And I'd rather be fucking working. What the benevolent government "gives" me isn't shit compared to what I can earn.

I'm obsolete. Or forgotten. Or replaced. The actual word is up to you, but it boils down to: no one bothers to come to me for shit anymore.
It never mattered what job I was doing, but thanks to my father raising me with a good work ethic, not only did any job I was hired for get done, it got done RIGHT.  Some of the tenets I was raised under were "If you take a man's money, you do a man's work", "I don't care if you dig ditches for a living. As long as you dig them damn well", and one of my dad's favorites, "Good enough, AIN'T!".
I always seemed to rise through the ranks quickly in all my endeavors, and quite honestly never thought anything about it. Looking back, all I can say is "Thank you, Dad. You done good."

I USED to be "that guy". The one motherfucker EVERYONE came to for ANYTHING.
Those stupid flip-flops you wore to work blew out? No problem. Just shove that little doohickey that goes between your fat ugly toes back through the hole in the sole and stick a couple pieces of straightened paper clip through it in an 'X' pattern. Won't hold forever, but it'll get you through till you get home and put on a REAL fucking pair of shoes.
Can't change your own broke bulb in that blinker that caused you to get a ticket on the way to work? Here. Not only am I going to SHOW you the four little screws you need to take out, but I'm going to use a piece of the duct tape I keep rolled on an expired credit card in my wallet to tape the allen wrench I used on the back of the light fixture so next time you can not only do it yourself, but you actually HAVE the tool you need to DO IT WITH right there with you.
Need a screwdriver, flashlight, wire, lubricant, knife, wrench, spoon, clip, hair tie, tape, or magnet? More than likely, I got it on me, or I'm carrying a reasonable facsimile to get the job done with. And know HOW to get it done, too.

Or as my adopted granddaughter told her old man when the training wheels broke on her bike: call Stevie. HE can fix ANYTHING!

Plumbing? No problem.
Electrical work? Don't be shocked, but I got this.
Carpentry? If you need a hand, I can even build THAT out of wood. Just ask Bustednuckles. And if THAT guy can't fix it, it AIN'T BROKE!

Guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself lately. Friends are fading from my life. I don't feel like I'm making a difference or even a contribution anymore. Even this farm is getting me down lately. With advancing age I'm not able to work as long or as hard as I used to could. My government dole stays the same while the cost of everything from tool replacement to food goes up. And some days it seems like not only am I NOT making progress, but can't even seem to keep up. Plus I finally got my pygmy goat breeding pair, and someone stole my nanny. I fucking hate thieves. Costs an arm and a leg to buy materials for a decent goat  pen, just to come home and find everything still locked up and your nanny gone. With only the buck left, I put him in with the pigs. They get along real well, and anyone wants to go in THAT pen is more than welcome. My boar will even gladly get rid of any evidence....

Well, thanks for letting me rant. I feel a bit better now, and I appreciate it. Guess I'll get out of the pity pool and off my ass now. Supposed to be a sunny day today. Maybe I'll get something done and feel better.

But if ya need something fixed, or just to talk sometime, I know a guy...

Monday, February 19, 2018

For you gun grabbing asshats who think youll win

Go ahead,  Dumbass. Here's your agenda. I'll make it easy for you:

1. Take all automatic weapons from civilians. This will allow "law enforcement" and the federal government to be the only one's wielding these terrible weapons of death dealing terror. Because this will make you somehow safer. Oh, wait. This is ALREADY a fait accompli...

2. Make illegal those nasty bump stocks that turn legal semiautomatics into illegal full automatics. And, again, this leaves you at the mercy of your police state federal government. This making you somehow safer...

3. Take away all semiautomatic weapons because only the military needs something like that anyway...

Once the above steps are accomplished, take away all concealed/open carry of ANY handgun. This will ensure law abiding citizens are unarmed when the bad guy starts shooting.

Make it illegal to own rifles of any caliber. Shotguns are all anyone reasonably needs to procure game anyway.

