Well, What Do You Know?

Ooooohhh reeeeeallllly. Then how do you explain this?

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The New Leaf. . .

Computer Status Update: still farked!

Near-Term Future Outlook Parameter: closer to unfarked

Alright, alright. I know it's been mighty damn boring around her without my usual vulgurated banter and news ANAL-y-sis, but please people, don't crowd and by all means REMAIN CLAM! (p.s. it's misspelled intentionally and just be glad I never left a cheese sandwich hidden in YOUR couch.)

The computer device is on it's way to happily calculating ones and zeroes again and I'm well aware that I have considerable catching up to do. With our new black president and all, I feel like the world is leaving me behind. I even broke free of the beautiful gravity of Egypt Hill to come "in town" to talk to you people. See how special you are? How 'bout a round of applause for the audience!

**cricket chirp**

Ahh, actually I came in town to purchase the necessary augmentation for my garden. Yes folks, it's almost that time of the year again. Last year's garden went to hell in a handbasket when I was traveling and staying in Gulfport over the summer. The weeds got out of hand and I got all involved with Beatrice, so in essence, it's her fault. I blame her. Yes that's it. ALL. HER. FAULT.

After I finish this I am headed over to our local mom and pop garden store to purchase no less than 20-40# bags of manure, 50 pounds of lime and the latest widgetry they've invented for the nouveau riche gardener like me. Garden Weasel anyone?

Oh, does anyone else find it oddly entertaining that there is actually an industry, outside of politics, where 'mierda' is an openly accepted and desired end product? Hhmmppphh.

So, I'm off now. I leave you with a excellent live version of We Were Born To Be Loved by King's X, which was filmed in Germany. Although the goddamn Germans had nothing to do with it.

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You Can Ride In My Front Seat Any Day. . .

This person, Debora Moscone, was asked to move from her front seat by the driver of a city bus in Lindau, Germany because of her cleavage. . .



which leads me to ask the question, "Herr Driver, are you ghey?"

This bit from an auto-translated article describes the scene clearly:

But at a stop the bus driver addresses it: Their sight confuses it, it can not on the traffic concentrate, then it cannot drive on. The driver places the attractive young woman before the choice: Either it puts itself then that it cannot see it also in the mirror to no more, or it must step out.

Debora Moscone holds first for a joke. But the driver is serious it. Thus it adds and sits down directly behind the driver, where it is separate from it by an obscure disk. At the station arrived, it places the driver to the speech. It affirmed its procedure and refers to Paragraf 6 of the transport order, which gives it the right to instruct the passengers where they are to put themselves.

I'll say.

By the way, Debora? If you're not doing anything next Tuesday let's get together for dinner. I make a mean wienerschnitzel. You know. . .call me. Schnell!

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