Thursday, March 31, 2005
coniglio del coniglio del coniglio
'tis fun sucking air. Awful glad I wasn't married to slimeball M. Schiavo. Wonder how much of the $2,250,000 went into his pocket (and the shysters) vs. the zero that went into a MRI or PET scan of the gal he tortured to death. CT scans are rather crude. Mostly old tech and pretty good for observing fractures. Just X-rays more-or-less 3-D. If indeed she was cognizant even a bit, the thought of dying so miserably over such a protracted time ranks right up there with the worst the GRU ever did. Too many comments on too many blogs to continue these thoughts but the respect for the "appointed" black-robed ones has not been very high on this end for 19 years. Now it has fallen to zero. Supreme judicial prejudice. Failed ambulance chasers. Fuck them.
'nuff
* * * * * *
Time for good stuff. My little wolfen got to join Cookie and Rima as an outside dawg when the wet weather broke. Much sadness the first eve, no proper place to put her muddy paw in (my mouf' ;o). Small, but very loud heart-breaking wolf howls; didn't give in. Almost did many times. Nope. Abby and Rima are holy terrors now. Rima has reverted to puppyhood and Abby is teaching her to see around corners. I'm dead meat. Cookie just watches but occasionally she comes out from under cover and the big paw plus the growl resets the rules! I love it!
My thoughts roam all over the place. It has been a very long time since I've lived with another and my visits to the township have been mostly just monthly for supplies. The net was adopted as soon as it was available even if downloads typically were around 300 baud. Used to "surf" the internet via ham radio through a fella in Colorado that put up a 2400 baud link on 20 meters. Kinda busy as you might imagine.
One of the thoughts involves friends. Mostly they are self-selecting. I got a nasty run a bunch of years ago when a few that I had sponsored for years had selected me as a nice, ripe, patsy. Expensive. Not fun. Those useless folk finished the job of me becoming a non-sponsor of folk. I do NOT recommend my reaction. Hermit life is quite acceptable but if one lives it for a number of years, it becomes so preferable that contact with other critters that actually speak English causes unpleasent reactions. Three years is probably the maximum to go hermit. It's tough re-joining. Robinson Crusoe syndrome. Extremely self-critical. Also, very much wanting to re-join. It's also not fun getting out of many years of very black depression. So many good years, thought they would last forever. Shit hits the fan, then 3 friends commit suicide, then, my horror hit AFTER the ultimate shits, the cocaine-powered wetback slime crippled me forever, took me out for a decade. After my dear friend Nina (my former wife that has the legal right to pull my feeding tube) found a way to improve my broken body, we got un-married. Every now and then one or the other of us asks the other to get married. Fortunately we remember. NFW!
I love her dearly. Been trying to marry her off for years since she's got the brains to not have me!. Stories, but she's got the blog addy (and the pass words for this and all my sites plus ALL my PIN codes! ;o). She's been doin' the same but a bit different; find "loving wife" stuff.
No chance with her and I. Wasn't really back in 1986 if I'd just quit. Looong story but her and I were dead meat as mates two months after we married. We were friends and lovers before the fucking mexicans tore me up. She couldn't know the Los Alamos project at all (sucks, especially since she'd been vetted quite well) and I'd finished my share. Damn, that job was fun (except for the mil batshit. ...and the suicides. Can't blame them; poor sensitive souls..)
I swore off mil jobs in 1973. Good tech, bad usage by serious shits. Good tech, good use by good shits, Class 1, highly approved. '73 stuff, not good at all. There are a few folk that might read this that actually understand.
'nuff for the moment.
* * * * * *
'nuff
* * * * * *
Time for good stuff. My little wolfen got to join Cookie and Rima as an outside dawg when the wet weather broke. Much sadness the first eve, no proper place to put her muddy paw in (my mouf' ;o). Small, but very loud heart-breaking wolf howls; didn't give in. Almost did many times. Nope. Abby and Rima are holy terrors now. Rima has reverted to puppyhood and Abby is teaching her to see around corners. I'm dead meat. Cookie just watches but occasionally she comes out from under cover and the big paw plus the growl resets the rules! I love it!
My thoughts roam all over the place. It has been a very long time since I've lived with another and my visits to the township have been mostly just monthly for supplies. The net was adopted as soon as it was available even if downloads typically were around 300 baud. Used to "surf" the internet via ham radio through a fella in Colorado that put up a 2400 baud link on 20 meters. Kinda busy as you might imagine.
One of the thoughts involves friends. Mostly they are self-selecting. I got a nasty run a bunch of years ago when a few that I had sponsored for years had selected me as a nice, ripe, patsy. Expensive. Not fun. Those useless folk finished the job of me becoming a non-sponsor of folk. I do NOT recommend my reaction. Hermit life is quite acceptable but if one lives it for a number of years, it becomes so preferable that contact with other critters that actually speak English causes unpleasent reactions. Three years is probably the maximum to go hermit. It's tough re-joining. Robinson Crusoe syndrome. Extremely self-critical. Also, very much wanting to re-join. It's also not fun getting out of many years of very black depression. So many good years, thought they would last forever. Shit hits the fan, then 3 friends commit suicide, then, my horror hit AFTER the ultimate shits, the cocaine-powered wetback slime crippled me forever, took me out for a decade. After my dear friend Nina (my former wife that has the legal right to pull my feeding tube) found a way to improve my broken body, we got un-married. Every now and then one or the other of us asks the other to get married. Fortunately we remember. NFW!
I love her dearly. Been trying to marry her off for years since she's got the brains to not have me!. Stories, but she's got the blog addy (and the pass words for this and all my sites plus ALL my PIN codes! ;o). She's been doin' the same but a bit different; find "loving wife" stuff.
No chance with her and I. Wasn't really back in 1986 if I'd just quit. Looong story but her and I were dead meat as mates two months after we married. We were friends and lovers before the fucking mexicans tore me up. She couldn't know the Los Alamos project at all (sucks, especially since she'd been vetted quite well) and I'd finished my share. Damn, that job was fun (except for the mil batshit. ...and the suicides. Can't blame them; poor sensitive souls..)
I swore off mil jobs in 1973. Good tech, bad usage by serious shits. Good tech, good use by good shits, Class 1, highly approved. '73 stuff, not good at all. There are a few folk that might read this that actually understand.
'nuff for the moment.
* * * * * *
