And all through the house, Richie was bidding a 2018 farewell to all.
To the cockatiel "Lady Bird: This is the last morning I'll uncover you in 2018 …
To Fred the cat: "This is the last morning I'll let you out on the balcony in 2018 …
To me, the wife: "Ahhh, this is the last cup of coffee I'll have in 2018."
And mildly irritated because I know this is just the start of a very long day, I said, "Honest to Gawd Richie, if you stepped on an ant, you'd want to have a funeral for it!"
I left him upstairs and came down to the office, knowing full well that he was looking for an ant to honor. I doubt if he could find it in his heart to step on it though.
Monday, December 31, 2018
Sunday, December 30, 2018
Green-ifying Cremation and the Mafia
In yet another thing we can do to (presumably) save the earth is commit to a water cremation while we're still around to do the paperwork.
The Mafia has been doing a sort of unofficial water cremation since the '20s. It consists of committing the deceased as is to an endless dip in an ocean, river, lake or other suitable body of water. For variety they also practice letting Mother Nature have her way with the deceased in any handy forest or woods.
But the Greenies have refined the process - the deceased is contained in a steel pod with liquids for alkaline hydrosis which destroys all flesh. In as little as four hours the body is reduced to nice, clean bones which are then ground into powder which is then returned to the relatives. The substance left is described as looking like ivory-colored powdered sugar.
The Mafia, having few chemists among themselves instead put the body not in a fancy steel pod but in an empty oil barrel or similar and fill up the spaces left with concrete. Let set and get out the boat
I mention the above because in the news was the fact that outbound California Governor Moonbeam signed AB957 to do it. Several other states have already okayed it.
Check out the 1973 movie "Soylent Green" if you want a real horror movie. You may want to invest in a couple of oil barrels...
The Mafia has been doing a sort of unofficial water cremation since the '20s. It consists of committing the deceased as is to an endless dip in an ocean, river, lake or other suitable body of water. For variety they also practice letting Mother Nature have her way with the deceased in any handy forest or woods.
But the Greenies have refined the process - the deceased is contained in a steel pod with liquids for alkaline hydrosis which destroys all flesh. In as little as four hours the body is reduced to nice, clean bones which are then ground into powder which is then returned to the relatives. The substance left is described as looking like ivory-colored powdered sugar.
The Mafia, having few chemists among themselves instead put the body not in a fancy steel pod but in an empty oil barrel or similar and fill up the spaces left with concrete. Let set and get out the boat
I mention the above because in the news was the fact that outbound California Governor Moonbeam signed AB957 to do it. Several other states have already okayed it.
Check out the 1973 movie "Soylent Green" if you want a real horror movie. You may want to invest in a couple of oil barrels...
Saturday, December 29, 2018
Headline: Parachute Fails - Victor Vermillion Survives a 750-Foot Leap
Who is Victor Vermillion and why should you care? He was my Dad. My younger sister was going through old papers - a kind of New Year's thing to do - and she came across this news item. I quote it below in it's entirety.
"Many folks around Yates Center, KS, will remember Victor Vermillion and his 750 ft. leap when his parachute failed to open. Victor pulled off this thriller at Moline, KS, 14 years ago. He is now employed at Pratt and Whitney Aircraft Corp., Kansas City, and the story leaked out at the plant through a friend.
The Wasp Nest, a magazine published by the Pratt and Whitney Co., published this story concerning Victor. (Ed. note - my Dad was always called Vic or Dick - his sisters used to make him crazy by calling him "Dicky Bird")
"The way Victor Vermillion of our Production Engineering staff looks at life, nothing can happen to him, no matter how painful or joyous, to destroy the inner tranquility of his soul. This is no passing mood with him, either. He's felt that way since June 29, 1930. (So he was 26 and this article was written in 1944.)
A friend of his came around to see us the other day and said Vermillion went his way among his associate operation sheet writers, quiet and composed. "Why," said the friend, "they didn't have an inkling that here was a man - the first man in history, so records say - who survived a 750 ft. leap when his parachute failed to open."
We looked up Vermillion, and sure enough, he is as placid as a cornfield in July. He lost all tendency toward excitability, he said, at Moline, KS, 14 years ago when he pinch-jumped for a parachutist who failed to appear in the air circus he was serving as a pilot. Vermillion began his jump at 1,500 ft. but he couldn't extricate until the 750 ft. mark. Then his 'chute failed him. We asked how it felt to fall that far? "Just like you were falling 750 ft." Vermillion said reasonably.
"Had he hit in a lake or a feather bed?"
"In a cornfield," Vermillion said calmly.
"My God, man," we said, with considerable agitation. "Weren't you hurt?"
