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?
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.
A massive, 3.5gal reservoir, backpack-mounted, CO2-powered squirt gun. I’ve also got a couple of mounting brackets and a propane torch with some aftermarket modifications. Now, the clever person might surmise that the attachment of the latter to the former and the filling of the reservoir with something flammable… well, that could get super interesting and dangerous, couldn’t it? It’s supposed to rain later, and I blistered my hands a bit yesterday cutting some of the phragmites a little further away from things that I might not want on fire. The hardest part will be not cackling like a madman.
I can’t do this and that’s okay.
So, there were some neat parallels between July 4 1776 and June 23, 2016. Both times, it was a big group of Englishmen (primarily) who wanted out from under the thumb of a distant, oppressive, unaccountable government. Both times, the last straw might have been tea. Look, I’m going to warn the rest of you earthlings for the last time: do NOT get between a Briton and his beverage of choice. We burn continents, destroy empires, and generally make a big mess of things over this stuff. Yoo-rope should be thankful that they just walked out this time. You fools ought to be hiding under the table and counting quietly to 100 hoping they won’t come back and torch the place.
Anyhow, I’d like to think that we good folk descended in part from the best and brightest the Iles had to offer the world a few centuries back might have had something to do with it. Showed ’em how, as it were. Now, we should probably talk about orthodontia and rhoticity at some point, but it can wait until after you’ve got a decent Prime Minister, and possibly until after we’ve shed the Muslim Brotherhood plant from our white house. In the meantime, I wish you folks the best of luck making Britain great again, and I hope you’ll take a little bit of joy watching us celebrate what we won for ourselves so long ago, and perhaps feel just a bit more kinship than in years past.
Also, stay tuned for #TEXIT, #AKEXIT, and possibly #QUEBEXIT.
I thought about trying to find patriotic fit girls, but that seemed like work and I’m on vacation. Also I looked and there aren’t a ton of images just waiting to be poached.
So, a dancer first.
So phragmites (frag my teez) are an invasive rhizomous monocot that grow in and near ponds and marshes. My side of the pond is absolutely filled with them, and I need to fix that. The leaves above the water are sharp like razor wire, and the roots go very deep. I spent an hour of my first Father’s Day about waist-to-chest deep in the pond pulling these things up and throwing them into piles on the shoreline so they could dry out and I can burn them. In the process, I turned my hands into hamburger. I’ve got two bandaids on the left hand and four on the right.
Oh, and I completely forgot to call my dad. Not because I’m an awful, ungrateful child, but because it completely slipped my mind. I’ll call him later today.
Let’s start off with some monochrome.
I’ve got nothing worthwhile to say about the week ahead, and my only hope is in the fellow a couple of these ladies purport to worship.
But first, nearly-monochrome booty.
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.
No time tonight, and I have to get up at balls early to take the car in for service.