Remove the right to own shotguns. No one in this age of enlightened snowflakes needs to hunt. The government will provide. Besides, THEY have automatics.

NOW you're safe! Provided for by your benevolent jack booted government thugs carrying the full-automatic authority of government while you reside comfortably in your safe spaces secure in the knowledge that "all is well".

But I'd like to mention what I consider to be a rather salient point:

ONE well trained man; soldier, LEO, backwoods Redneck, with good intent, armed with a lowly .22 caliber plinker, is a bigger threat to 5 men armed with "spray and pray" automatics who think they're fucking Rambo than THEY are to YOU. And is THE answer to stopping terror. The REALLY dangerous man is the only hope we have to remain safe and free. He's the one willing to step up and save your sorry ass. You're more likely to be trampled by the herd of cattle running over you too avoid getting shot than actually being hit by some idiot wanna-be Al Capone spraying his 'gat' like some kid waving around his winkie.


Just saying...


A quick note on pets

Rose and I both have a love of large dogs.
We've mostly been enamored of St Bernards and Great Danes.
Everyone said our place was to small, especially if we wanted a pair.
Well, apparently everyone is wrong, as our house is more than large enough for either two St Bernards OR two Danes.

Of course, WE will have to move out...

Friday, February 16, 2018

A few thoughts on breathing

I don't know how many of you out there are 'Preppers', 'survivalists', or even breathing.  I do, however, know that when it comes to the last category, I'm definitely a firm convert.

I like breathing.

That slow in and out exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide that allows one the opportunity to not only stop and smell the roses, but also to start up again and run away when the bee that ALSO had stopped to smell the roses gets pissed off at being sucked up your nasal passages.

And I firmly maintain that in order to remain a breather, it is more and more important to be now, or at least start, being one of the former.
I follow a number of sites that try to separate me from my hard earned money  make it their goal to teach me how to be a "survivor".
One of the more informative and enlightening is SHTFPlan by a guy who only goes by Selco. This guy lived through TEOTWAWKI (Google it, or not.) during the Balkan wars.
And in one of his latest interviews on another site I stop by, he compares the former country of Yugoslavia (where it DID happen) with the good ol' red, white, and blue, US of A (where of course it could NEVER happen) and notes a number of surprising comparisons.
Most of it pretty stupid shit, like vilifying the past, and changing it to suit a particular group's own views, or to make one part of the past accommodate the world view THEY think should be the "official" version. Or the impossibility of random attacks on neighbors simply for condoning opposite religious, political, sexual, scientific, racial, or (insert choice of complex individual ideology here). Free speech tolerance,  anyone?
Or any number of possible social, political, natural, or man-made calamities.

He makes some surprising observations on all this.
But this is all really not that big of a deal for me. I'm not a prepper. I'm just inherently used to being prepared. Raised that way by parents who actually BUILT a fallout shelter pursuant to the Cuban missile crisis. And I'm not a survivalist. If the purpose of my existence is only to survive, I've missed the point somewhere. My parents did NOT build the shelter to survive. They built the damn thing to protect their children and allow more generations to go on when they were no longer around.
NO one has ever built a bomb shelter in order to live past being dead.
They just want to stick around long enough to either help kick-start the next batch of breeders, or out of a sense of hubris that they somehow have knowledge to pass on that no one in the history of like, FOREVER, has ever thought of.

Which just caused a random thought. Which of course is also going to make this ramble longer, 'cause you KNOW I'm going to have to examine this new thought (Sorry).
Do you realize that we, the baby boomer generation, are the first to have a lower standard of living than our parents? Do you also realize that the term baby boomer comes from all the kids conceived during the threat of imminent extinction through nuclear war that our parents perceived? Again, they weren't being 'survivors'; they were being animals following an animal's instinct to breed in order continue the species. And doing a fine job of it, too!

So, back to whatever it is I was saying....let's see... Not a prepper.... Not a survivor, because I doubt I will survive dead, even though I've managed to give the Reaper a pretty good run so far...

So, that leaves breather.