"Broke every bone in my body," he replied thoughtfully. He pondered a minute and went on, "Of course later some bird out in California survived a malfunctioning parachute, too. He fell into some telephone wires. I imagine he's like me. Nothing much exciting can ever happen to him again." End of article.
Daddy like most males was never loathe to make a story just a leetle bit more interesting by embroidering a few of the details. Such as: He didn't break every bone in his body. He did turn his rt. ankle and heel into "scrambled eggs" and a rt. thigh break in several places. The doctors wanted to amputate, but I wouldn't let them. Only my tailor knows that leg is 3/4 in. (me) " "a foot and a half" my sister.
He was in the hospital for a couple of months and "when I got out I weighed 120 lbs. But I was still 6 ft. 1 in. tall - on the left leg."
"Placid as a cornfield in July"? Hah! He had a hair trigger quick temper, and five minutes later he wondered aloud what was wrong with you? He'd made his complaint (vociferously), everything was clear; let's get on with it.
"Many folks around Yates Center, KS, will remember Victor Vermillion and his 750 ft. leap when his parachute failed to open. Victor pulled off this thriller at Moline, KS, 14 years ago. He is now employed at Pratt and Whitney Aircraft Corp., Kansas City, and the story leaked out at the plant through a friend.
The Wasp Nest, a magazine published by the Pratt and Whitney Co., published this story concerning Victor. (Ed. note - my Dad was always called Vic or Dick - his sisters used to make him crazy by calling him "Dicky Bird")
"The way Victor Vermillion of our Production Engineering staff looks at life, nothing can happen to him, no matter how painful or joyous, to destroy the inner tranquility of his soul. This is no passing mood with him, either. He's felt that way since June 29, 1930. (So he was 26 and this article was written in 1944.)
A friend of his came around to see us the other day and said Vermillion went his way among his associate operation sheet writers, quiet and composed. "Why," said the friend, "they didn't have an inkling that here was a man - the first man in history, so records say - who survived a 750 ft. leap when his parachute failed to open."
We looked up Vermillion, and sure enough, he is as placid as a cornfield in July. He lost all tendency toward excitability, he said, at Moline, KS, 14 years ago when he pinch-jumped for a parachutist who failed to appear in the air circus he was serving as a pilot. Vermillion began his jump at 1,500 ft. but he couldn't extricate until the 750 ft. mark. Then his 'chute failed him. We asked how it felt to fall that far? "Just like you were falling 750 ft." Vermillion said reasonably.
"Had he hit in a lake or a feather bed?"
"In a cornfield," Vermillion said calmly.
"My God, man," we said, with considerable agitation. "Weren't you hurt?"
"Broke every bone in my body," he replied thoughtfully. He pondered a minute and went on, "Of course later some bird out in California survived a malfunctioning parachute, too. He fell into some telephone wires. I imagine he's like me. Nothing much exciting can ever happen to him again." End of article.
Daddy like most males was never loathe to make a story just a leetle bit more interesting by embroidering a few of the details. Such as: He didn't break every bone in his body. He did turn his rt. ankle and heel into "scrambled eggs" and a rt. thigh break in several places. The doctors wanted to amputate, but I wouldn't let them. Only my tailor knows that leg is 3/4 in. (me) " "a foot and a half" my sister.
He was in the hospital for a couple of months and "when I got out I weighed 120 lbs. But I was still 6 ft. 1 in. tall - on the left leg."
"Placid as a cornfield in July"? Hah! He had a hair trigger quick temper, and five minutes later he wondered aloud what was wrong with you? He'd made his complaint (vociferously), everything was clear; let's get on with it.
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Is Vladimar Putin Gay?
I'm beginning to believe he is (and there's nothing wrong with that.) In fact, I think an "openly gay" (stupid phrase) President of any country you want to claim would be perfectly fine.
As for my own suspicions ...we rarely get to see him wearing a shirt. Granted that age 66, he does look to be in shape, Putsie, you might want to look into some quick breast removal surgery. The arms look fine; cannot report on the state of whether he has legs or not; never seen them
And then today - the issuance of the Vladimir Putin Calendar of 2019! Surely as happy a day in Russia as the Nouvelle Beaujolais arrival is in France. O/T I've never understood why - it's a really shitty wine. Acid, sour … Rise up Pinot Grigio!
Scenes from actual 2019 calendar photos show him: on a dock, gingerly holding up a biggish dead fish, the fish-holding arm holding it shows off his well turned arms. The expression on his face defines repulsion.
In a swank ornate room, holding up a treat for a blond and white dog that is (on his back legs as tall as Putin.) He owns three great big dogs. Apparently the most photogenic got the photo opp.
His annual private polar bear swim is faithfully documented. He appears to be standing inside a sort of cattle pen with in the background a trio of men in floor-length winter coats in case you miss the point that IT'S COLD! out here!
