|Posted on Thursday, July 11, 2002 - 7:01 pm: |
I have a great uncle Mac. He stands about 4'3, and his face looks like someone turned up the heat in the wax museum.
He used to keep bats in jars, as pets.
He fell off a roof as a lad, and landed on his head- that shit really happens.
Nice guy, but quite teched.
|Posted on Thursday, July 11, 2002 - 9:11 am: |
... and Tammy Wynette put the "cunt" in country!
|Posted on Thursday, July 11, 2002 - 8:27 am: |
George Jones Rules...
as "Dueling Banjos" plays in the background.
|Posted on Thursday, July 11, 2002 - 7:29 am: |
"Well I asked my old pappy why he called his brew
White lightnin' 'stead of mountain dew
I took a little sip and right away I knew
As my eyes bugged out and my face turned blue
Mighty, mighty pleasin, pappy's corn squeezin'
Shhhoooh . . . white lightnin'" - George Jones
|Posted on Thursday, July 11, 2002 - 7:08 am: |
nolamour, I think by teardrop back you mean a coupe. Yes, one is a two door coupe, but it's just a body and frame. I may make it a custom, since there is so little to work with now and I wouldn't have a true original numbers matching car even if I did restore it.
The other one is a four door sedan, suicide doors and all. It's complete and the engine still turns over. Of course both cars are terribly rusted, but I need to get better at bodywork anyway. Since my job keeps me from travelling anymore, I need some kind of escape...
|Posted on Wednesday, July 10, 2002 - 9:05 pm: |
I had a great uncle Cleophus. Yes, I said Cleophus and it WAS his actual name. He lived somewhere in middle Louisiana in the woods. We don't talk about him much.
My family (back in a day) used to sell Moonshine...they called it White Lightnin'
|Posted on Wednesday, July 10, 2002 - 4:57 pm: |
All my relatives are more sane than I . . . or is that less sane, I can never remember. Let me check.
Uncle Bob, could you PLEASE stop hanging cheese slices from the ceiling and tell me which of us is the insane one? No, Auntie LaWanda can't help me with this one, she's busy bathing the goldfish. Grandma's drinking the liquid from the Lava Lamp again, Mom's out feeding the ducks . . . to the horses, and Dad . . . well, you know Dad and his "workshop," right . . . You can hear the screams over the music if you listen closely.
|Posted on Wednesday, July 10, 2002 - 2:53 pm: |
No, sanity is all relative anyway...
|Posted on Wednesday, July 10, 2002 - 1:11 pm: |
Ever consider jumping onto a different type of ship? It can do wonders for one's sanity.
|Posted on Wednesday, July 10, 2002 - 10:01 am: |
Well, I'm back up after three hours of restless sleep... not unusual, especially since I'd foregone a glass or three of my absinthe ritual this morning. Even after a break in the heat and humidity, sleep does not come, or stay easily.
Mike, the human chopping block came into work yesterday to collect some of the things he'd left the other night as he was so quickly rushed away for a much needed patch job. His left arm now dangles uselessly at his side and his head is virtually immobilized by some type of brace, covering of course other coverings. They'd given Mike a sling at the hospital for his arm which he steadfastly refused to wear. I can picture the scene even now, Mike checking out of the Oakwood General, cigarette dangling in mouth, all ready savoring the thought of the scotches he's missed since this event, Indian doctor offering up instructions and a blue shoulder sling.
"Whatever" he'd gurgle as he'd gimp out into the sunlight of a new day and the prospect of being crippled for life.
Yeah, I'm up after three hours... at six tonight I'll head out, back towards the dead city and it's burned out residencies, it's lives gone up in smoke through the glass dicks, half pints of Martel and the urban complacency only those who've got it up the ass for the last four hundred years could display with such fervor. Yup, just twelve hours in one of your more pleasant work environments, a sight unknown for most of the population which enjoys the spoils of of an occupation bathed in Mike's blood and that of hundreds before him. Nice Ranger, that's type O negative on the bumper mounting bracket (upper.) No, that's not a defect in the lower door panel, that's Sam's charred skin. And why no, that's not the hood ornament, those are Stanley's toes. Have a nice drive!
|Posted on Wednesday, July 10, 2002 - 9:52 am: |
I just love old Godfather references.
Damn...two 37's? That may take some work huh? Is it a tear drop back? Woody?
A buddy of mine had an old Roadrunner that he restored. When he'd start it up, the whole neighborhood would run for shelter as it was loud enough to trip every alarm in the area. Obviously, not street legal.