Let’s be perfectly clear about this.
No “innocently” loading on your truck and driving away.
This could catch on.
I’m going to put signs like this on everything in front my yard.…
Larry’s friends are merciless when to comes to his preferred game, wild mice.
“Yeah, they call me Mouseman but I don’t care. There is nothing like a freshly roasted mouse with some ketchup. Plus it takes a shitload more skill to peg a tiny mouse rustling under some leaves than blasting a giant deer from a tree stand.”
Larry is proud of his hunting prowess but he does tend to get a little defensive about it. I asked him what’s so hard about annihilating a tiny mouse with a shotgun.
He got a little guffy and explained that his mouse gun uses modified 20 gauge shells that he packs himself.
“I only put four pellets in my shells. You really have to understand and anticipate the trajectory of those pellets to hit anything and I never miss.”
I must have looked sceptical, so he quickly demonstrated his skill by shooting a single hole in a specific leaf on a tree over 50 yards away. Needless to say, I was impressed. But why mice?
“I can nail about 20–30 mice on a good day and then I roast ’em and enjoy ‘em.”
I told him I had never heard of roasted mouse. It seemed pretty stupid to me but Larry explained if you do it just right you’ll be hooked. He said it is actually pretty simple, but you have to do it right.
“The first thing you do is broil them just enough to singe their fur so you can simple brush it off. Once you’ve removed all the fur you marinate them overnight in some beef blood mixed with a little red, white and blue vinegar. The next day you roast them for four hours at 200 degrees. It’s the slow roasting that makes it work.”
Mouse bones are very small and when slow roasted become crispy which he says adds a wonderful light crunch.…
Who would have thought that you could make a powerful and delicious liquor from compost?
I suppose I should have had an idea. I always seemed to catch a little bit of a buzz whenever I packed a wad of it between cheek and gum in late summer while cutting grass or doing some other mundane lawn crap.
I always figured it was from the old coffee grounds mixed with worm castings, but no, that was some good ol’ fashion fermented compost.
Obviously Sally is smarter than me and figured out how to refine, bottle and market this stuff. Having a PhD in organic chemistry and a background in moonshinin’ probably helped.
It began when she and her husband, Buster got fed up with the total dominance of genetically modified corn in the marketplace. You simply cannot get a kernel of corn that doesn’t legally belong to Monsanto. While making moonshine from this corn has advantages such as it being an excellent herbicide, if you make whiskey from it you have to pay Monsanto a royalty.
Fuck that.
When I mentioned to them how much I enjoyed chewing on late summer compost they took an interest. They immediately figured out it wasn’t the worm castings and coffee grinds but instead the alcohol that was blitzing me out.
So over the winter, they made the rounds of local organic restaurants collecting food scraps until they had built up a huge mound of cornless compost that they cultivated. When the weather got a little warmer they pieced together a nice little still from some stainless steel they picked up at the local scrap yard.
To save a few bucks on packaging they raided people’s recycling bins picking out plastic jars. They found that they did not even need to clean them out. The compost whiskey simply absorbs whatever is in them.…
The James Webb space telescope cost about 10 billion dollars and doesn’t even pick up ESPN. We threw that sucker out a million miles from earth so we could look at stars.
I can see stars from my backyard, at least some of them. However I’m told it’s not “visible” stuff we want to see. It’s the invisible stuff. I sometimes see invisible stuff, but no one believes me. (I find it’s better not to mention this too often, especially when I see Freddy and Zak, a couple of interdimensional beings I like to hang out with.)
Before spending 10 billion dollars and drink who know how many cups of coffee, NASA should have contacted my neighbor Hughbor Lollykoontin. Hughbor is from Tbilisi in Georgia (the country, not the state). Hughbor built his own infrared space radio telescope using Direct TV dishes he stole from the girls dorm at the college.
His original intention was to spy on the girls, but that really bothered his conscience so he pointed the disks skyward.
He received some weak signals and realized he need more power so he bought a small nuclear electrical generator from Northern Tool. The generator is made in Butan and comes with enough uranium to operate abut 10,000 years.
