I hate to sound ungrateful—but anybody else beginning to think we should have held out for “forty acres and a Dodge Ram 2500 with a good-sized winch? Because this fencing? Fucking heavy, bro.”
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I’m totally digging the Scotch, by the way.
Whereas the pioneers? Drank fermented crab apple schnapps and whisky made from onions.
True story.
Finally, a post so insipid and abstruse that I have a thread all to my lonesome.
Which is cool. It’s like a diary, almost.
Speaking of which, I’m now on The Balvenie no. 3—and some Gram Parsons. Up next, Sammy Johns.
Who goes better with Lagavulin.
Actually, I’m in the mood for a Clint Eastwood movie. “Every Which Way But Loose?”
Maybe so. Maybe. so.
This Parsons stuff is good! Gonna go buy some Emilou Harris.
And a mule.
Well, the truck would be nice, but given forty acres I’m thinking a TS115A (Deluxe) with loader, 62” brush-hog, and a post-hole auger would be more practical, don’tcha know. A little less, what, elegant perhaps, and the valet parking guy may have a little trouble figuring out the gears, but one must simply cope.
My tipple for the evening is NyQuil™. Good for the buzz, but the smoky, peaty flavor of good scots whisky is notably lacking. Cutting it 50/50 with Jim Beam Black appeals in some moods, though not tonight.
Regards,
Ric
You are a touchstone, Ric.
Thanks for sticking around when so many others have flown the coup.
play on words intended, says Scotch 5.
Very interesting.
But Freud was a Ford man.
I like to ironize like that, wish.
I’m here Jeff, it’s just I already have a Dodge, and a bunch of unemployed orange pickers happy, nay, eager to build fences (or anything else Americans don’t want to do)for a substandard wage.
So, I just don’t have anything to say right now.
I hate ironizing, myself. RTO doesn’t mind so much, something about the military, I think. but for me, if it’s not gonna look good wrinkley, forget it.
If you ask me, and I’m not saying you are, I’d hold out for 40 acres of peat bog and a decent pot still. As it turns out, you can’t ferment shit in a pickup truck.
Not that I haven’t tried.
You, my friend, are obviously NOT from Alabama. Oh–you literally meant shit…well, you’ve got me there.
I’m listening to Dave Loggins and drinking Talisker.
Talk about a change of plans!
Good Lord! That made me think of Loggins and Messina, and trust me, nobody has that much scotch on hand.
“Danny’s Song” is beautiful. Admit it.
Damn. *sniff* Just damn you.
The Parsons compliation from a couple of years ago is perfect. I hope that’s what you’re listening too.
And I hope you can clarify a point I’m having trouble with. It isn’t OK to label someone a mule. You are pigeonholing them…minimizing their contributions to society and making them But then there are all these groups… MLAD… Code Mule… GLBTMules on Campus… etc.
So I guess my question is why is not OK to be labeled something by someone else, but choose self-definition by the same terms… reducing yourself to one simple term (Mule, in this case), that you would take offense if someone hurled spittle-encrusted epitaphs toward you?
Or is Mule just a term I’ll never understand… a term for nothing left to lose…
Pik van der Merwe had a mule farm. You can make the joke as long as you like, but the punchline is always the same.
As usual, I show up during last call…and I tellya this much, that dillo can fucking drink mannnnnnnnn……..
..just don’t call him the f-word. he started ranting about Hirsi Ali beating up Andrew Sullivan, it was kind of embarassing.
at least I think it was a dillo. He sure was a little bastard whatever the hell he was..smelled like cheap scottish paint thinner.
ken, keep your filthy mind off the pigeon’s holes. HATER!!
I got 40 acres, a Dodge Ram 2500, and, well, a good-sized wench. And an old Ford tractor with a bad radiator.
It’s the American dream, I tell you.
The bushmills has run out. The pickup is broke, and there’s a fucking mule in the backyard.
That’s an achievement, mules aren’t easy to stump-break.
Mules are sterile.
Don’t you remember “The Mule” from Foundation and Empire?
I’ve got a little under half an acre I need fenced, and I’m willing to pay the laborers in tasty Melba toast.
This does not render the participle incorrect, especially as regards intact jack-mules. Trust me on this.
Regards,
Ric
Ric,
I absolutely trust you on that. The last livestock I ever had to deal with was a neighbor’s goat, which for some reason would get into our yard and try to eat whatever was on the clothesline. That was approximately fifty years ago, and I don’t miss it at all.
From what I know about goats, it would have finished with what was on the clothesline, moved on to the actual clothesline, and eventually the house itself.
“whisky made from onions”…
That’ll make you cry.
As to NyQuil cut with Jim Beam Black, isn’t that just a more expensive way to have a SoCo on the rocks?
I am seriously considering getting goats. (As opposed to “getting [s.o.’s] goat”, which I do regularly.) Goats, you see, eat briars and mesquite, but not grass. Since I have plenty of briars and not much grass, the thought is attractive. We don’t put clothes on a clothesline, so that problem isn’t there. The trouble is fences, which I apparently no longer have the energy to build. Fences are a psychological ploy, not a physical containment, and I’m not sure I’m wilier than a goat.
And I actually have both NyQuil and JBB in stock, so to speak. Popping over to the liquor store for the ingredients of a different drink amounts to a little over forty miles, round trip. This is not an advisable procedure when one has already had the NyQuil or the Beam.
Regards,
Ric
My ex-wife’s mother had goats. And the meanest f’ing goose I’ve ever seen. The danger was that you’d go in her back yard, the goose would kill you, and the goats would eat your remains. I never went back there unarmed.
And if I know goats, if they were hungry they’d tell you that you’d dropped your keys and butt you when you bent over to look, just to give the goose the upper hand in killing you.
And just because they like that whole “dropped your keys/knock you down” schtick.
“Goat’s don’t have friend38, they have interests.”
I’m with Jim in KC, a Dodge Ram 2500 and a good-sized wench are among the better things in life.