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Posts Tagged ‘attack’

A Post On Flying. Sorta.

Short post.  Picture.

Reminds me of my middle nephews’ 8th birthday party.

Enjoy.

Attack of the Flying Squirrels

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Attack of the Blue Hares

Update 1: Steampunk can be carried a tad too far.  It is a computer case.   Not sure how to call this one.  This will whet your appetite, so now go look at the rest of the pictures (link above).

steampunk-computer

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Update 2: On the civil liberties front…

Man has a bumper sticker that says “Abort Obama, not babies”… guess what?  He gets pulled over, they take his sticker, give him a notice that he’s under investigation, and the Secret Service shows up at his house to walk through it “to make sure he’s not part of any hate group”.

I’m very anti-KKK and very anti-terrorist (virulently so) but he has a right to belong to any group he so chooses, doesn’t he?

Normally I’d hesitate to say “gestapo” but let me ask you this:

If he was part of a hate group and planned on doing something that endangered others… do you really think he’d put a damned sticker in his car?

Simple logic says “get a grip, people.”

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Update 3: I’m pretty sure I need a dozen of these and I need them right now.  USB Chicken Feet.

chickenfootThanks to SlashGear for giving my life meaning again.

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Drove home tonight at a relatively early hour, 5:30pm.   Completion of that task would not occur until another hour later, which is unusual for a 40 minute trip.

There is a gas station, which I will not name but will give it a nom de guerre, say “Runoco”, and this was my port of call along the route I commonly use to travel to and from work.  It was this gas station where the event which I call The Attack of the Blue Hares transpired.

I got out and quickly filled the tank on my truck and then briskly strode into the store to give the owner of that fine establishment my hard-earned cash – in the form of a credit card.

Inside were two little old ladies who were noticeably shorter than Cruel Wife (who is 5’1″, when wearing thick socks) standing at the counter.   One of the ladies either had no teeth or her face had imploded – it wasn’t immediately obvious.  The other lady was bundled up in at least 7 layers of clothing and a headscarf.  She smelled faintly of cheese.

These were the Blue Hares.

mountain_hare_lgeA Blue Hare

I took up my station behind the ladies, and having been raised a polite boy kept a respectful distance, a courteous demeanor, and casually scanned the ingredients on select bags of smoked meat by-products.  Mmmm-mmm.

The conversation between Blue Hare #1  (Toothless), Blue Hare #2 (Cheesy), and Frustrated Clerk (Frustrated Clerk) went something like this:

Toothless:  Don’t forget these bags of potato chips.

Cheesy:  Now, I want to make sure we got everything rung up and nothing twice.

Frustrated Clerk:  Ok, we got [blah, blah, blah, and blah] coming to a total of [blah].

Cheesy:  Ok.

Toothless:  Don’t forget the Lotto.

Cheesy: Oh yes, we want the Lotto.

Frustrated Clerk:   Powerball or Mega Millions?

[argument between the Blue Hares regarding which they wanted]

Cheesy:  Mega Millions.  That’s tonight.

Frustrated Clerk:  Quick pick?

Cheesy & Toothless, simultaneously:  No!  Get a card.

Frustrated Clerk:  Ok, here you go, you can fill it out and…

Cheesy and Toothless, together:  No, could you fill in the numbers for us?  It’s hard to fill those little spots…

Briefly, I wondered if I had made a wrong turn and was indeed in Hell.

Frustrated Clerk:  Okayyyy.  Which ones do you want?

[a long conversation ensues where they read off numbers one after another after much debate over each one]

Frustrated Clerk:  Ok, one more number, which one do you want?

I break here to remind you that Quick Pick was NOT good enough, that they had to select their numbers based on a time honored ritual passed on down through the centuries as far back in the mists of time as when Moses’ grandfather got his first retainer.

Blue Hares in chorus to young teen nearby:   What number do you want?

Young Teen:  Huh?

Blue Hares in creepy tandem:  What number do you want…?  Pick a number!

Young Teen:  Twenty-three?

Blue Hares:  Twenty-three!  Print it!

Frustrated Clerk, relieved:  Ok, the total is blah blah and the change is $28.37.

Toothless:  Don’t forget my bags of chips!

Cheesy:  Be careful with that, don’t you break my bottles of wine!

Lemur King again… by now I was frustrated, thinking to myself that one could feel justifiably annoyed and I’d be within my rights to be since the small stuff filling the gaps of this narrative helped stretch the event out to 15 minutes, but… hopping up and down while screaming wasn’t really going to elicit results that would be considered an improvement.  See my dilemma?

The Blue Hares then paid Frustrated Clerk and received their change, resulting in them moving… not at all.  They stood there, counting money twice, and stashing different denominations in various creases, pouches, pockets, carriers, and orifices.

It was time to make my move… In a voice only slightly strained I sobbed “Pump #5, please.”

Frustrated Clerk looked up in a daze but shook it off quickly as she realized that she was not trapped forever in whatever fresh hell the Blue Hares had just drug her into.

I had paid for my fuel, signed my slip, and was on my way out the door when I stopped.   I waited and held the door for these two highly annoying, slow moving, gambling, wine-drinking, Blue Hare ladies as they steadily made their way out of the station towards their car, the owner of said wine putting her walker in front of her one step at a time and showing remarkable dexterity as she shook her car keys out of her pocket.  The lady of no-teeth making fantastic claims regarding the safety of the groceries in her capable hands.

And I sat there momentarily holding the door after they passed and thought to myself, better to be patient and kind to them because someday I may need someone to cut me some slack. And then I thought, better get on the road before them, or wait until I see which way they go so I can go the other way.

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