I found a turd in my pocket. No idea how it got there. Normally I'd expect to find it in the box under the stairs with the others, but it has no serial number either. Time to discuss this with the cat.
When out hiking, I saw an odd-looking turd on the trail. Looking closer, I saw a label on it: "Made in Heaven by God. All rights reserved." And then more turds fell from the sky. Now I'm more careful, more skeptical, and carry an umbrella.
If I was a turd, I'd probably be a small, shy one, and would hardly ever squeak.
Nobody seems to throw snowballs at cars any more, or turds. Times change.
Spent a pleasant afternoon in the park, throwing turds at passersby, until I ran out. Then I ran away.
Took a turd to lunch last week. Quite an experience. Good conversationalist, though pretty much limited to talking about compost issues. Had a lot of flies come by to say hello.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@gmail.com
Me? Never touch the stuff.
Etc...
so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals
