31.03.09
I wasn't going to write anything today, but I couldn't help myself.
(This is the way the story truly ran:)
Pakistan: Suspected US missile kills 12 militants
By MUNIR AHMAD, Associated Press Writer Munir Ahmad, Associated Press Writer
16 mins ago
ISLAMABAD – A suspected U.S. drone fired two missiles Wednesday at an alleged hide-out connected to a Taliban leader who has threatened to attack Washington, killing 12 people and wounding several others, officials said.
The attack came a day after Pakistani Taliban leader Baitullah Mehsud claimed responsibility for a deadly attack on a police academy in the eastern city of Lahore, saying it was retaliation for U.S. missile strikes on militant strongholds along the Afghan border. Mehsud also vowed to launch an attack on Washington or even the White House in phone interviews with The Associated Press and local media.
(Okay. Notice anything? There was more to the story, but no more informative.
I wonder about the lead. Shouldn't it read, 'U.S. Missile Kills 12 Militant SUSPECTS'? Why is the missile the suspect in this story? Who else is flying drones around Pakistan? Is there any doubt in anybody's mind whose missile it was???)
Just wondered if anybody else thought the lead was suspect. And if the hideout was 'alleged', can we then deduce the occupants must have been suspect militants?
I don't know about you, but I would like to know more, as in, particulars. Who was at the controls? CIA, Air Force, Army, or Mikey at his Gameboy?* And where was he sitting? Pakistan, Afghanistan, Arabian Sea, or Langley, VA? How old is he? Who gave the 'go' order? Who managed the press release?
What are they not telling us?
-end
*Mikey's good! He's really good. I mean, he's really...reeeeeeally good.
.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Silvia Makes History
Says of ISS, 'This Place is Filty.'
31.03.09
Cape Canaveral - When she lifted off in the space shuttle Endeavor on Sunday, Silvia Flores made history as the first cleaning lady in space, ending years of domination of space flight by former test pilots, technicians, and scientists.
In an interview aboard the ISS, Ms. Flores (jus’ call me, ‘Silvia’) said she was ‘thrilled’ to escape earth for a while. “It was hard to leave Mrs. Demont after being with her for so many years, but I couldn’t let this chance pass by me,” she said. “But she said if I return, I can always have my old job back.”
Silvia went to work immediately upon passing through the air lock. “It smells funny in here,” she said, upon entry into the ISS. "This place is filty."
“They stay up here for many years with teams coming and going from all over the world,” she said, “and they’ve never had a good, thorough cleaning, up to the standards set by me and Mrs. Demont.”
She met with few problems, although communication with some of the ISS scientists proved challenging.
“That Japanese guy, I can’t understand a thing he say,” she said. “And the Polish man don’t speak, except to himself. Mostly, I just try to stay out of their way.”
Asked what was the most challenging aspect of her experience, Silvia said, “There are a lot of buttons and switches and things up here. Worse than a car. They told me to be extra careful not to accidentally press any of the buttons during my work.”
Fellow astronaut Andrei ‘Tizz’ Tyzrchnsky, said Silvia is like a ‘mad woman’ around the ISS. “She’s all over the place with her Lysol,” he said. “She’s got this place…how you say…clean as the whistle.”
Crew Considers 'Suiting Her Up'
Early Wednesday, Silvia learned she may have the opportunity to space walk, another first.
“We’re thinking about ‘suiting her up’, said American team member Kerry Samuels, who speaks seven languages fluently and a ‘smattering’ of street lingo, trash talk, and Bubble language. “There’s a lot of debris floating around up here, near, be near, bo near, banana bana bo near…space junk…and she wants at it. We’re thinking of letting her have a go at it.”
After eleven years in operation, including one raucous fraternity reunion, the ISS has had a reputation for ‘smelling like a locker room’, and being a ‘party place’ where rules on earth don’t apply.
“It’s an ‘anything goes’ situation up here when they turn the cameras off,” said Silvia. "Everything is gravity-free."
So far, her stay has been mostly routine cleaning work, adjusting to the several sunrise and sunsets each day, and avoiding the billionaire tourist, who she says ‘keeps following me around’, giving her ‘the creeps'. “He needs something to do,” she said. "I ask him how much his ticket was, and he tell me, 'Two hundred fifty million dollars.'
"I told him I fly for free. We both got the same T-shirt."
Reflecting on her experience so far, Silvia said, “It’s not anything like being in Mexico or Arizona,” she said. “You don’t have the regular sunrise, and of course, you don’t have the gangs, the drugs, the guns, or the street violence. Some things, you miss.”
After a two-week stay, Silvia will return to earth with the billionaire and two team members aboard a Russian shuttle craft. “I hope for two things now,” she said. “First, I want to take that walk before I leave, and then I hope I get a window seat on the way back, and I hope I don’t have to sit next to whatshisname.”
“Also,” added Silvia, “the world looks different from up here. And the moon, too. To me, it seems closer to me, like I can almost reach out and touch it if my hand was long enough.
"And some of these people up here need to go home," she said. They have been here too long. They need to get back home and maybe change their socks.”
Asked by ISS officials if she could suggest any changes, Silvia said, "Oh yes. They could always use more space, and a self-cleaning toilet. And I would put up some things. Some signs, and some stuff on the walls."
"You thought I was going to say 'velvet tiger', didn't you? Or Mother Mary figurine in a window?"
-end
.
31.03.09
Cape Canaveral - When she lifted off in the space shuttle Endeavor on Sunday, Silvia Flores made history as the first cleaning lady in space, ending years of domination of space flight by former test pilots, technicians, and scientists.
In an interview aboard the ISS, Ms. Flores (jus’ call me, ‘Silvia’) said she was ‘thrilled’ to escape earth for a while. “It was hard to leave Mrs. Demont after being with her for so many years, but I couldn’t let this chance pass by me,” she said. “But she said if I return, I can always have my old job back.”
Silvia went to work immediately upon passing through the air lock. “It smells funny in here,” she said, upon entry into the ISS. "This place is filty."
“They stay up here for many years with teams coming and going from all over the world,” she said, “and they’ve never had a good, thorough cleaning, up to the standards set by me and Mrs. Demont.”
She met with few problems, although communication with some of the ISS scientists proved challenging.
“That Japanese guy, I can’t understand a thing he say,” she said. “And the Polish man don’t speak, except to himself. Mostly, I just try to stay out of their way.”
Asked what was the most challenging aspect of her experience, Silvia said, “There are a lot of buttons and switches and things up here. Worse than a car. They told me to be extra careful not to accidentally press any of the buttons during my work.”
Fellow astronaut Andrei ‘Tizz’ Tyzrchnsky, said Silvia is like a ‘mad woman’ around the ISS. “She’s all over the place with her Lysol,” he said. “She’s got this place…how you say…clean as the whistle.”
Crew Considers 'Suiting Her Up'
Early Wednesday, Silvia learned she may have the opportunity to space walk, another first.
“We’re thinking about ‘suiting her up’, said American team member Kerry Samuels, who speaks seven languages fluently and a ‘smattering’ of street lingo, trash talk, and Bubble language. “There’s a lot of debris floating around up here, near, be near, bo near, banana bana bo near…space junk…and she wants at it. We’re thinking of letting her have a go at it.”
After eleven years in operation, including one raucous fraternity reunion, the ISS has had a reputation for ‘smelling like a locker room’, and being a ‘party place’ where rules on earth don’t apply.
“It’s an ‘anything goes’ situation up here when they turn the cameras off,” said Silvia. "Everything is gravity-free."
So far, her stay has been mostly routine cleaning work, adjusting to the several sunrise and sunsets each day, and avoiding the billionaire tourist, who she says ‘keeps following me around’, giving her ‘the creeps'. “He needs something to do,” she said. "I ask him how much his ticket was, and he tell me, 'Two hundred fifty million dollars.'
"I told him I fly for free. We both got the same T-shirt."
Reflecting on her experience so far, Silvia said, “It’s not anything like being in Mexico or Arizona,” she said. “You don’t have the regular sunrise, and of course, you don’t have the gangs, the drugs, the guns, or the street violence. Some things, you miss.”
After a two-week stay, Silvia will return to earth with the billionaire and two team members aboard a Russian shuttle craft. “I hope for two things now,” she said. “First, I want to take that walk before I leave, and then I hope I get a window seat on the way back, and I hope I don’t have to sit next to whatshisname.”
“Also,” added Silvia, “the world looks different from up here. And the moon, too. To me, it seems closer to me, like I can almost reach out and touch it if my hand was long enough.
"And some of these people up here need to go home," she said. They have been here too long. They need to get back home and maybe change their socks.”
Asked by ISS officials if she could suggest any changes, Silvia said, "Oh yes. They could always use more space, and a self-cleaning toilet. And I would put up some things. Some signs, and some stuff on the walls."
"You thought I was going to say 'velvet tiger', didn't you? Or Mother Mary figurine in a window?"
-end
.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thurmond Tells His Side
Thurmond Tells His Side
27.03.09
BRANSTON, MO – (ed. note: Mr. Eldon Thurmond, held without bail and facing multiple criminal charges in the wake of a satellite impact here when investigators and personnel involved in the cat round up were injured by coming in contact with his high-voltage fence. He wrote to the paper):
Dear Editor: I am writing to you from (a) Branston city jail cell. I facing longer imprisonment if all the charges being brought against me sticks. For forty years, I was a upstanding member of our community, working being a electrician for General Dynamo with spotless work record and hardly no sick days.
I raised two kids, Donna who was homecoming queen runner-up in ’96, and Donnie, who is in Iraq, and been married to the same woman for a long time.
Last week, something very strange event happened that change my life. A satellite returned to earth and fell into my neighbor’s back yard, hitting her cat, a grey Persian that went by the name of Sniffles. I call it the HAND of God, the satellite.
You could not forget the look on that cat’s face was unforgettable when it looked up at me just before being struck, like a sixth sense or something. But what happen afterwords was a situation also beyond my control, too.
Your reporters arrived, along with other media and the local police, and State and federal authorities, followed by the military, NASA the NSA, the federal nerds, the university nerds, and the nerds from Bell labs who built the thing.
With all those people showing up all over the place, smart as they are, some of them were rocket scientists, and some of them were naturally going to transgress into my yard and trip over my fence.
They’ve even got me calling it a fence. It wasn’t a fence, like you’d think, fence. All it was was four strands of wire low enough for a cat not to get under, high enough not to jump over, and close enough together for him not to take a chance.
Then the cat round up began, which turned out one bizarre event, let me tell you, especially after it got dark. That’s when most of the injuries occurred and they shut down the power for the whole block when they couldn’t override my system.
I'm sorry all those people's food went bad. But here again, I wasn't the person who chose to shut down the power. If they had asked me first, I could have told them the power plant was at my place, in my basment.
Even after public utiltities shut down the power, my fence was still active, still hot, baby. For a sixteen-block square, from Mulberry to the highway and over to Lincoln Avenue, my house was the only one with lights on. Hey, I'm a electrician.
They tell me several dozen cats got fried, died, cardiac arrest probably, and thirty or so individual humans were incapacitated by severe electrical shock. I'm truly sorry about that.
I’ve been shocked many times over the years, so I can tell you, 50,000 volts will knock you on your backside. Nothing to laugh at. About the same as a taser. That amount of juice could curl your toes and make your circuitry go haywire and end you up with some kind of nervous tic.
All those people will eventually be okay, with therapy. The cats, the cats had it coming.
I would like to despell the accusations and charges leveraged against me, fueled partly by your own publication participation. I did not act in a malicious manner against any one person, nor make aggression against any person or cat, with my person.
What did I do is simply a man defend my own turf. Any harmful effect was direct in line result against the cat or person’s own negligence.
They say my negative reinforcement device had no warning, but yes it did it had a little red light that came on.
That’s what’s not’s malicious about it see? The cats would see the little red light and know to stay back, eventually, same as Pavlov's dogs. Don't have to shock them but once. One encounter is all it takes. What I wanted to know was can they pass it on? Mice do.
Then I could shut down my system and just run the little red light, thus, saving me and the city money and reducing our overall global carbon footprint and consumption.
I watched the whole sanario unfold, from the satellite striking on the cat, until they took me away. I was no more than a passive observer, and should not be held responsible for the actions of others.
My lawyer says they have to prove intent, and hell no, I didn't intend for all those people to get sizzled. I wasn't even thinking about NASA when I installed it. Cats neither, intent-wise. For the cats, it was just a scare tactic. I didn’t intend for that satellite to come zipping down, either. I’m telling you, it’s the Hand of God.
In closing, first you had the Hand of God. Next, all those people arrive on their own free will, and then someone decided on the cat round up, not me. People stumbling around in the dark and encountering a hot fence, again, Hand of God. I don’t see how you people can hold me accountable for Hand of God things.
