Frozed. . .

So much for meteorological predictions.

The thundering snow storm we were supposed to have kinda pooped out, or more realistically, didn't get cranked up full force until it was well to the east of us.  We got quite a bit of sleet and managed to have an extra day off from work because of that, but I was really looking forward to the 2 to 4 inches of snow which never came.

Ah well, we are simply at the mercy of Mother Nature and her fickle behavior.  Last week it was tornadoes which ripped half the roof off my favorite watering hole and totally demolished the fireworks stand we were inside of about 20 minutes beforehand.  This week, ice and plunging temperatures.  What's next?  Locusts?

Drats!  Man wanted snow.

But then I read something like this story and I realize that living in the Southeast isn't such a bad thing.  An occasional snow is okay, but 40 below being stalked by wolves while hobbling around on a bum knee is a whole 'nother level of drat.

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The Essentials. . .

You met my mutual friend with Nils, Mr. Ben J. Amin, yesterday. Well, today he offers some wise advice about camping in Alaska:

"Troops, one can never be too safe in the Alaskan wilderness. So that's why I always pack a fly rod, a high caliber revolver and a keg of beer. Because fuck, you just never know when you might need to do some fishin' or fight off a rabid grizzly bear who is after your fish. And of course should you miss with the revolver, you will at least have some beer to drink as you lie bleeding and legless in the tundra, slowly dying. The great thing is, if you do kill the bear, it's testicle soup for everyone!"

Words from a brilliant and well-prepared mind.

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Now That's A Can Of Salmon!

Croquettes anyone?



This is a friend of Nils named Mr. Ben J. Amin, natural born killer, ladies man and avid outdoorsman. Mr. Amin is so fierce and respected by all that he merely stared at the fish until it jumped right out of the water and into his hands. After which, Mr. Amin promptly pulled off the head and sucked out the brains.

You do not fuck with The Jesus and you do not fuck with The Mr. Amin.

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