Sunday, April 04, 2010

5, 50, 500 miles? Get out and ride!

That, or go psycho!

You have honey-doos, mom in law is in da house, along with nieces and nephews you didn't even know you had: At some point, you have to crank up the putt, and get away! Stick around, and you may be given an apron or handed a rake.
Escape now!

Who gets your kidney? All three of 'em. Divide it into equal portions..


Shakin' off all them oysters..


No, we didn't quite kill the whole bushel. About 3 dozen survivors. Of all the thousands and thousands of oysters which have passed the gates of the kid's pearly whites over the years, this bushel was so tasty, the act of knockin' them down had to be illegal somewhere, and likely is, especially when and if the stupid food and drug admin gets it's way and forces the fish houses to flash freeze them prior to sale. That will double or triple the cost of a bushel, drive customers like me away, and the some of the hardest-working commercial fishermen in the world, out of business, and for what? The whim of people, most of whom have likely never even tasted an oyster, sort of like the sausage making process involved in cranking out unnecessary motorcycle laws.

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