I actually like this moniker out of all the others out there. I'm a BREATHER! With all the rights and benefits to be accorded thereto.
I have joy in breathing that prepping and surviving can never provide.

I can breathe in the scent of a new born puppy. That one unmistakable smell that tells all small boys there is faithful companionship waiting to explore rolling hills and muddy banks together, regardless if he's ever actually experienced these joys before.

The exhalation of my wife I breathe in as she leans in for a kiss.

The smell of rain. Of spring blooms and plowed fields.

The smell of wood smoke. Providing both the warmth of a comforting hearth in winter, or combined with the scent of a meal prepared with love from hands often grown feeble from age, but never from caresses.

Okay, sure. I'm fairly prepared for life's little surprises. And strive to become more so daily.

I work at being able to survive in the face of adversities affecting my well-being. A little too late for breeding purposes, though if needed for such activity, I would do my damnedest to step up to the task. But perhaps SOMEONE can benefit from my wisdom that has not come to me from age so much as from being a bit of a fuck up and (hopefully) learning from my mistakes.

I'm just a busted up old breather, taking in one breath after having enjoyed all the benefits of the last, and then living in breathless anticipation of the next as that one too is expelled.

Prep if you must, survive as you will, but take my advice: keep breathing.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Quickie note:

One of the reasons I may seem a bit cynical (aside from the fact that I truly am a cynical old bastard) is that I've been fighting this damn flu for the past week and pretty much stuck on the sofa drinking (ichhh) water! Which, as you may or may not know, does not come in an inherently fermented state, and lord only knows what those fish do in it.
I'm on doctor prescribed disgusting shit that my loving(?) wife insists on constantly shoving down my throat, and am getting better, but have watched that previously mentioned feel good video on the "news" multiple times daily,  and am becoming rather crotchety in my discomfort.
Plus that whole dietary fiber thing....

MORE local news...

Everybody who has turned on the so-called news in order to 'stay informed', and yet still has an iota of actual brain matter remaining in use, knows that what the local stations call 'news' and 'reporting' are in reality 'feed the masses feel-good puff pieces' requiring all the leg work and investigation of searching yahoo.news or getting stupid shit in their inbox from someone looking for 5 minutes of fame from their video of a horse pissing on an electric fence then doing the "I'm a horse that just pissed on an electric fence happy little pee-pee dance".

Now don't get me wrong. I watch the news all the time.
1. I'm actually hoping, beyond any actual expectations, to "be informed".
And 2. You may have noticed I'm a somewhat cynical old fuck that a little dose of "happy little cute kitten shit" once in awhile probably could do some good.

But sometimes, every now and then,  I tend to miss the message I believe these do-gooder, funny-kitten-video showing, self proclaimed 'reporters' happily doing their very damnedest to coherently read the teleprompter to bring you the latest major news event as if they themselves had actually discovered, researched, and are now bringing it to you 'live', are trying to get across.

My rant today is a result of a video story the media has been showing for a whole fucking week now, about a poor widdle doggy owned by some little old lady (of course),  being rescued from a frozen river near Tulsa, because, having walked all the way out to the middle of this frozen deathtrap, it now finds itself unable to return to its owner's loving, (but apparently too busy to, oh, I don't know, actually be bothered to keep a fucking eye on the mutt in the first place,) arms.

The paid responders on the rescue team, the absolute best this city can field, rescue this wayward mutt through the beautiful, insightful, wonderfully thought out expedient of risking their very own lives, by putting a blow up rescue raft on the ice and through an amazing display of Olympian-style synchronized butt-scooching inside the raft itself, scoot said rescue vehicle, attached to a safety line, out to the dog, who promptly jumps into the succoring arms of these incomparable heroes. At which point, raft, rescuers, and dog are all pulled back to the safety of the shore.
Story with video HERE.
Beautiful story, happy ending, everyone impressed by the brilliance and demonstrated agility of these two heroes in this daring and thankfully successful rescue!

Right?

