Last Sunday out in the forest we came across a hunter-person on the Twilight Zone, which at least contributed some legitimacy to the name of the trail. Four dogs with shock collars and a guy in an orange vest with a shotgun strolling along through our newly acquisitioned specific use designated land parcel. Was he allowed to be there? Were we allowed to be there?
What if everyone just did whatever they wanted out there and we all just dealt with it? Horses and motorcycles and birdwatchers and salamander collectors and mountain bike riders and white goods disposal persons and homeless folk trying to get away from it all, wouldn’t that be cool? Plenty of room for everyone out there I say. Just leave your brown mohair jersey at home and get a bell.
On other fronts, The Human Wrecking Ball has branched out. In a spin off on par with Joanie Loves Chachie, he can now be found at www.wreckingballblog.blogspot.com (pretend I hyperlinked it). Go say hi, he has to be lonely over there.
Sasquatch keeps bragging about his incredible diet program, which I have staunchly avoided since it involves something called Ubo oil or Ouzo oil, but the other day he walked in with a bag of Chik-fil-A so I’m thinking it might not be such a bad program after all.
Mel (Not his real name) is a domestic juggernaut. He is hunkered down in snowy Westchester county and he keeps sending me pictures of cappuccino art, emphasis on the microfoam, and loaves of homemade bread. He has a regular laboratory of comfort going on up there. If you are a single woman, or looking to stray in the New York area, and you have an attraction-or at least no aversion- to cranky Asians, then you should definitely look him up.
What else? I couldn’t really say. Oh yeah, thank God our delegates don’t count in Florida. Yeah, I went there, so what?
We’ve lost trails to hunters before (Pidgeon Mt.). It’s a safety thing: big gun, lots of beer, a little Jim Beam, and suddenly, the rush of a heavy (not directed at anyone) animal in the forest! Oops, animals don’t have wheels.
The radio collars on the dogs help the hunters follow them or help the hunters anticipate when the animals will be flushed toward a larger group of hunters at the dirt road waiting (and drinking more beer and Beam).
MTBs should have radio collars!
Sorry, the only words I saw in that post were Chik-fil-A.
For lunch and dinner!
Thanks for the plug boss, now I can be ignored in three places.
I will always be the zune to your ipod….as it should be!w.b.z.n.
Well, the Big Ring Circus is held in a Big Tent. Bring on the politics, I say!
Me? I’m gonna start talking about religion.
Bringing up the salamander collectors made me recall those small green/brown lizards that would run rampant down there in Tally and liked climbing on door and window screens, as well as entering into ones’ abode, without so much as ringing the doorbell. Rude little buggers. 🙂
They keep the cat busy.
Just so we’re clear; do you hate women or old men?
Neither! I just really like black people.
OOoh snap, now we’re blogging!
They put an addictive chemical in their chicken! makes you crave it fortnightly!
Chik fil-a that is…