At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Saturday, July 01, 2017

YOUR EYES ARE RED AND YOUR BREATH SMELLS LIKE A MIDDEN

On Thursday a woman hollering that she had gotten an abortion at the Seven Eleven "just over there last night" was arrested on the front lawn.
She was adamant, and informed the sheriff that it had happened against her will. The sheriff showed amazing self-control. In addition to great restraint.
I would have straightforwardly informed her that whatever abortions had taken place in her life were in the best interests of the baby.
I am all heart that way.

As far as I know, that particular Seven Eleven ain't done abortions in years.

I would rather not know what she imagined her visit to 7-11 entailed.

My guess would be Olde English Eight hundred.

Followed by a sugar fit.

She had been by the previous day, when instinctively I let her bend the ear of the elderly hippie biker while I found something important which needed doing right away. It was at least ten minutes before he realized what he had gotten himself into. See, that's what you get when you're a Marin-type; you don't recognize space aliens when they're right in front of you. You think that's normal. You converse. A very big mistake.
Free-Masons are lizard mutants.
I'm from San Francisco.
We snarl instead.
Or bite.



Today we were honoured with a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Crackhead. Or maybe it was 'mom' Crackhead and her son Bubba Crackhead.
Or Matron and Gigolo Crackhead. Crackhead royalty.

Twenty minutes.

Different co-worker. A very tolerant man.



Earlier, one of my co-workers wondered irritatedly how long a certain patron was going to be in the bathroom. What I muttered under my breath was that middle aged men take a while. See, unlike you women, who drop a quick one and scoot off before the predators find you, the male of the species is confidently marking his territory. That takes time. In fact, some of these cigar smokers need to waggle around and rub their pulpy behinds on the vertical surfaces, poor dears, because their bad habits have killed their sense of smell. They're handicapped, besides being horrid beasts.
Some of them have mental problems. Escaped lunatics.
They need to be beaten viciously.
As a form of suasion.

I was in my own corner at the time, futsing around with a meerschaum pipe that needed restoration. We pipe smokers are different. Kind of sane.
We are quick, and clean.

We are more powerful than any number of cigar smokers.
All of this (gestures expansively) is our territory.
We have no need to mark anything.
Just so you know.

The meerschaum pipe looks much better now.
Cleaned it up, removed the gunk.
I also rewaxed it.


We pipe smokers are mostly very sober individuals with good habits and above average manners, morals, and intelligence.
Sensible and perspicacious.




On a different note, my apartment mate has acquired a two and a half foot tall penguin with velvet feet to guard her room while she is at work. On Wednesday (she is off on the fourth) I shall take the fellow aside and explain to him that as a pipe smoker I am in no way like those cigar smokers.

I have gravitas. He'll understand.




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