Well, almost. Except for that one asshole out there, trying oh-so-hard to see this as the feel good story of his life, who INSISTS on noticing the bridge crossing the river about fifty yards in the background. And wondering, in his typically cynical view of those who claim responsibility for our safety, and that of our pets, because we can't be expected to take care of our own shit, why they didn't send one of these two butt scoochers down, across the bridge, and back up the other side, throw a damn rope across, tie the raft to the rope, pull ONE guy rather than TWO (thus reducing possible ice breaking, butt scooching weight) out to the mutt, and then either back to the original shore, or continue to the other side? Less time, less effort, and less chance of double-butt weight breaking the ice everyone seems concerned the dog's weight alone will crush if he even breathes too hard...

(The intelligence is strong in these ones, Obi-wan)

So in closing, let me say: WELL DONE you life risking, underpaid public rescue workers!

And THANK YOU local teleprompter reading reporters for bringing us this AMAZING video story of daring-do and thinking-DON'T!


(I think I might have to start getting more fiber in my diet, or something, ya know?)

Monday, February 12, 2018

A rant on some educational issues

There's a rally at the 2nd floor rotunda of the state capital building of Oklahoma. 10:30-3:00...
And I can get behind this one. It's to give OK teachers a huge pay raise they say they need to meet the cost of living here.
I'd even join my voice to this cause if they would be willing to meet a few VERY minor conditions.

1. Teach English. No, I don't mean how to conjugate a verb. I think conjugating should be taught by the parents. It's bad enough they give out free condoms in school without them showing our kids how to go about conjugating with verbs in public, too.
Remember the late 1700's? No? Hmm, well, that's more about history, and we'll get back to that shortly.
I'm talking the English language of the late 1700's. When spelling was secondary to the actual meaning of the words. Try getting a 6th grade kid to read the Constitution sometime. Might as well hand them a copy written in Cyrillic. They're as likely to read and comprehend that as the American version penned by our forefathers.
And don't get me started on the bastardization of our beautiful language by Millenials too lazy and illiterate to even USE real words. ("but, like, REAL words are too BIG and HEAVYISH!")
They're too busy worrying about the fact that precip could ruin their vacay, or of spilling the virtual half-caff lowfat mocha latte they bought at Mickey Dee's on the info hi-way telecommuting to their male-dominated job in Cali on their vajay-jay.
It comes extremely near to positively enforcing a single individual's desire to secrete a saline infused solution from said individual's optic receptors, don't it?
(almost makes ya wanna cry, don't it?)

2. Mathematics. Okay, I think this is a 'core' problem in our schools. In addition to the teachers subtracting any sense of reason from this subject, I think it causes a multiplicity of divisions in the classroom and even in the home.  'Nuff said.

3. History. (See? I told you we'd get back to history in the future. And here we are!)
Here's the Reader's Digest condensed version (and STILL better than the movie!):
We won. They lost.
There, was that so hard?
And speaking of the book being so much better than the movie, try reading the original script of the Declaration of Independence as written by the forefather playwrights for a good look at history! No quibbling, no beating around the bush, no worrying about saying something that could possibly be interpreted as a microaggression toward Henry.
Nope. Just a straight forward 'here's where we feel the problem stems from' and 'here's our intended solution'. Doesn't seem like they were all that concerned with some overseas snowflake's widdle feewings being hurt, do it?

Yes, we beat the Indians
Something like 200-10, and stole the property rights. So don't bring a bow and arrow to a gun fight... Same shit is still being done today, except instead of calling it white privilege, or some such shit, we call it eminent domain, and EVERYBODY gets a chance. And if that don't work, there's always civil forfeiture...still our government, still us.

We bought and sold slaves. Cheaper than gasoline to run the plantation tractors that hadn't been invented yet. Get over it already.
EVERYBODY of EVERY color who was ANYBODY had slaves.
It was SO de rigeur!  And like buying land from Indians, a hand full of beads to an African chief who had a surplus of his fellow blacks as slaves already, was a damn sight cheaper than waiting for bred stock to grow up. The only real problem was the shipping.
I have never bought, sold, or owned ANY other individual. Nor has anyone I know to my current understanding . Those that did are dead, deAD, DEAD. So are all the people who WERE slaves. Don't continue to blame me for my ancestors sins, and get off your ass and stop being a victim, already. For reference, actually READ the biography of Martin Luther King. Or per our current educational level in this country, see the movie. THEN maybe we can engage in rational discourse.

