The sound of twin turbo diesels climbing slowly over the eastern horizon at sunrise tells me that Leslie Zeppelin's spring strafing season has finally arrived, and in all seriousness. We few survivors of last season once again scurry into the protective cover of our root cellars.
I don't know how it is where you live, but the snarl of twin turbo diesels always reminds me of my provisional vitality, my impending mortality, and the mechanics of wide-area strafing whenever Leslie Zeppelin is cruising overhead.
I grab the cat, head for the basement, and leave the house to the flies, and to Leslie Zeppelin, back for another bonus strafing run.
If we could blame anyone, I guess that we would blame Ed and Emily Zeppelin for bringing us Leslie, the deep terror of the snarl of twin turbo diesels, and all the suppertime strafing runs.
Leslie Zeppelin sighted 2km N. of town around dawn. Take evasive action or two aspirin, whichever you can manage, and hope for the best.
Well, it's that season again. I can tell by the distant snarl of twin turbo diesels, by the elongated shape dark against the clouds, and, of course by the telltale staccato of automatic weapons fire. Yes, it is Leslie Zeppelin, back with the all-too-familiar morning strafing runs.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@gmail.com
Me? Total pacifist. Ask the cat.
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