Oh. Could you please tell your idiot city editor the damn cat's name was 'Sniffles', with an 'S', not 'Sniffle'.
Sincerely,
Mr. Eldon T. Thurmond
509 Mulberry St.
Branston, MO
email: elektrokatkiller150@gmail.com
.
27.03.09
BRANSTON, MO – (ed. note: Mr. Eldon Thurmond, held without bail and facing multiple criminal charges in the wake of a satellite impact here when investigators and personnel involved in the cat round up were injured by coming in contact with his high-voltage fence. He wrote to the paper):
Dear Editor: I am writing to you from (a) Branston city jail cell. I facing longer imprisonment if all the charges being brought against me sticks. For forty years, I was a upstanding member of our community, working being a electrician for General Dynamo with spotless work record and hardly no sick days.
I raised two kids, Donna who was homecoming queen runner-up in ’96, and Donnie, who is in Iraq, and been married to the same woman for a long time.
Last week, something very strange event happened that change my life. A satellite returned to earth and fell into my neighbor’s back yard, hitting her cat, a grey Persian that went by the name of Sniffles. I call it the HAND of God, the satellite.
You could not forget the look on that cat’s face was unforgettable when it looked up at me just before being struck, like a sixth sense or something. But what happen afterwords was a situation also beyond my control, too.
Your reporters arrived, along with other media and the local police, and State and federal authorities, followed by the military, NASA the NSA, the federal nerds, the university nerds, and the nerds from Bell labs who built the thing.
With all those people showing up all over the place, smart as they are, some of them were rocket scientists, and some of them were naturally going to transgress into my yard and trip over my fence.
They’ve even got me calling it a fence. It wasn’t a fence, like you’d think, fence. All it was was four strands of wire low enough for a cat not to get under, high enough not to jump over, and close enough together for him not to take a chance.
Then the cat round up began, which turned out one bizarre event, let me tell you, especially after it got dark. That’s when most of the injuries occurred and they shut down the power for the whole block when they couldn’t override my system.
I'm sorry all those people's food went bad. But here again, I wasn't the person who chose to shut down the power. If they had asked me first, I could have told them the power plant was at my place, in my basment.
Even after public utiltities shut down the power, my fence was still active, still hot, baby. For a sixteen-block square, from Mulberry to the highway and over to Lincoln Avenue, my house was the only one with lights on. Hey, I'm a electrician.
They tell me several dozen cats got fried, died, cardiac arrest probably, and thirty or so individual humans were incapacitated by severe electrical shock. I'm truly sorry about that.
I’ve been shocked many times over the years, so I can tell you, 50,000 volts will knock you on your backside. Nothing to laugh at. About the same as a taser. That amount of juice could curl your toes and make your circuitry go haywire and end you up with some kind of nervous tic.
All those people will eventually be okay, with therapy. The cats, the cats had it coming.
I would like to despell the accusations and charges leveraged against me, fueled partly by your own publication participation. I did not act in a malicious manner against any one person, nor make aggression against any person or cat, with my person.
What did I do is simply a man defend my own turf. Any harmful effect was direct in line result against the cat or person’s own negligence.
They say my negative reinforcement device had no warning, but yes it did it had a little red light that came on.
That’s what’s not’s malicious about it see? The cats would see the little red light and know to stay back, eventually, same as Pavlov's dogs. Don't have to shock them but once. One encounter is all it takes. What I wanted to know was can they pass it on? Mice do.
Then I could shut down my system and just run the little red light, thus, saving me and the city money and reducing our overall global carbon footprint and consumption.
I watched the whole sanario unfold, from the satellite striking on the cat, until they took me away. I was no more than a passive observer, and should not be held responsible for the actions of others.
My lawyer says they have to prove intent, and hell no, I didn't intend for all those people to get sizzled. I wasn't even thinking about NASA when I installed it. Cats neither, intent-wise. For the cats, it was just a scare tactic. I didn’t intend for that satellite to come zipping down, either. I’m telling you, it’s the Hand of God.
In closing, first you had the Hand of God. Next, all those people arrive on their own free will, and then someone decided on the cat round up, not me. People stumbling around in the dark and encountering a hot fence, again, Hand of God. I don’t see how you people can hold me accountable for Hand of God things.
Oh. Could you please tell your idiot city editor the damn cat's name was 'Sniffles', with an 'S', not 'Sniffle'.
Sincerely,
Mr. Eldon T. Thurmond
509 Mulberry St.
Branston, MO
email: elektrokatkiller150@gmail.com
.
Everything Come Back
Everything Come Back
27.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Some of you are writing back. 'Everything come back', as they say here, and now some writing come back. I enjoy it when you do, informing me of your lives.
Now, some of this stuff that appears herein may not appeal to you, but I know some of you are laughing, having been tickled. You know, when a story about school bus farts in Florida gets national attention, then somebody out there has a sense of humor.
And, gee, even Bob Hope could slay 'em on every line. I like to weave a funny tale, with some kind of gut buster in their somewhere, not necessarily at the end, or write something that will have you thinking, coffee cup at your lips, eyes on the screen, 'Man, ain't that the fucking truth!' It's difficult to write humor that is funny to your friends, your kids and their friends, and your grandchildren.
Some of it is not so funny. Mrs. Hensley may be recognizable to some of you.
We are so fortunate to live in a land of free speech, free press, and free thought.
Hey, I forgot where I am. I mean, you can live in America, the U.S., and have those things. Here, and next door too, Myanmar, is a different story.
I had a Myanmar girl wait on me last night at Issan Jane's, a place run by a German guy and his Thai wife. I wondered if she got the order right; mixed vegetables with steamed rice, and one of those whole rotisserie chickens for the dogs.
She brought me garlic pepper chicken with steamed rice.
ok then. just trying to keep in touch.
.
27.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Some of you are writing back. 'Everything come back', as they say here, and now some writing come back. I enjoy it when you do, informing me of your lives.
Now, some of this stuff that appears herein may not appeal to you, but I know some of you are laughing, having been tickled. You know, when a story about school bus farts in Florida gets national attention, then somebody out there has a sense of humor.
And, gee, even Bob Hope could slay 'em on every line. I like to weave a funny tale, with some kind of gut buster in their somewhere, not necessarily at the end, or write something that will have you thinking, coffee cup at your lips, eyes on the screen, 'Man, ain't that the fucking truth!' It's difficult to write humor that is funny to your friends, your kids and their friends, and your grandchildren.
Some of it is not so funny. Mrs. Hensley may be recognizable to some of you.
