Thursday, March 25, 2010

If you are a card-carrying liberal . . .

. . . or live in Europe

This will likely cause you to scratch your head - or, perhaps go completely off your nut.

I walk into the post office and place a package on the counter.

Clerk: "Is there anything dangerous or prohibited in your package?"

Me: "No, but it is a rifle that I'm shipping to a licensed dealer."

Clerk: "Is there any ammunition in the package?"

Me: "No, and, of course, the rifle is unloaded."

Clerk: "How do you want to ship it?"

Me: "Priority Mail, insured, with a return receipt."

Clerk: "That will be $XX.XX"

Me: Plopping credit card on the counter.

Clerk: Do you need stamps or anything else?

Me: No, that's all.

Clerk: Thank you, and have a great day.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Security advisory . . .

. . . in case of a bomb threat.

This is what we're supposed to do if we receive a telephonic bomb threat.

- Use Form 5580/8.

- Ask and record the answers to the following questions:

  1. When is the bomb to go off?

  2. Where is the bomb to go off?

  3. What kind of bomb is it?

  4. What does the bomb look like?

  5. Where are you calling from.


Saturday, March 20, 2010

Lisa always had trouble . . .

. . . holding her liquor.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

After 13 years . . .

. . . I sold it.

From the time I first saw a Corvette in 1957 at the drag races in Alton, IL, I wanted one. But, I could never afford it. Then came college and family. With five of us, there was no way it was practical.

One day in 1997, I was shopping for a small pickup to replace the one that just went off lease. This red car was sitting on the lot with a sad look, saying "take me home." That's a reasonable alternative to a pickup, says I, so home it came.

That same summer, Mrs. B and I took it on a road trip to New Orleans, and I was in hog heaven (link added so Ian doesn't have to look it up.)

Many Corvette drivers park their cars in a garage, and never drive them unless the sun is shining.

Not me.

I may be picky on the cars I own, but I drive them. I drove this one for 120,000 miles.

That's what they're for, isn't it?

I thought I'd miss it, but I don't. Probably because it's turned on me, the ungrateful wench. I washed it, polished it, replaced worn parts and took care of it. So what do I get in return? Left stranded on the road twice in three months, that's what - and a significant dent in my purse to boot.

So, now it's gone. I hope someone else has a chance to enjoy it. Really.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Open letter . . .

. . . to the woman in the big truck

If you hadn't cut me off when I was trying to park at the Wawa, I might have told you that your skirt hiked up when you climbed out of your truck.

Waaay up.

And, it didn't fall back in place.

And, it exposed a pair of rather age-inappropriate black panties.

And, they weren't anywhere close to covering your rather brobdingnagian arse.

And, said arse was hanging out as you entered the store.

Come to think of it, I Should have warned the folks in Wawa.

Half of them are probably blind by now.

Sometimes Karma is hell, innit?

Boots on the ground . . .

. . . 21 APR

That is all.