Hurricane Nichole blew into Miami while I was there, but as soon as she sensed my presence, she made a sharp turn and a quick exit. Pretty well sums up my effect on women, but at least this time I didn't even have to get my feet wet.
Not too many women around here any more, not since they fixed the sign that says "MEN". Probably another communication issue, I'd guess.
Other than being aggressively solicited for sex by the majority of women I see on the street, I really don't have much of a social life.
I saw a really beautiful woman on the street today — almost collided with her in fact — but since I'm invisible, she didn't have to begin feeling creeped out or initiate her flight or fart sequence, and I didn't either.
Went down by the Wally Mart to check out the babes. They never cease to amaze.
Wow. Major babe walked by. On stilts. I guess stilts are back. It's been a long, long wait.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Wouldn't you like to know? If not now, then perhaps sometime?
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
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are fully committed to ensuring that exactly everyone has a joyous, wonderful, and fulfilling holiday experience this year, which is why they have set up a neighborhood watch committee to patrol the streets, check IDs, photograph pedestrians and other suspicious folk, and inspect vehicles and yards. If you see them coming your way, by all means Do Not Run. Doing so may initiate an attack reflex, and most of us do not want to witness that, let alone be part of it. (Just ask the police about last year.)
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are really big on the One and True December Holiday, usually initiating their first planning meeting about March 13. So far they think that they will be able to pull everything together by the end of the year, but they are getting older, at the rate of one year per year, which seems to them to be so precisely regular as to be patently suspicious, so it might be a good idea to stand back a little and try not to get personally involved, if at all possible.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have nearly finished putting up their non-denominational generic holiday decorations, the same ones they use for 4th of July, Labor Day, Halloween, April Fools Day, Remember-When Day, Tax-Due Day, and so on. This year they hired a crew, one with a crane, and should be finishing any minute now, if the weather holds, unlike what went down last year, when they were still doing it all themselves with volunteer help, and knocked out power to half the city for nearly a week. But that's life, isn't it? So often it is.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, want you to know that they will review your membership application sometime after you submit one, but not before, and that if you act sometime this month, you very probably will be first in line.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are circulating a petition to make the first Thursday of each month, if directly following a full moon, to be designated Happy Face Time in their honor, during which period they are allowed to correct the diction, pronunciation, political and religious views, style of dress, and eating habits of anyone they encounter who obviously needs remedial instruction. The end.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have decided that there are too many stray hairs around town. Now they are stopping people on the street to give them a thorough defuzzing with sticky-rollers, which they carry at the ready. Stopping some people anyway. The others have proven ungrateful and even at times unaccountably refractory. This must stop, do you hear? Comply or bear the consequences.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I'm staying out of this.
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
I believe that if I was a bird, I'd choose to be a poodwhecker, fly backward, and confuse the hell out of everyone. And eat bugs that I found on trees. (Gotta keep your strength up, Bud.)
Cuneiform wasn't my best subject in school. In fact, they didn't even teach it where I lived. I had to design and fabricate my own typewriter in order to finish all my research papers. (I specialized in the history of bird feeder protocol.) Had a hell of a lot of fun though, and was formally asked to leave after completing my degree. (I still have the court order.)
I recently tried super-gluing myself to a flag pole, to see if anyone would salute, but even that didn't work. I just got kind of sticky and ruined my new pants. And a bird pooped on my head. Nothing new there, of course.
Walk free. Walk tall. Walk the plank, warts and all. (And watch the birdie. He bites, the little bastard.)
That's it. The birds have gone. I'm sitting here on the lawn, with the cat, drinking beer. (He's partial to Guinness, I hear.)
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still flapping around, pointlessly.
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
If anything, it's always too long until Xmas, and when it comes, it's just too long, and too disappointing. The good news being that I know someone who can put a big, red, flashing "X" exactly in the middle of it all to make it stop, someone who, however, can't stand the smell of me, or the sight of me, and so on, but it's still kind of interesting in a lonely way. Some people who aren't me have better lucks. (Lucks. Did I spell that right?)
Xmas will be early this year, wherever December has been banned.
I don't know about your family, but among my relatives, an enema bag is an always welcome Xmas gift.
Is Xmas coming early this year, or is it only seasonal diarrhea creeping across the carpet?
The cat gave me a box of poisoned raisin-filled chocolates for Xmas. He thinks I'm a dog. But I appreciate the thought.
So, pretty soon again it's Xmas. I'll have to dig up my ex. We always have fun together this time of year.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Due to contractual agreements, I dare not say.
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
Breakfast with the frogs. By invitation only. Bring your own flies.
Saw a frog today, robbing a bank. Not such a common sight around here any more.
I could be out hiking now, but Mom said no, and she'll whup me if I don't bring her the usual breakfast treat (something wiggly on on a stick).
Lizards don't migrate. At least since the dinosaurs quit chasing them, so it has been a while.
What's a Fraunhofer line anyway? I'm asking because Mom said I couldn't have any. She can be a mean old lizard, she. For example, I remember once she took away my gas can as I was heading out back to roast the babysitter. Took it away, just like that — no ceremony, no explanation, no apology other than saying she'd show me the right way to do it when I was old enough. But cripes — I'm 47 this week. When does this IOU come due?
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just scrubbed off my warts, and now look.
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
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are drafting a new city charter in hopes of improving life. Basically, they decided that the best way to handle things was to have every house in the city rebuilt as an exact copy of theirs, also decorated identically, and to require all residents to dress like them and request approval from the city council before doing or saying anything. More on this later, we expect.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are running for office, so they can have a national monument erected to themselves as an example to others, others who also are correct and proper models in all respects.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, had a fight but it got away and seems to be hiding in the heating ducts, hooting softly every now and then. They claim that if they stand very still they can also hear a slight but distinct hissing coming out of the darkness that is not their normal water leak. And some intermittent thumping.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, reserve Thursdays exclusively for holding court, by invitation, wear poofy skirts, and wait quietly for supplicants to arrive. Any week now, surely.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are starting a training school for homeowner's association middle-management aspirants. They're calling it "The What — Me Worry? School." Classes: clueless grinning, how to write and place harassing notes without being seen, giving dumb looks, and avoiding responsibility. Might be fun for droids. Lots of them around these days.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, don't "do" their own laundry. During the day. Women of quality are never seen at laundering. So ordinary, so lower-class. But since they lack the assets to hire live-in menials they sneak in their chores, at night, by candle-light, during the dark of the moon, while whispering.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I don't know — I really don't know.
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