We are so fortunate to live in a land of free speech, free press, and free thought.
Hey, I forgot where I am. I mean, you can live in America, the U.S., and have those things. Here, and next door too, Myanmar, is a different story.
I had a Myanmar girl wait on me last night at Issan Jane's, a place run by a German guy and his Thai wife. I wondered if she got the order right; mixed vegetables with steamed rice, and one of those whole rotisserie chickens for the dogs.
She brought me garlic pepper chicken with steamed rice.
ok then. just trying to keep in touch.
.
Branston Cat Round Up Winds Up With Hospitalization For Several
Thurmond Held in Custody
27.03.09
ASSOCIATED PRESS
BRANSTON, MO - Three dozen people remain hospitalized in intensive care following contact with a high voltage fence during a cat round up here.
Despite claiming his high-voltage fence was employed only as a scare tactic, Mr. Eldon Thurmond was held without bail pending further psycological evaluation.
“Scare tactic, my ass. He had 50,000 volts running through that thing,” said Deputy County Sheriff, Thomas Pierson. “Several of the personnel involved in the satellite investigation and cat round up received substantial burns and electrical shocking from the fencing, and requested hospitalization.”
“Do you mean, ‘required hospitalization’? a reporter suggested.
“Well, that, too,” said Pierson, “but they specifically asked, ‘Can you take me to the hospital?’”
Mr. Thurmond faces several criminal charges.
Meanwhile, at the Pleasant View Nursing Home, a Branston Daily Dispatch reporter conducted an interview with Mrs. Esther Hensley, former owner of 117 cats, one of which was struck and buried by a re-entering inoperable U.S. spy satellite.
"I don't know why they call it 'Pleasant View.' The view isn't pleasant, at all. We're looking at a Home Depot warehouse wall to the west, a used auto parts salvage yard to the east, and a crack house right across the street.
"What did you say your name was?
"But they've got a lovely bird bath out back. A person can't have a cat here. They won't allow it. You need a permit, they said. I asked where a person gets a permit, and they told me there is no such thing.
"Mr. Hensley has been dead for some time, now. It was such a strange day. He was out setting his bird traps when he was crushed by those Mormons in their hot air balloon.
"My kids don't ever...what did you say your name was?
"Sand bags. Mr. Hensley was killed by sandbags, the ballast, they called it. The weight of the thing. Of course, the balloon itself was filled with just air. Mr. Hensley was such a frail man to begin with.
"We sit out on the porch of nights and watch the police cruisers and all those young people a comin' and a goin' out of the crack house. That and bingo. Of course, the bingo is in the basement.
"Haven't you ever fed a stray?
"They should tell them over at that crack house that they administer strong narcotic drugs over here, too.
"I didn't steal anybody's cats. Whoever showed up got fed. I just kept them in the house for company. My kids don't ever, they all live out of state, you see, so they don't...since the burial of Mr. Hensley.
"Mrs. Fairchild and myself were sitting out on the porch one night after lights out, and a carload of them pulled up, asking for Frankie. We told them Frankie probably lives across the street. Mrs. Fairchild yelled at them as they were leaving, 'Does it LOOK LIKE Frankie lives here?'
"I miss my house, and poor Sniffles. And...what is your...who are you?
"There was nothing anybody could do. He was such a frail man. I was at the sink and those Mormons hollering, 'Watch out! Watch out!' caught my attention. I thought, 'My Heavens! It's a hot air balloon!' Of course, Mr. Hensley wasn't expecting anything coming down out of the sky.
"I yelled out through the window, 'Mr. Hensley! Watch out!' and he looked up at me, and then the gosh darmed thing hit him. I think right at the last split-second, he felt it coming, something like a sixth sense. Of course, there was nothing he could do. It was too late.
"They have separate washroom facilities here for the staff, but they don't always wash their hands...I know they don't. They have a sign that says staff must wash their hands every time, but they don't. They stopped me from going in there, talking to me like a child, telling me I must use the resident facilities, pointing at the 'staff only' sign on the door. I can read, but sometimes the resident facilities aren't kept up.
"Oh...and yes...where?...oh yes...sometimes I have difficulty remem...it comes and goes. Of course, you'd need a prescription. Or at least, under the supervision of a nurse, or an RN or something.
"Mr. Hensley, God rest his soul, was a frail man. The only thing he kept going was his taxidermy. He caught several thousand birds. The largest he ever caught was a couple of bald eagles. The men took them from my house.
"These people here only smile when there are visitors, and they handled Mrs. Mumphrie pretty roughly after she began using all those swear words. Mr. Hensley said if they ever handled him like that, he'd kick their...shhhhhhh...asses.
"Of course, they don't have nurses at the crack house.
"Mr. Hensley has been dead since...I don't know how many years...he was killed by a hot air balloon run by the Mormons.
"And wasn't that just a lovely gown she wore to the reception? Sarah Davis' daughter, I can't remember her name. She married that nice young man, the water works fella.
"Could you get us a cup of tea?
"Mrs. Mumphrie says that's another darned...except she didn't say, 'darned'...she said...shhhhhhh...oh my...I can't bring myself to say it...she has such a filthy mouth...meth lab two doors down from the crack house. She says that's why all those people a comin' and a goin' all have such bad fucking teeth. And when th...
"What?
"What did I just say? What? I can't tell you what I just said. I don't know what I just said. You have to grab it the first time. I can tell you what I wore for my fifth birthday party, but I can't tell you what I just said.
"And that nice man at NASA, Mr. McCallister, sent me flowers and money, I won't say how much, but it was substantial, and a nice note about Sniffles. He said he raised it in an office pool or something after hearing about Sniffles.
"Yes, well that electronical fence was a problem area for Mr. Thurmond and myself. We used to have at it regularlarly. He just never was a cat lover. He killed over twenty of my best cats. I hope they give him the chair.
"What happened to that other nice reporter, the one who asked so many questions about Sniffles?
"Oh? Oh, my!"
-end
.
27.03.09
ASSOCIATED PRESS
BRANSTON, MO - Three dozen people remain hospitalized in intensive care following contact with a high voltage fence during a cat round up here.
Despite claiming his high-voltage fence was employed only as a scare tactic, Mr. Eldon Thurmond was held without bail pending further psycological evaluation.
“Scare tactic, my ass. He had 50,000 volts running through that thing,” said Deputy County Sheriff, Thomas Pierson. “Several of the personnel involved in the satellite investigation and cat round up received substantial burns and electrical shocking from the fencing, and requested hospitalization.”