The most entertaining shot was Putin riding a bear (yes, you read that right) in a forest with another bear in the somewhat distant tree line. The bear looks comfortable and, of course, Putin is giving his usual stern expression. As in, "Where I spit, no grass ever grows."
Curious as to what a normal day would be for him, I discovered that he stays up very, very late and doesn't get up until noon when he is served breakfast - varies from porridge or omelet with quail eggs and juice on the side. His favorite ice cream flavor is pistachio. Because it's a hard nut to crack just like him? When he's finished, he has his coffee.
And then he might workout in his private gym (his workout clothing being a plain white t-shirt and a pair of track pants said to have cost $3,200 - clearly Target has not gone to Russia yet ) or swim for two hours (an aide says he gets his best ideas while swimming) or he might schedule an ice hockey game with his bodyguards. You think they give him as good as they get? Not on your tintype. Beat Putin and spend the rest of your life bragging about it from prison would be my guess.
What made me write this column was a shot of Putin and a younger (probably mid-30s) man toasting each other with raised coffee cups. The look they're giving each other tells it all or did to me. But Putin married Ludmilla in 1983 when he was 31 and divorced in 2014. He has two or three daughters (no one has ever penetrated the steel curtain of privacy that he demands) to find out for sure. Thus the guy in the photo of the toasting gents is NOT a son of his. But clearly on very good terms indeed. Good for Putsie! Score for the home team!
As for my own suspicions ...we rarely get to see him wearing a shirt. Granted that age 66, he does look to be in shape, Putsie, you might want to look into some quick breast removal surgery. The arms look fine; cannot report on the state of whether he has legs or not; never seen them
And then today - the issuance of the Vladimir Putin Calendar of 2019! Surely as happy a day in Russia as the Nouvelle Beaujolais arrival is in France. O/T I've never understood why - it's a really shitty wine. Acid, sour … Rise up Pinot Grigio!
Scenes from actual 2019 calendar photos show him: on a dock, gingerly holding up a biggish dead fish, the fish-holding arm holding it shows off his well turned arms. The expression on his face defines repulsion.
In a swank ornate room, holding up a treat for a blond and white dog that is (on his back legs as tall as Putin.) He owns three great big dogs. Apparently the most photogenic got the photo opp.
His annual private polar bear swim is faithfully documented. He appears to be standing inside a sort of cattle pen with in the background a trio of men in floor-length winter coats in case you miss the point that IT'S COLD! out here!
The most entertaining shot was Putin riding a bear (yes, you read that right) in a forest with another bear in the somewhat distant tree line. The bear looks comfortable and, of course, Putin is giving his usual stern expression. As in, "Where I spit, no grass ever grows."
Curious as to what a normal day would be for him, I discovered that he stays up very, very late and doesn't get up until noon when he is served breakfast - varies from porridge or omelet with quail eggs and juice on the side. His favorite ice cream flavor is pistachio. Because it's a hard nut to crack just like him? When he's finished, he has his coffee.
And then he might workout in his private gym (his workout clothing being a plain white t-shirt and a pair of track pants said to have cost $3,200 - clearly Target has not gone to Russia yet ) or swim for two hours (an aide says he gets his best ideas while swimming) or he might schedule an ice hockey game with his bodyguards. You think they give him as good as they get? Not on your tintype. Beat Putin and spend the rest of your life bragging about it from prison would be my guess.
What made me write this column was a shot of Putin and a younger (probably mid-30s) man toasting each other with raised coffee cups. The look they're giving each other tells it all or did to me. But Putin married Ludmilla in 1983 when he was 31 and divorced in 2014. He has two or three daughters (no one has ever penetrated the steel curtain of privacy that he demands) to find out for sure. Thus the guy in the photo of the toasting gents is NOT a son of his. But clearly on very good terms indeed. Good for Putsie! Score for the home team!
Wednesday, December 26, 2018
Post-Christmas Report
In this morning's news:
Woman throws Christmas ham at dinner at home of woman in argument over dinner.
Woman throws Christmas tree at another one during argument Christmas Day dinner.
California marijuana sales five times greater over Christmas holiday say retailers.
It occurred to me that if ever marijuana was "needed" it would be at these two women's houses. And no doubt other homes on Christmas Day. Make a note for next year - be prepared!
Woman throws Christmas ham at dinner at home of woman in argument over dinner.
Woman throws Christmas tree at another one during argument Christmas Day dinner.
California marijuana sales five times greater over Christmas holiday say retailers.
It occurred to me that if ever marijuana was "needed" it would be at these two women's houses. And no doubt other homes on Christmas Day. Make a note for next year - be prepared!
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Today - December 25th!
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
From a Couple who may
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