With the extra boost he was able to see back to a half hour before the big bang and was able to catch the pre-big bang show. They didn’t have commercials back then so there were no interuptions.
Figuring he has almost unlimited power Hughbor leaves the telescope array on 24/7.
One night he heard voices coming from the control room and thought maybe his kids were tuning into the Simpsons again. But they weren’t there! The voices were coming from the stars, or more precisely the star’s exoplanets.
Because of the way he had things configured, he was receiving the voices in real time (it’s a co-location, quantum thing).…
When Maggie and Thrump Kithpepper decided to open an ice cream stand in Culthton NY to sell their ice cream directly to the public they had no idea how popular it would be.
People lined up for scoops every single night throughout the year, especially when there were events at the schools, Little League games, Pop Warner tournaments and all those other community events that require going out for ice cream afterwards.
Maggie and Thrump had no problem making plenty of ice cream in their 540 acres factory but dispensing tiny little scoops just didn’t cut it.
That’s when they built Chip, the robot. Chip can dispense five gallon scoops of ice cream at a time. Of course this presented a different dilemma. They packed their ice cream in five gallon tubs and Clive’s scoop wouldn’t fit.
To solve that issue they teamed up with local stone quarry to share their trucks.
Typically stone deliveries are made in the morning and the trucks are back by 3:00 when the quarry closes for the day. Coincidentally, Maggie and Thrump open at 3:00.
So after getting back to the quarry and changing drivers, the trucks head over to the factory to fill up with ice cream. They then park under Chip who easily scoops out giant servings for all the customers. Except for a bit of gravel here and there this arrangement has worked out great. They usually go through 7 or 8 truckloads a night.
Not that there haven’t been a few hiccups. In the winter some of the trucks are used to spread salt. Salty ice cream doesn’t last and there have been incidents of cream covered highways (salty cream) resulting in a shitload of sticky cars.
Occasionally there are accidents, like when a truck flipped over on Rt 905. Fortunately EMS was prepared with thousands of spoons.…
Walter had it with dating sites
He struggled to create the perfect profile. He took a million selfies in his car to get just the right look. He browsed his dating sites everyday (he belonged to eight of them) and sent out hundreds of cute, respectful messages to prospective dates.
His hit rate was about 11%. Eleven out of a hundred women responded and most of those were admonishments to leave them alone. So far after 6-8 months he’d been on about 3 dates,
What’s a guy to do? Get a dog! Right? Chicks love dogs.
He did a little research and found “Get a Date Kennels.” Their website guaranteed that their highly trained dogs would break the thickest ice with any member of the opposite sex.
So Walter drove out to Clumtocky Pa to see what they had. The dogs were very nice, friendly but not jumpy. Most were above the 50 pound threshold. The owners were admirers of Ron Swanson, who always maintained that any dog less than 50 pounds was a cat and cats are useless.
While real dogs are the best, the owners had plenty of smaller dogs. They correctly reasoned that people coming to see them were not trying to date Ron Swanson. No matter what their size their dogs were smart and well trained. Soe were trained to be man catchers and others to be chick magnets.
Walter had a hard time deciding which dog he wanted and ended up taking two, named Beatle and Chip. When he got home, he took them out for a test run and found out just how smart and well trained they were.
They totally ignore women accompanied by large men or by men with guns. They also made sure to keep Walter away from women with wedding rings and especially far away from women who carried small dogs in their purses.…
When you have a mystery to solve, a killer to capture, an unfaithful spouse to spy upon, you need more than a guy in gum shoes.
You need an enlightened psychic sleuth. You need someone who leverages the metaphysical, extra-paranormal realm to reveal the truth.
Madam Gladys Ettyburg has solved every case she’s ever been handed without even leaving her lair.
She knows who you are and what you want before you ask. She also knows how much money you have, where you live and how desperate you are to solve your problem. Don’t try to haggle. You will be sorry.
Once you’ve walked in that door you are committed. Madam Gladys will simple stare into your eyes. You may feel a slight sense of discomfort as your soul is scanned. She will then explain to you in detail what you had intended to explain to her. She will lay out your problem and offer her services at a specific price point.