“Do you mean, ‘required hospitalization’? a reporter suggested.
“Well, that, too,” said Pierson, “but they specifically asked, ‘Can you take me to the hospital?’”
Mr. Thurmond faces several criminal charges.
Meanwhile, at the Pleasant View Nursing Home, a Branston Daily Dispatch reporter conducted an interview with Mrs. Esther Hensley, former owner of 117 cats, one of which was struck and buried by a re-entering inoperable U.S. spy satellite.
"I don't know why they call it 'Pleasant View.' The view isn't pleasant, at all. We're looking at a Home Depot warehouse wall to the west, a used auto parts salvage yard to the east, and a crack house right across the street.
"What did you say your name was?
"But they've got a lovely bird bath out back. A person can't have a cat here. They won't allow it. You need a permit, they said. I asked where a person gets a permit, and they told me there is no such thing.
"Mr. Hensley has been dead for some time, now. It was such a strange day. He was out setting his bird traps when he was crushed by those Mormons in their hot air balloon.
"My kids don't ever...what did you say your name was?
"Sand bags. Mr. Hensley was killed by sandbags, the ballast, they called it. The weight of the thing. Of course, the balloon itself was filled with just air. Mr. Hensley was such a frail man to begin with.
"We sit out on the porch of nights and watch the police cruisers and all those young people a comin' and a goin' out of the crack house. That and bingo. Of course, the bingo is in the basement.
"Haven't you ever fed a stray?
"They should tell them over at that crack house that they administer strong narcotic drugs over here, too.
"I didn't steal anybody's cats. Whoever showed up got fed. I just kept them in the house for company. My kids don't ever, they all live out of state, you see, so they don't...since the burial of Mr. Hensley.
"Mrs. Fairchild and myself were sitting out on the porch one night after lights out, and a carload of them pulled up, asking for Frankie. We told them Frankie probably lives across the street. Mrs. Fairchild yelled at them as they were leaving, 'Does it LOOK LIKE Frankie lives here?'
"I miss my house, and poor Sniffles. And...what is your...who are you?
"There was nothing anybody could do. He was such a frail man. I was at the sink and those Mormons hollering, 'Watch out! Watch out!' caught my attention. I thought, 'My Heavens! It's a hot air balloon!' Of course, Mr. Hensley wasn't expecting anything coming down out of the sky.
"I yelled out through the window, 'Mr. Hensley! Watch out!' and he looked up at me, and then the gosh darmed thing hit him. I think right at the last split-second, he felt it coming, something like a sixth sense. Of course, there was nothing he could do. It was too late.
"They have separate washroom facilities here for the staff, but they don't always wash their hands...I know they don't. They have a sign that says staff must wash their hands every time, but they don't. They stopped me from going in there, talking to me like a child, telling me I must use the resident facilities, pointing at the 'staff only' sign on the door. I can read, but sometimes the resident facilities aren't kept up.
"Oh...and yes...where?...oh yes...sometimes I have difficulty remem...it comes and goes. Of course, you'd need a prescription. Or at least, under the supervision of a nurse, or an RN or something.
"Mr. Hensley, God rest his soul, was a frail man. The only thing he kept going was his taxidermy. He caught several thousand birds. The largest he ever caught was a couple of bald eagles. The men took them from my house.
"These people here only smile when there are visitors, and they handled Mrs. Mumphrie pretty roughly after she began using all those swear words. Mr. Hensley said if they ever handled him like that, he'd kick their...shhhhhhh...asses.
"Of course, they don't have nurses at the crack house.
"Mr. Hensley has been dead since...I don't know how many years...he was killed by a hot air balloon run by the Mormons.
"And wasn't that just a lovely gown she wore to the reception? Sarah Davis' daughter, I can't remember her name. She married that nice young man, the water works fella.
"Could you get us a cup of tea?
"Mrs. Mumphrie says that's another darned...except she didn't say, 'darned'...she said...shhhhhhh...oh my...I can't bring myself to say it...she has such a filthy mouth...meth lab two doors down from the crack house. She says that's why all those people a comin' and a goin' all have such bad fucking teeth. And when th...
"What?
"What did I just say? What? I can't tell you what I just said. I don't know what I just said. You have to grab it the first time. I can tell you what I wore for my fifth birthday party, but I can't tell you what I just said.
"And that nice man at NASA, Mr. McCallister, sent me flowers and money, I won't say how much, but it was substantial, and a nice note about Sniffles. He said he raised it in an office pool or something after hearing about Sniffles.
"Yes, well that electronical fence was a problem area for Mr. Thurmond and myself. We used to have at it regularlarly. He just never was a cat lover. He killed over twenty of my best cats. I hope they give him the chair.
"What happened to that other nice reporter, the one who asked so many questions about Sniffles?
"Oh? Oh, my!"
-end
.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Traffic
Traffic
26.03.09
“Norad, this is NatSatReconOp.”
“NatSatReconOp, this is Norad, go head.”
“Ident, please, Norad.”
“Roger, NatSat. This is Felix.”
“Hey, dude. This is Cowboy.”
“What’s up, man?"
“Yeah, we have re-entry package Spybird GY China 18 on the plate.”
“Roger, Cowboy. GY China 18 up next. Status……”
"Roger. Status...inoperable."
"Copy inoperable. What happened?"
"I dunno. Can't reposition. Glitch in propulsion. Wouldn't fire."
"Numbers..."
“Roger, Norad. K Track. GY China 18, Longitude re-entry 15.14, Latitude 32.76. Weight…one seven tons. Altitude...one two one miles. Speed…fourteen thousand. One seven Degrees.
“Roger, NatSat. Copy K Track GY China 18 re-entry longitude fifteen point one four, latitude thirty-two point seven six; seventeen tons, altitude one two one, speed fourteen k, coming in at one seven degrees. Should burn up on re-entry.”
“Roger. Should. That's steep.”
"Coordinates probable impact.”
“Coordinates ……………….hold………..36.38.33.33North, 93.15.45.60West.”
“Roger, NatSat. Coordinates 36.38.33.33 North, 93.15.45 West.”
“Roger. Looks like somewhere in Missouri.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
"Damn."
“Should fry on re-entry.”
“Yeah.”
“Big package, though.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna take a bet?”
“Sure. Go sideways.” (secure side channel)
>“Roger, sideways. Hold.............up. You up?
"Up."
"Twenty it hits.”
“Ten.”
“Okay.”
“Wanna bet location?”
“Double down on re-entry?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Jefferson City.”
“Okay. St. Louis.”
"Wanna go a hundred to one on a living object?"
"No way, dude."
“You see where LR SS 177 hit a fucking cow in Wisconsin?”
“Yeah, saw the op dailies. What are chances of that happening?”
“Million in one.”
“No shit.”
“McCallister went twenty-to-one on it hitting a living object. Cleaned up. Took sixteen hundred dollars from us.”
“Whoa! What are the chances of that happening?”
“Got four hundred on the re-entry, and another twelve for the cow. Unbelievable.”
“Lucky shit.”
“Yeah. Pays to be a nerd. That’s the second time he’s done that in the last six months.”
“Okay. I’m tracking this bird. Tell McCallister he's psycho, not psychic. I’ll give you a shout later. Ten, right? Double down on site.”
“Roger, ten, Cowboy. Double down on site. Go back.”
“Roger, Felix.......Back.”
“Copy affirmative, NatSat. Out.”
"Copy affirmative, Norad. Out."
-end
.
26.03.09
“Norad, this is NatSatReconOp.”
“NatSatReconOp, this is Norad, go head.”
“Ident, please, Norad.”
“Roger, NatSat. This is Felix.”
“Hey, dude. This is Cowboy.”
“What’s up, man?"
“Yeah, we have re-entry package Spybird GY China 18 on the plate.”
“Roger, Cowboy. GY China 18 up next. Status……”
"Roger. Status...inoperable."
"Copy inoperable. What happened?"
"I dunno. Can't reposition. Glitch in propulsion. Wouldn't fire."
"Numbers..."
“Roger, Norad. K Track. GY China 18, Longitude re-entry 15.14, Latitude 32.76. Weight…one seven tons. Altitude...one two one miles. Speed…fourteen thousand. One seven Degrees.
“Roger, NatSat. Copy K Track GY China 18 re-entry longitude fifteen point one four, latitude thirty-two point seven six; seventeen tons, altitude one two one, speed fourteen k, coming in at one seven degrees. Should burn up on re-entry.”
“Roger. Should. That's steep.”
"Coordinates probable impact.”
“Coordinates ……………….hold………..36.38.33.33North, 93.15.45.60West.”
“Roger, NatSat. Coordinates 36.38.33.33 North, 93.15.45 West.”
“Roger. Looks like somewhere in Missouri.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
"Damn."
“Should fry on re-entry.”
“Yeah.”
“Big package, though.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna take a bet?”
“Sure. Go sideways.” (secure side channel)
>“Roger, sideways. Hold.............up. You up?
"Up."
"Twenty it hits.”
“Ten.”
“Okay.”
“Wanna bet location?”
“Double down on re-entry?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Jefferson City.”
“Okay. St. Louis.”
"Wanna go a hundred to one on a living object?"
"No way, dude."
“You see where LR SS 177 hit a fucking cow in Wisconsin?”
“Yeah, saw the op dailies. What are chances of that happening?”
“Million in one.”
“No shit.”
“McCallister went twenty-to-one on it hitting a living object. Cleaned up. Took sixteen hundred dollars from us.”
“Whoa! What are the chances of that happening?”
“Got four hundred on the re-entry, and another twelve for the cow. Unbelievable.”
“Lucky shit.”
“Yeah. Pays to be a nerd. That’s the second time he’s done that in the last six months.”
“Okay. I’m tracking this bird. Tell McCallister he's psycho, not psychic. I’ll give you a shout later. Ten, right? Double down on site.”
“Roger, ten, Cowboy. Double down on site. Go back.”
“Roger, Felix.......Back.”
“Copy affirmative, NatSat. Out.”
"Copy affirmative, Norad. Out."
-end
.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Something Like A Sixth Sense
25.03.09
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Yeah, it would be like a feeling, an intuition, a glint, a glimmer of the immediate future, stretching from the reaches of your subconscious, inner amygdala, ancestral memory, hookin’ in out of the blue, or maybe your dream body, your soul, your Guardian Angel saying,
‘HEY! WATCH OUT!’
just before you stepped backwards off that pier, got hit by the bus, got slammed by the brick, got jumped by those thugs, got shot, got blind-sided, got caught with a pool cue, got hit by the hoist.
Such instances, where you see it coming, but you're too late, you're always too late, will usually result in injury, intense scare, intensive care, or near-death experience, all those chemicals dumping into your brain, your body electrified. You’ll live to tell about it.
In the case of the cat, it was death. And you wonder if it is true in other animals, besides just us. It must be. Why else would that cat suddenly look up, over at Mr. Thurmond, a complete blank look on its face, a mere fraction of a second before being slammed by a seven-ton satellite?
But then, you can’t ask a corpse, ‘Did you experience a déjà vu’ just before you were struck?’ Much less, a cat’s corpse.
So, I guess it’s something only the living can discuss. Ever happen to you?
No, I’m not talking about a hunch. That’s something you see coming beforehand, a long way off, like a train coming down the tracks. You can’t see it yet, but it’s coming. You know it’s coming. You can’t see it yet, because it hasn’t yet arrived, or maybe you’re blind, or insensitive, or careless, or indiscreet, or being deceived, or uninformed, or misguided, or prepared, or was clueless, or had it coming, or knew it was coming but didn’t want to see it.
A hunch is like a feeling at the racetrack. You can bet on it, but sometimes you lose.
So, it’s not a hunch. You can act on a hunch. This is more like a flash…no, it’s darker than that. It comes in a flash. This is more like a ball. A little fuzzy dot. Originating in your toenails. Bigger than a dot. Smaller than a marble. Showing up……..on…the upper…right…rear…inside of your eyeballs.
Then, BOOM!
Wake up in the hospital.
Maybe a friend’s house, coming out of a deep fog, asking, “Where…wha…what the…what happen?”
Maybe you’re laying in the street, people standing over you, people kneeling over you, maybe your dream body above everything, looking down, ambulance arrives, “Hey! Tell that guy with the sheet to pack it up. I ain’t dead yet!”
“Let these guys work on me a minute, okay?”
Now that’s the person you can ask.
Whaddaya mean, ‘Ask them what?’ Ask them if they had a premonition.
That’s different than a crystal ball, too. Different ballpark. Clairvoyant, seer, sensitive, witch, Hindu holy man, Christian televangelist, prophet…whole different ballpark. No, this is instantaneous premonition. Immediate preliminary perception. Outside in, inside out.
Is it something in the brain? Some would reduce all sensory experience to brain chemistry, pin-pointing which bundles of nerves are firing in which lobe in which area of function, and that’s cool, but what does that tell us?
They’ll tell you God is in your head.
But that still doesn’t explain why, if it’s all in your head, why you’d experience an awareness of something immediate, but hasn’t happened yet, outside of yourself, in the physical world, the real, 3D World. How do you explain that with brain chemicals?
Can’t.
Now, some of you are probably saying, “It’s your sixth sense, Vic. ESP,” right?
No, it’s not.
Well, yeah. Sort of.
Sort of.
Well, yeah. It is, but sixth sense and ESP work long-range, don’t they? No, this is instantaneous…already told you, split-second apprehension, immediately before the event. The hit before the hit.
Would that count as ESP? Sixth sense?
It seems like it's different.
-end
.
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Yeah, it would be like a feeling, an intuition, a glint, a glimmer of the immediate future, stretching from the reaches of your subconscious, inner amygdala, ancestral memory, hookin’ in out of the blue, or maybe your dream body, your soul, your Guardian Angel saying,
‘HEY! WATCH OUT!’
just before you stepped backwards off that pier, got hit by the bus, got slammed by the brick, got jumped by those thugs, got shot, got blind-sided, got caught with a pool cue, got hit by the hoist.
Such instances, where you see it coming, but you're too late, you're always too late, will usually result in injury, intense scare, intensive care, or near-death experience, all those chemicals dumping into your brain, your body electrified. You’ll live to tell about it.
In the case of the cat, it was death. And you wonder if it is true in other animals, besides just us. It must be. Why else would that cat suddenly look up, over at Mr. Thurmond, a complete blank look on its face, a mere fraction of a second before being slammed by a seven-ton satellite?
But then, you can’t ask a corpse, ‘Did you experience a déjà vu’ just before you were struck?’ Much less, a cat’s corpse.
So, I guess it’s something only the living can discuss. Ever happen to you?
No, I’m not talking about a hunch. That’s something you see coming beforehand, a long way off, like a train coming down the tracks. You can’t see it yet, but it’s coming. You know it’s coming. You can’t see it yet, because it hasn’t yet arrived, or maybe you’re blind, or insensitive, or careless, or indiscreet, or being deceived, or uninformed, or misguided, or prepared, or was clueless, or had it coming, or knew it was coming but didn’t want to see it.
A hunch is like a feeling at the racetrack. You can bet on it, but sometimes you lose.
So, it’s not a hunch. You can act on a hunch. This is more like a flash…no, it’s darker than that. It comes in a flash. This is more like a ball. A little fuzzy dot. Originating in your toenails. Bigger than a dot. Smaller than a marble. Showing up……..on…the upper…right…rear…inside of your eyeballs.
Then, BOOM!
Wake up in the hospital.
Maybe a friend’s house, coming out of a deep fog, asking, “Where…wha…what the…what happen?”
Maybe you’re laying in the street, people standing over you, people kneeling over you, maybe your dream body above everything, looking down, ambulance arrives, “Hey! Tell that guy with the sheet to pack it up. I ain’t dead yet!”
“Let these guys work on me a minute, okay?”
Now that’s the person you can ask.
Whaddaya mean, ‘Ask them what?’ Ask them if they had a premonition.
That’s different than a crystal ball, too. Different ballpark. Clairvoyant, seer, sensitive, witch, Hindu holy man, Christian televangelist, prophet…whole different ballpark. No, this is instantaneous premonition. Immediate preliminary perception. Outside in, inside out.
Is it something in the brain? Some would reduce all sensory experience to brain chemistry, pin-pointing which bundles of nerves are firing in which lobe in which area of function, and that’s cool, but what does that tell us?
They’ll tell you God is in your head.
But that still doesn’t explain why, if it’s all in your head, why you’d experience an awareness of something immediate, but hasn’t happened yet, outside of yourself, in the physical world, the real, 3D World. How do you explain that with brain chemicals?
Can’t.
Now, some of you are probably saying, “It’s your sixth sense, Vic. ESP,” right?
No, it’s not.
Well, yeah. Sort of.
Sort of.
Well, yeah. It is, but sixth sense and ESP work long-range, don’t they? No, this is instantaneous…already told you, split-second apprehension, immediately before the event. The hit before the hit.
Would that count as ESP? Sixth sense?
It seems like it's different.
-end
.
Fla Student Suspended for Passing Gas on Bus
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
LAKELAND, Fla. -- An eighth-grader was suspended from riding the school bus for three days after being accused of passing gas. The bus driver wrote on a misbehavior form that a 15-year-old teen passing gas on the bus Monday to make the other children laugh, creating a stench so bad that it was difficult to breathe. The bus driver handed the teen the suspension form the next day.
Polk County school officials said there is no rule against flatulence, but there are rules against causing a disturbance on the bus.
“Disturbance is putting it lightly,” said driver Juanita Esperanza. “I couldn’t breathe. It smelled like a dead dog’s ass.”
The stench was so bad that when Esperanza opened the doors at a railroad crossing, all of the students fled the bus, causing a delay in the bus route.
The teen said she wasn't the one passing gas. “First who smelt it, dealt it,” she said. “It wasn’t me.”
All the other kids on the bus laughed and pointed, saying, “Yes it was. Yes it was.”
"She squeezed it out," taunted one boy. "I saw her do it."
Whether she did it or not, she might have gotten off easy. A 13-year-old student at a Stuart school was arrested in November after authorities said she broke wind in class.
Some adults are taking the farting around seriously. "I don't think it's one bit funny," said parent Janice Hornitz. "I was kept waiting for fifteen minutes, and I've got things to do other than wait for a bus to air out from farts. She should be expelled. It's the same as bringing a weapon to school."
"Let's be realistic here," said Police Chief Glen Watkins. "You can't turn a kid over to juvenile authorities for farting on a bus. My God."
(this story has been modified from its original format)---
LAKELAND, Fla. -- An eighth-grader was suspended from riding the school bus for three days after being accused of passing gas. The bus driver wrote on a misbehavior form that a 15-year-old teen passing gas on the bus Monday to make the other children laugh, creating a stench so bad that it was difficult to breathe. The bus driver handed the teen the suspension form the next day.
Polk County school officials said there is no rule against flatulence, but there are rules against causing a disturbance on the bus.
“Disturbance is putting it lightly,” said driver Juanita Esperanza. “I couldn’t breathe. It smelled like a dead dog’s ass.”
The stench was so bad that when Esperanza opened the doors at a railroad crossing, all of the students fled the bus, causing a delay in the bus route.
The teen said she wasn't the one passing gas. “First who smelt it, dealt it,” she said. “It wasn’t me.”
All the other kids on the bus laughed and pointed, saying, “Yes it was. Yes it was.”
"She squeezed it out," taunted one boy. "I saw her do it."
Whether she did it or not, she might have gotten off easy. A 13-year-old student at a Stuart school was arrested in November after authorities said she broke wind in class.
Some adults are taking the farting around seriously. "I don't think it's one bit funny," said parent Janice Hornitz. "I was kept waiting for fifteen minutes, and I've got things to do other than wait for a bus to air out from farts. She should be expelled. It's the same as bringing a weapon to school."
"Let's be realistic here," said Police Chief Glen Watkins. "You can't turn a kid over to juvenile authorities for farting on a bus. My God."
(this story has been modified from its original format)---
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Missouri Man Testifies in Multiple Homocide Case
Missouri Man Provides Testimony
24.03.09
BRANSTON, Mo – Excerpts of transcripts of police report testimony provided by Eldon Thurmond, facing criminal charges for the electrocution deaths of a dozen or more cats, and creating an endangerment to the public with an unmarked high voltage fence:
“…no thanks, I don’t smoke…Well, sure, they kept the mice down. Mice weren’t the problem. A hundred and thirty cats was the problem, not mice…Huh? Well, she had a hundred and thirty over there at one time…It wasn’t a fence. Don’t twist my words. It was a barrier. It was an electrified negative reinforcement discouragement device. I’m an electrician…Sure (chuckles). Had to be. Low voltage wouldn’t have done the job…I call it negative reinforcement, you call it punishment. What's the difference?* I’m not a psychologist. Call it anything you like…Yes…yes…I know. I’m sorry about that, but you see, all those other people wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for the cats...Well, yeah, sure, the satellite…that’s God’s hand...Yes. I’m aware of the charges against me…Oh. I am trying to cooperate...No. I’m not trying to be funny. Don’t I get to talk to a lawyer, or something?”
-end
*Punishment is punishment, like, lethal injection, or a 50,000 volt electrical shock.
Negative reinforcement is the withholding or withdrawal of a positive reinforcer or reward, like m&ms, or ice cream, if the appropriate behavior (eating your vegetables) is not exhibited.
So, technically, Mr. Thurmond is incorrect. It's punishment for crossing the line.
.
24.03.09
BRANSTON, Mo – Excerpts of transcripts of police report testimony provided by Eldon Thurmond, facing criminal charges for the electrocution deaths of a dozen or more cats, and creating an endangerment to the public with an unmarked high voltage fence:
“…no thanks, I don’t smoke…Well, sure, they kept the mice down. Mice weren’t the problem. A hundred and thirty cats was the problem, not mice…Huh? Well, she had a hundred and thirty over there at one time…It wasn’t a fence. Don’t twist my words. It was a barrier. It was an electrified negative reinforcement discouragement device. I’m an electrician…Sure (chuckles). Had to be. Low voltage wouldn’t have done the job…I call it negative reinforcement, you call it punishment. What's the difference?* I’m not a psychologist. Call it anything you like…Yes…yes…I know. I’m sorry about that, but you see, all those other people wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for the cats...Well, yeah, sure, the satellite…that’s God’s hand...Yes. I’m aware of the charges against me…Oh. I am trying to cooperate...No. I’m not trying to be funny. Don’t I get to talk to a lawyer, or something?”
-end
*Punishment is punishment, like, lethal injection, or a 50,000 volt electrical shock.
Negative reinforcement is the withholding or withdrawal of a positive reinforcer or reward, like m&ms, or ice cream, if the appropriate behavior (eating your vegetables) is not exhibited.
So, technically, Mr. Thurmond is incorrect. It's punishment for crossing the line.
.
No Idea
No Idea
24.03.09
Hello?
Speaking.
What’s up, man?
Pretty good. How about you?
Not much. Just hanging out. Checking out some tunes. You?
Yeah. Cool.
Cool.
No shit? I told you she was hot. Going ok?
Cool.
Well, as Carl says, 'It's okay until it's not.'
Yeah.
No. I haven't. Not in a long time.
Yeah, I heard from him. Sent me a blog notice.
You got one, too?
Yeah. About twice a week. I've never seen anyone produce so much shit.
Yeah.
You read that shit?
Ha. Yeah. Me, too. About half the time. Who’s got time for that nonsense, anyway? Not everybody’s on vacation. Some of us have jobs...families…a life.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah. Like, who gives a shit about that?
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah, he could get a clue. All this shit going on in the world, and he’s writing five stories…five imaginary stories about Sniffles the cat. Goes on and on.
Sniffles the cat…the cat that got hit by the satellite.
Oh. Anyway, this cat gets hit by a de-orbiting spy satellite…I don’t know where he comes up with this shit.
Yeah, probably.
Yeah, probably. Thai stick.
No doubt.
No doubt.
Yeah. I don’t know. Probably the last minute. Tree day. Show up with a towel.
Yeah.
Yeah, okay.
You too, man.
Yeah, okay. I’ll catch up with you later.
Later.
note: (For your information, I'm not on vacation. I work every day).
.
24.03.09
Hello?
Speaking.
What’s up, man?
Pretty good. How about you?
Not much. Just hanging out. Checking out some tunes. You?
Yeah. Cool.
Cool.
No shit? I told you she was hot. Going ok?
Cool.
Well, as Carl says, 'It's okay until it's not.'
Yeah.
No. I haven't. Not in a long time.
Yeah, I heard from him. Sent me a blog notice.
You got one, too?
Yeah. About twice a week. I've never seen anyone produce so much shit.
Yeah.
You read that shit?
Ha. Yeah. Me, too. About half the time. Who’s got time for that nonsense, anyway? Not everybody’s on vacation. Some of us have jobs...families…a life.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah. Like, who gives a shit about that?
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah, he could get a clue. All this shit going on in the world, and he’s writing five stories…five imaginary stories about Sniffles the cat. Goes on and on.
Sniffles the cat…the cat that got hit by the satellite.
Oh. Anyway, this cat gets hit by a de-orbiting spy satellite…I don’t know where he comes up with this shit.
Yeah, probably.
Yeah, probably. Thai stick.
No doubt.
No doubt.
Yeah. I don’t know. Probably the last minute. Tree day. Show up with a towel.
Yeah.
Yeah, okay.
You too, man.
Yeah, okay. I’ll catch up with you later.
Later.
note: (For your information, I'm not on vacation. I work every day).
.
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