4. Government and Civics.
Put 'em back. Then MAYBE we can get an educated people to hold our government to task, who understand the necessity of the golden rule in dealing with they're fellow man.

Okay, there. I'm not asking much in return for a simple cost of living raise amounting to at LEAST 6000.00/year, am I?

And I'd like to apologize to any persons who are offended by my opinions. This is NOT a safe place, so if I've hurt you in any way, I hope that the discomforture caused has been enough to get you to WAKE THE FUCK UP AND STOP WHINING.


(This particular post is in response to a teacher's rally in OK. Which is being attended by MOST of the teachers in the state. This is NOT an official school function. Participation requires these educators of our children to call in sick in order to attend and still be paid for their time.
And these lying, poor examples of proper work ethics, who want our state gubmint to waste more money to buy the services of an untold number of substitute "teachers" so they can NOT work today, want more money so they can call in sick to rally in order to protest...
Yeah, I can get behind that...




Saturday, February 10, 2018

Quickie notes

In case it seems like I haven't had a lot of fun mixed in amongst the weeds, it HAS  been an uphill climb, but when I stub my toe occasionally, watching ROSIE laugh seems to make it all worthwhile!
it has helped lately, when things get rough, or like now when both myself and Rose are dealing with the flu, and have to still get did what needs doin' that I have always believed God NEVER gives you more than you can handle. I DID NOT however realize he's take that as a CHALLENGE!

Or as ROSIE puts it, God never closes a door without opening a window.

(Which, when you think about it, isn't all that comforting if you happen to live on the 18th floor on the backside of a building burning in front of and UNDER you...)
.

Friday, February 9, 2018

At Phil's behest

Okay. I know. I go over a year without posting, then do the unforgivable, and post about kittens!
So, I'll go over a few salient points in a 'year in review' sorta thing, and maybe go off on a rant or two if one happens by while I'm swiping this tiny little screen.
I still have shoddy connectivity on the phone service, and web is almost non existent. So I don't got no computer, 'cept this phone. Broke screen on it too.  So if some of my typing gets a little skewed, it's the cracks running through the text, and in no way literary ineptitude.

Hmm.... Let's see, guess I'll start with January 2017, as that's about as far back as I can remember these days anyway...
Turned 53.
Yep. Guess that's about all that happened that month of any interest. And that pretty much only to me and the Missus.
February : I got nothing
March: nothing
April: not too much until around the end of the month. Started having some gut pain that got pretty intense, so I went to the emergency room. They admitted me to the Nazi experimental human testing facility to do some tests, put me on a saline IV and pretty much left me to marinate for 24 hours.
During this 24 hours, they told me:
1. It could be pancreatitis. A potentially fatal little nasty. They'd know more soon.
2. Congratulations! It's NOT pancreatitis! It looks like it may be a blockage TO the pancreas from gall stones. Testing in progress.
3. NOT gall stones. Okay. Possibly a problem with the gall bladder itself. Hey! Here's an idea! Let's gut this bugger and rip that sucker right on outta there! What'd'ya say, huh?!
(Couple of side notes here: during this time, I had not urinated at any time. Actually don't recall if I peed at all the 24 hours earlier either. Not something I generally spend much thought on, personally, and no one asked, so...

Fever spiked.
Started hallucinating.
Pain increased exponentially.
Asked for prune juice.
BEGGED for coffee. (I get EXTREME migraines when the blood levels get to high in my caffeine stream)
but was told NOTHING liquid or solid orally per admitting doctor. (personally, I think he was admitting incompetence....)  happened between Thursday evening through Friday. So, due to the increasing level of my discomfiture, and out of their natural concern, (not necessarily for ME, so much as the fact that as fast as I was going downhill, if they didn't do SOMETHING, and SOON, I'd never last long enough to get a bill) they scheduled agall bladder  bladder-ectomy for Saturday morning. No big deal; sleep, 4 tiny incisions here, here, here, and.... here, clip this thing here, that one there, quick tug, and....  Take this guy to post-op. NEXT.

