It’s going to be pretty warm here today (21F) but thankfully not so warm that the pond will melt, so I’m planning to do some limbing of my fallen pines with a bow saw while the ice is good and firm. On the down side, I saw an opossum in the barn last night and had to set the trap. If I catch it, I’ll either have to chop a hole to drown it, try to kill it with truck exhaust, hatchet the poor thing, or shoot it. I don’t really want to clean up the hatchet or the gun, so I may try exhaust. No, I will not use the flamethrower.
Oh, and I have to put in something like 10-12 hours at work (all paid, at least). How’s your day ahead look?
This seems a little risque, how’d it get into the binders?
This will be an exploration of my long held theory that Bill will not allow Pickles McParkinsons to win the election so that he can continue to dick bimbos for the short remainder of his life.
Have you seen the first dude lately? He looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in ten years or that his alleged syphilis is finally winning the war on women. I kid, I kid. He’s a vegan so you know he has syphilis.
So here’s the theory, in case you missed it in my survey class taught at Muppet U, or if you forgot what was written in the first paragraph: Bill will do anything to prevent Smiley McOpenmouth from getting in the oval office. Way too important to keep his little Gore wet. Yes, for those of you scoring at home, he calls his blank shooter Al Gore.
I bet you’re thinking I’m totally wrong. That the allure of being half of the first ever male/female presidential couple is just too, er, alluring. Consider this: whenever things get good for her, he trots out some sorry statement that even he, a veritable Da Vinci of lying can’t clean up.
Man, that’s gonna sting. Don’t get me wrong, no one cares what he said…except for the only man that might actually make a difference in the election: Golfy McOkieDoke. St Trayvon’s Dad is notoriously thin skinned and its well known that Obama and Bill already hate each other. Bill once told Obama that he should be getting him coffee rather than schlonging his wife (that’s Web Hubble’s job) and Obama’s black half never got over it. If you locked these two in a bedroom closet only one would emerge–probably Bill with panties on his head, wearing high heels, but that’s besides the point. The hate is real my groovy babies, the hate is real.
Weenus + Viagra >Husband + Most Powerful Woman in the World
Its math, and therefore indisputable, although its probably racist.
In case any Monday-only lurkers missed this:
Anyhow, I’ll probably need to hit the weeds a few more times. Be sure to check out the rest of the videos on that channel if you want to see some cool coloring stuff. The channel owner has her own coloring book coming out soon that looks pretty fun if you’re into that sort of thing.
This isn’t her.
So there’s a chance of a job in South Bend, Potential Future Bossman is coming up to teach a class and have lunch with me next week, and the company that owns the building my previous company used to own but I got kicked out of when the new company bought it might want to employ me after all.
I thought about how I’d say that sentence in Spanish and then got a headache so I stopped.
Anyhow, there’s an ever-increasing chance of me escaping the auto industry. Unfortunately, I’ve now been there so long that I’m going to feel a not-insignificant amount of guilt in leaving. I don’t think it will have an extreme impact on the project in any event, but it’s possible I’ll leave some hurt feelings in my wake. I still have no passion for the program (and occasional bouts of outright antipathy), so it’s still the right thing to do.
Weather’s good, Tri-Adventure Race is behind me, multiple tiny slivers hope for the future whether it means a move or not. Glass status: half full.
Time to sober up and head back to work, party people. This promises to be another action-packed and fun week at work for me, and by “action-packed and fun” I mean that I’ll be regretting taking the job in either active or passive fashion every minute of every day. Also I had regular flour tortillas tortillas a couple of times this weekend, and more carbs than any human should have, so I’m fat and sick right now as I write this on Sunday evening. Week’s off to a promising start, no? All right, bitch session’s over, time for pictures.
It’s behind her, resting on the machine.
And frankly, so am I. You’ve become a bunch of lazy, slothful pieces of shit. I mean, I can excuse people like Hotspur and MCPO who have worked hard all their lives and are enjoying their Golden Years, but what excuse do the rest of you have?
I mean, for God’s sake, we’re almost at the end of the weekend and everyone’s still commenting on a Saturday poat while waiting to get motivated by trannies tomorrow. It’s no wonder this country is going straight to hell.
Okay, now that I’m done calling you assholes, I’m going to hopefully provide you with some motivation before tomorrow with a photo of Cal alum and insanely-hot pole vaulter Allison Stokke:
I have likely touched several surfaces that her ass has also touched.
Trying to make this early rising a thing. I now have two alarms: one to remind me to go to bed, and one to wake me. Another week of the job I ought not have taken begins (38, but who’s counting?) and while I’m not miserable, I have very few Fs left to give. I’m good at concealing it so far, I think, but I won’t really know how well I’ve done that until I give notice.
Back to our usual content.