Moot Point #7

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You know what they say — if it was really poison, wouldn't it have a big warning label on it? But I'm still refusing to lick the cat any more.

When I was in — I think — third grade, I ate my teddy bear — all of it. Still pooping fuzz 30 years later. Don't know where the eyes went.

What happens on Saturday stays on Saturday.

Want to buy lightly-used hamburgers? I know a guy.

Turdslinger. My name is Turdslinger. Stand back if you know what's good for you.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just a mooting kind of person, I guess.

 

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

Rattle Your Shakes

Bizarre lunch #3: Tapioca and fugu with 3 assorted coal miners.

Bob the Giant Saint now sells Canadian reverse-twist gravy and meatballs.

Chlorophyll deficiency is a thing, and you may be subject to it. First symptom: you have increasing trouble photosynthesizing. Or your pants keep falling down around your ankles. Either one.

Clever people do clever things cleverly. And then some of them explode. A fact of nature. Makes for awkwardness at parties. And weddings. Also funerals, although those are my personal favorites.

Communists have finally infiltrated my underwear drawer. I've been expecting this for a long, long time.

Confessions of a snake oil salesman: 'It was really only peanut oil.'

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I never actually quit.

 

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

Scrapes And Scraps

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting alone in the dark of night, counting the grains of sand that fall from out my dusty boots, ever grateful for solitude, loneliness, and the desultory quiet pops emanating from the dying embers of my tiny, homeless campfire.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, having but a scant few hairs left in my graying beard, a thin patina of desiccated sweat sheathing my skin, and a deep appreciation of endless empty landscapes.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You know me not, nor I you. And if we passed by on any street, would neither have even the briefest flicker of recognition if we did. For I am anonymous, empty as the wind, drifting along from never to nowhere, always vacant, always alone, always who I am, and no one else, unrecognized and unregarded, the way I have always been and always shall remain.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, nothing more than I am, nothing less, and inhabiting none of the territory between.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting quietly next my horse named "Hoarse", my sixgun named "Pooter the Shooter", and my cat Muffin, imaginary all, temporary all, no more substantial than memories of dust, but completely and solely mine.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, combing my hair by starlight, always aware that everything shall end.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Now thinking more deeply about dirt.

 

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

Things Such As They Be

Let's keep in mind that, so far, two world wars have been started by Christians, who also designed, built, and ran the Nazi death camps. Credit where credit is due.

No Christian has been known to ask why God invented death and thereby bears responsibility for the demise of every human who has ever lived. Including the righteous.

If God exists, then religion doesn't need to. If God has existed since before space and time, created everything, is omnipotent, and omniscient, knows where every speck of matter and energy came from, where they are at every instant, and when and where they will cease to exist, then God also knows every single thing that anyone will ever do, say, or think, and knew this before the universe itself existed, so there is no need for prayer, let alone religion. But if prayer and religion are needed, then the whole show has to get along just fine without God, who therefore is irrelevant, and is a flimsy fabrication.

I've never had the need to pray to gravity to keep my feet on the floor, so what's the deal with praying to God to keep things ticking? Isn't God smarter than the force that makes urine run down the gutter?

If Jesus died because of your sins, then don't you have a toxic personality? I mean. Really.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Yep. Me.

 

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

Brick Punch

Ed's sister Fred, economist to the stars, says she doesn't like me any more. Handy, because now I never have to meet her.

Got my kunkel on over the weekend. Will find out what it is later.

Granny's Old-Fashioned Fried Dead Things. On sale all week.

Grand Uncle Hornfunfel was a great guy, according to legend. Used to keep a cassowary in his closet, next to his collection of cassocks. And he was a Cossack, by choice if not by regulation. (Though he was never actually licensed.)

Harvey ain't here no more. He signed up for the witness protection program last week. So as soon as he witnesses something he's all set.

I see that someone purchased me on eBay. I wonder what will happen next. (Going into hiding as a preventive measure though.)

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still blinded by obliviousness.

 

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

Melons For Science

And then there's that cloud up in the sky. Just the one, with that guy sitting on it. Can't be right. Can't be.

And what happens if the knot in the end of the universe lets go and all the air zoops out of it? Will the whole thing go whizzing around, and end up on the carpet, in the corner of some living-room floor like a lost, wrinkled, useless, discarded foreskin? I guess that would put an end to futures trading wouldn't it? I don't care either, but my cat says he knows. And isn't talking.

As high school reunions go, it wasn't that bad — all the corpses were fresh this time.

Bananas don't make good babysitters. Found out the hard way on that one, for sure.

Double mermaid fireball. Saw one once.

Eating poison is not a good way to die, but it is quick, in case you need to be somewhere later on.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Wouldn't know, wouldn't tell.

 

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

Hope Stings A Turtle

Nuclear war is something I've considered, but really haven't had the time to pursue yet.

True, nuclear war can be fun, but it's all over in a minute anyway.

If nuclear war is so great, then why doesn't Walmart sell kits online?

I've thought a lot about nuclear war, but somehow poison gas just seems to signify a more personal touch.

Who invented nuclear war anyway? Was it us? Really? Well then it must be OK, though I'm still a bit skeptical around my edges.

Mom agreed to tell me all about how to prepare for and fight a nuclear war, so I didn't have to join Cub Scouts and learn a bunch of sketchy bits and outright useless misinformation there.

Nuclear war isn't always entertaining. For example, if your timing is only a bit off, you don't get any decent laughs at all.

Grampy is a tad bit touchy about nuclear war. "Not like when I was your age," he says. "Back then it was the real deal and cars even had tail fins. Now look at it all. Nobody's even building fallout shelters any more, and you've got no place to get away from the wife for even a few minutes." True.

Nuclear war isn't even the worst that can happen. There's still high school for crying out loud. I mean, think about it.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Finally getting comfy with my lizard brain collection.

 

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

Monkeys Randomly Appointed

Dad was appointed to fill an empty Senate seat for the state of Georgia. Lucky him — the term has five years and eleven months to go, so he's got job security. He's also been dead for 11 years, so his conservative credentials are impeccable. (Can't be peckered, by any pecker.) The only iffy part might be his habit of climbing out of his box and running naked through the streets. He's been doing that since the last shovelful of dirt hit his grave, which the cemetery caretaker and two dogs can attest to. Nobody can figure out how he gets out of the hole, with half a ton of dirt on top, but there you are. This is mostly why I moved to Australia. When you die here, that's it — no funny business. And the dead are officially barred from holding political office.

Well, it's been a tough week for Dad. Despite him showing enough initiative to keep climbing out of his grave to run around naked, and despite setting up his own political campaign ("Dead Prez 24"). It looks pretty certain that the other old dead white guys have him outnumbered this time around.

If monkeys were randomly appointed to every political office and position of power, we'd realize that they actually have been filling those positions for centuries now, and that maybe the best thing you can do is to wear a monkey costume, keep your head down, save all you can, and quietly slip away as soon as you are able manage it. And possibly steal just one more extra bag of monkey nibbles.

Meanwhile, political candidate Doorknob Stumpf is proclaiming that a few thousand helpless people so desperate to survive that they left their homes to walk thousands of miles are going to do us in. Faced with such determination, ingenuity, and sheer grit, I hope so. We need people like that.

Meanwhile, a current office holder by the name of Slo-Mo Joe Binding is practicing walking across a stage without falling down more than once. Way to go, Mo Joe. Now resign.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just tried a bowl of "Uncle Bob's Monkee Munch". Pretty good overall, considering that I'm an ape.

 

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