Problem solved, right?

WRONG.
By Saturday afternoon, they decided to bring in a lung specialist, and a pee doctor. (Yes, I believe that IS the medical expression used to describe these two types of specialists.  Possible not, but at least you get an idea of their specialties this way, so if they have another, more clinical, sounding name, keep in mind: I really don't care.) Apparently I'd developed double pneumonia AND my kidneys had shut down.
Apparently, "someone" should have noted that they'd been pumping gallon after gallon of saline INTO me, and nothing had been coming OUT.
My hands and feet were so swollen with fluid that you could barely see my toes, and my hands looked like Popeye's right after he blows it up through his thumb, and just before he nails Brutus.
I was drowning in my own body. Literally. Couldn't expel liquid, lungs filling...
I spent the next seven days peeing, through the magic of modern diuretics. (Not to be confused with Dianetics. Doubt they'd have ANY affect on my urinatin') and on oxygen, fighting to get (just) well enough to walk out on my own two feet. (so of COURSE you have to leave in wheelchair)
Got home on Saturday, had a follow up with my regular doc on Thursday. When I went to my appointment, after four days at home, gasping like a fish out of water the entire time, I realized I had to go wee-wee. A situation I tended to give a great deal more consideration to these days... I made it to the toi-toi, went wee-wee, and collapsed halfway back to the waiting room. My blood-oxygen saturation was at 70%. It SHOULD NEVER go below 90. Man, was my doc 'pissed'!
She wouldn't let Rose take me to the hospital. She called an ambulance to transport me.
I remember getting to the hospital, placed in a bed in the emergency room, and...
(cut to June)
...waking up some time later.
I'd spent May in a coma. No fucking clue where the last month had gone. Time sure flies when you're not paying attention, huh?
Coming out of the comma was funny, painful sad, happy, and a bunch of other adjectives, but I digress...  That by itself will probably be a post on here sometime. If I get around to figuring it all out. Maybe.
Okay.... Where was I? Oh yeah,  June.
Nothing.
July through December: I got nothin'.
January 2018: both Bustednuckles and myself had birthdays. Unless his was early February. Which pretty much catches every one up to date on me. (Happy Belittled Birfday,  my OLD friend! And no, that ain't a spellchecker issue...)

There are a few other honorable mentions:
I was diagnosed with non Hodgkin's  lymphoma some time back. Don't remember when, don't care. By the time this slow acting cancer kills me, I'll probably be already dead at least 3 years from old age.
I broke my back. Not broke-broke,  just kinda middlin' broke. Was moving a big billy goat, who was acting kind of gruff, to new pasturage, and he took off down a ridge we were traversing. I held on to the rope lead, rolling down the ridge to give the goat something to keep him amused as he hopped and bounced along beside until I finally brought him to a shuddering halt by the expedient method of wrapping my own body around a small tree.
Guess I showed HIM!
However, when wrapping trees, one should always remember to go WITH the grain. Yours, not the tree's.
I broke one of those spur looking thingies from a vertebrae. I forget which one. They told me, but it didn't mean so much to me as where the spur thingie ended up... Which is under the vertebrae below, compressing and pinching my sciatic nerve.
I don't have medical insurance thanks to one of America's Afro-American presidents (hint: one of the more recent ones...) and am having the devil's own time getting Medicaid due to inept beaurocrats, so have been dealing with both of those issue's physical and emotional bullshit since 2016 or so.
Farm is still here. Pigs, chickens, rabbits, ducks, quail. Still struggling with a decent garden and feed corn field as well as wheat, (nothing happened much on that front last year, as in May, my garden and fields have usually just barely gotten started. Last year I was anaffordably (not a typo) deranged (again, not a typo). But each day I make progress. I KNOW this, because I purchased an electron microscope in order to chart my successes!