You know you have no choice but to pay. Madam Gladys has gleaned things about you that you certainly prefer no one else know. You know she knows.
She does not take credit cards, checks or Venmo. Only gold coins which can be purchased next door at Harry’s Gold Coin Emporium.
Once you’ve paid, she bids to to take your leave. It is unsettling. You are now out $500–600 and have no idea if you are being scammed. Maybe. Maybe not.
After a few days you begin to wonder what’s going on and return to get an update, but Madam Gladys won’t tell you. Instead she gives you a joint and says have a few tokes before bedtime.
Well, sure, why not. It’s good stuff. You slip into a dreamy mellow mood and fall asleep.
That’s when Madam Galdys reveals everything you want to know.…
Americans do not consume enough. We buys all kinds of things and they end up accumulating in our garages instead of being properly ingested and digested. Some people do it right. They are easy to pick out. They have a confident look and swagger of over-consumption.
The rest of us need to find more space and I’m putting my investment dollars into creating such space; secure modern storage space, not those crappy rows of cinder block boxes but instead, free-standing accessible space for your extra Tesla, renaissance artwork and your mother-in-law’s china with the chipped gravy boat.
Some clever people even use storage units as a convenient secret meeting places to drink Everclear, eat mushrooms and play three dimensional Shoots & Ladders. (I’m OK with that as long as I’m invited.)
The outside is deceiving. it is actually much worse inside. Lots of half filled, unlabeled drums that seem to be seeping a weird yellow sludge. It’s fine as long as you don’t step in it or let it touch your skin.
That is that what makes this space so valuable for your valuables. No idiot would ever want to go inside. But with the security fence and clever booby traps (notice the roof ladder? HA! It’s a booby trap!) no one could possible breach the perimeter anyway.
It also has a threatening no trespassing sign which puts the fear of a long painful death into any would be thief.
I will be renting this unit as soon as I finish the roof. There is currently a waiting list. Get in line.…
I thought it was odd to see and old TV sitting on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere.
Maybe not so odd, though. People have a way of conveniently disposing of their unwanted things along the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere. At least it wasn’t smashed up.
I figured maybe I could dispose of it properly somewhere and put it in my trunk. As I drove down the road I started hearing voices, which is actually pretty normal for me. Only these voice weren’t inside my head. They were coming from the trunk. And it wasn’t a bunch of voices, it was just one voice.
Well, I knew immediately what it was, the TV. Either that or the guy, Arnold, who lived in my trunk. Arnold never said much so I suspected the TV.
I stopped and popped the trunk. Arnold was sleeping and the TV was on and blathering away like cable news host. Lots of words were coming out but nothing made sense. There was no picture so I slammed the side of it, like you are supposed to do with old TVs and saw a group of people in red jumpsuits staring out at me.
One of them called me by name and asked if I would like to know the future of the human race. I said if it involves red jumpsuits, no I don’t. Jumpsuits are a pain to put on and I could not bear the thought of wearing one.
My refusal caused considerable consternation among the panel. They wanted so badly to tell me our fate as a race and started throwing out hints about utopia, unlimited snack food and warm toilet seats in every home.
I was too much to resist. Soon I learned the future direction of the stock market, how our politics would change and the fate of global warming.…
Some people think the apocalipso is coming. Four horsemen, fire and brimstone, locust, cats and dogs, poison ivy, flat beer, sour wine, the end of all good times. You never know, eh?
Assuming world devastation I set up my all natural, organic home defenses. I don’t want to hurt anyone but one needs to defend one’s castle, even if it’s just an old Chevy van down by the river.
To ward off post apocalipso zombies and pre-apocalipso zombies, I built an impenetrable berm around my van embedded with skunk canons. I can also fire groundhogs, racoons and opossums, but skunks are by far the best defense. Zombies’ heads fall off if they encounter skunk juice.
Naturally there is always the possibility of my berm being breached, but I’m prepared for that with my skunk squirt gun.
I have a nice little herd of skunks and have milked a few gallons of skunk juice ammo.
I am prepared. I’ve invited friends to come check it out and even offered to share some of my juice, but they’re busy people and haven’t been able to make it over yet.
…