Ah, a glimpse of the way one might live if one were not being Molsonized into submission.....Thanks, AI, now I am in a Frustrated Funk. [However, Thank You for the game effort]
Stop your bitching AA, or I'm driving up to Kanukistan and slapping your ass. The way I geographically see it, I'm the one who gets to bitch about weather, land-locked just below the Yukon, desolate prairie and all.
And to the hell with the pic. Jimmy Buffett doesn't sing about all the crazies in those nifty little Carib songs of his. When you're driving on the wrong goddamned side of the road in the Carib, watch out so you don't hit the literal crazy man who's half-naked, sweat pouring off him, side of the road, swinging his dreadlocks and head-bobbing — hands waving — at every car that passes. Or the shit cops who rival New Orlean's Finest when it comes to corruption, murdering those who they are supposed to protect, and drinking beer during their lunch hour. Is that anywhere in your songs, Mr. Buffett?
MFT awakes! Yes, in Fargoland there is so much more [or less, if you prefer] to whine about. The few virtues of the place is a Bill of Rights, and Freedom of Speech, God Bless the US and A. And, of course, no near monopoly of the Molsonic CBC. There, now that I have said the forbidden words, I can go back peacefully to swimming under the sonar of the New BC Liberal Party cadres. By all means come on up to Canuckistan, the Peasang grub ever is ready.
As for the Island Babe vs the ugly sordid Carib Truth, the point is to be so rich, so Kerryeseque, that one can go to the Island and Resort to Carib Lies. It is there the Island Babe can be bought.
AA, we wish you and the small Resistance well. One minor note: I'm 70 miles north of that warm Fargo, with Winnepeg only about three hours away.
Before my sojourn to Tashkent some years ago, the Irish Dogg visited me in Pepe's ancestral Frenchie fur-trapping and -trading land, and we made way along the Red River of the north to find the beautiful Hudson's Bay Company, surviving and thriving to this day in all of its glory. We never located the Company, but we felt its dominance throughout Winnepeg and all of Manitoba -- the bastards used to make treks to the upper-Missouri to trade with some of Dakotas earliest inhabitants, the Mandan and Hidatsa. We tried finding the Winnepeg zoo, didn't, found a game of cricket, and finished the evening with fine Canadian steak. We drove at top speed, south on I-29, unknowingly leaving Molson and Labatts in Canada for your future Kanukistan/Klondike career. DONTCHAKNOW!?! Ohhhhh-YeeaaAAhHHH, you betcha!!!
JJ: What's wrong with sumo and curling? I thought we cleared all this up. Pass the ranch...
Likely mft this time. See how the times straddle. What happens to me some is that blogger acts like it ain't got the message so I resend then find two copies. Don't worry, AA. It's not Pepe suckerpunching you then skulking away to his Quarter hideout.
AA, yes, JJ is correct: I punched it once, then punched it again, and I didn't want to bombard you with the same thing twice.
You realize, of course, that I grew up with a brother, and like many others who have close relationships with kin, we were quick to detect and capitalize on what we noticed to piss the other off...
Yeah, the bottle usually ends up ricocheting off one of our heads, compliments of the other brother. However, that's only if its the two of us eating. We'd never do that in front of company.
23 comments:
Ah, a glimpse of the way one might live if one were not being Molsonized into submission.....Thanks, AI, now I am in a Frustrated Funk.
[However, Thank You for the game effort]
Didn't this picture put a thong in your heart?
Simple pun, but a good one, JJ. It brought a smile.
A thong in my heart and a smile on my face, yup. Danke, komraden.
Stop your bitching AA, or I'm driving up to Kanukistan and slapping your ass. The way I geographically see it, I'm the one who gets to bitch about weather, land-locked just below the Yukon, desolate prairie and all.
And to the hell with the pic. Jimmy Buffett doesn't sing about all the crazies in those nifty little Carib songs of his. When you're driving on the wrong goddamned side of the road in the Carib, watch out so you don't hit the literal crazy man who's half-naked, sweat pouring off him, side of the road, swinging his dreadlocks and head-bobbing — hands waving — at every car that passes. Or the shit cops who rival New Orlean's Finest when it comes to corruption, murdering those who they are supposed to protect, and drinking beer during their lunch hour. Is that anywhere in your songs, Mr. Buffett?
MFT awakes! Yes, in Fargoland there is so much more [or less, if you prefer] to whine about. The few virtues of the place is a Bill of Rights, and Freedom of Speech, God Bless the US and A. And, of course, no near monopoly of the Molsonic CBC.
There, now that I have said the forbidden words, I can go back peacefully to swimming under the sonar of the New BC Liberal Party cadres.
By all means come on up to Canuckistan, the Peasang grub ever is ready.
As for the Island Babe vs the ugly sordid Carib Truth, the point is to be so rich, so Kerryeseque, that one can go to the Island and Resort to Carib Lies. It is there the Island Babe can be bought.
Wait till the Labatts Cup is on TV. At least you get Molson respite. The price you have to pay is a lot of curling. Which at least isn't sumo.
AA, we wish you and the small Resistance well. One minor note: I'm 70 miles north of that warm Fargo, with Winnepeg only about three hours away.
Before my sojourn to Tashkent some years ago, the Irish Dogg visited me in Pepe's ancestral Frenchie fur-trapping and -trading land, and we made way along the Red River of the north to find the beautiful Hudson's Bay Company, surviving and thriving to this day in all of its glory. We never located the Company, but we felt its dominance throughout Winnepeg and all of Manitoba -- the bastards used to make treks to the upper-Missouri to trade with some of Dakotas earliest inhabitants, the Mandan and Hidatsa. We tried finding the Winnepeg zoo, didn't, found a game of cricket, and finished the evening with fine Canadian steak. We drove at top speed, south on I-29, unknowingly leaving Molson and Labatts in Canada for your future Kanukistan/Klondike career. DONTCHAKNOW!?! Ohhhhh-YeeaaAAhHHH, you betcha!!!
JJ: What's wrong with sumo and curling? I thought we cleared all this up. Pass the ranch...
Note: that beach bunny has sand in places where you don't want it.
If it's there, I want it.
I always wondered why JJ had so much sand in the eye
Likely mft this time. See how the times straddle. What happens to me some is that blogger acts like it ain't got the message so I resend then find two copies.
Don't worry, AA. It's not Pepe suckerpunching you then skulking away to his Quarter hideout.
Of course, one can delete a post forever, by simply clicking on things. But this seems hard to do for some. Maybe JJ can give us a lesson?
AA, yes, JJ is correct: I punched it once, then punched it again, and I didn't want to bombard you with the same thing twice.
You realize, of course, that I grew up with a brother, and like many others who have close relationships with kin, we were quick to detect and capitalize on what we noticed to piss the other off...
This about the point where you get to pass the ranch?
Yeah, the bottle usually ends up ricocheting off one of our heads, compliments of the other brother. However, that's only if its the two of us eating. We'd never do that in front of company.
As long as you don't hide it in each other's valleys I guess no harm done.
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