For those who care, I apologize for my long silence. I do get down every now and then, and have always had y'all's support to boost me up. I owe you some news once in awhile, good, bad, or indifferent. You have not been, and never while I breathe, will be, unappreciated.

And to all of you who have never really given a shit about me, but have followed my blog anyway:

Phhllllllllllltttt.

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Free kittens

Have you ever tried to GIVE something away FREE on craigslist?  
It amazes me what people think YOU should do to accommodate giving THEM something for nothing. 
I have five female cats. I picked up two during an all-you-can-eat-for-a-dollar type giveaway at the local shelter. BOTH were spayed. 
One disappeared after quite some time here, which does occasionally happen here in coyote country. Not blaming the coyotes, mind you. Just saying it does happen...
Then a friend of a friend had to give up her two apartment cats, and the friend that was our friend told the friend that was their friend that she knew some cat people that were her friends (confused yet?) and that these friends would take that friend's two cats and raise them as their own. Fwewf! Am I glad I got THAT out of the way! 
So then I had 3 cats. 1 spay, 2 litter bugs
BOTH new cats came up pregnant, as not owning any male cats, neuter or otherwise, I couldn't be bothered to spay them. Besides, they were INDOOR cats. Complete with a pet door for my dogs that allowed them access to the great outhouse... er... great outDOORS.
After giving away the kittens, we decided to keep the last female left from each litter. Which makes 5 shredders. (1 spay, 4 puffball producers.)
This quota did not overly concern me, as they were all INDOOR cats, with convenient access to the outside to do their business. 
Apparently, I myself, and my cats, have  ENTIRELY different ideas as to what that "business" IS... 
So anyway, about once every six months or so, I have the opportunity to provide free rodent population control to anyone who wants it, gratis. 
I do this via the WWWW (World Wide WONDERFUL Web) through the miracle of CRAIGSLIST! 
And have never had long to wait to distribute my generosity due to humanity's insatiable desire for all things FREE. 
Yet it simply astounds me to what lengths these people WON'T go to to try to fill this desire. 
Things like: actually READ the fucking AD, and try VERY HARD to retain the information to be gleaned there
Then the questions! For instance:
Do you deliver? 
(No, this ain't fucking Domino's) 
Will you hold it for three weeks until my annoying brat's birthday (or bar mitzvah, or campout/cookout)?
(Certainly! 10 dollars/day "Are you fucking kidding me? fee"!)
Will you meet me someplace? (Absolutely! Did you notice the MapQuest insert in the ad? Yes? Good! THAT'S the place.)
Are they eating dry food? (No, unfortunately, although I posted IN THE AD they were weaned, they still need to grind hard food in their MOUTH, with SPIT in order to properly process their bits of kibble.) 
Are they fixed? (No. All the indications to date show they were born this way. And if it ain't broke, neither I nor Bustednuckles can fix it) 
Are they male, or female? 
(Yes.) 
How many males/females do you have? 
(Like the photo in the ad shows: Six)
Which ones are male/female in the pic? 
(All of them) 
Do you have any male kittens left? 
(I don't know. I feel it demeans our kitten/owner gestalt, and embarasses the kitten, to be thrust on its back, tail pulled to the side, and have their tiny little genitals googled at. 
Not to mention, if this is a mis-gendered animal stuck in the wrong birth gender, I don't feel it's my place to judge. God made (insert preferred genital-related pronoun here in accordance to your 'special feelings') the way it is. Let God sort it out.)
Are they litter trained? 
(I THINK so. I know I posted IN THE AD they are, but my dogs think cat shit is actually a doggie cookie, and may be covering for them in order to maintain a constant, fresh supply.)

So do these people REALLY want a cat? Or are they just poor, pathetic, little losers, that no normal person would waste time on, looking to connect with some one or some thing in order to give meaning to their pitiable little lives? Be it either a cute, cuddly, adorable, soft little kitten, or the poor guy FORCED to interact with them through his misfortunate choice to post an ad on Craigslist:  FREE KITTENS