20 July 2006

No, I did not fail to repair!

It is 06:23 GMT, 21 July 2006. Finally able to get a connection. It is a dark and stormy night here in the desert, thanks to global warming, no doubt. From the darkness of my LP/OP I can hear the scurrying of the beetles and it makes me wonder if yet another rabbit has fallen into one of the window wells. I think, for just a moment, that I might get up and go down into the bunker and look, but I’ve been fasting for a whole twenty-three minutes now and I fear using too much energy unecessarily. Besides, in an emergency, that rabbit could be used as an alternative food source. Hmmmm. So can the beetles, for that matter. Rabbits probably taste better.

UPDATE: I doubt very much that beetles taste like chicken.

UPDATE: What about centipedes? I’ve seen two or three in the last couple of days.

UPDATE: What if we could build tanks that moved around like centipedes? They’re so cool. So are tanks. I wonder: If I’m ever in that area, would the Master Gunner fix it so I could drive a tank again for awhile? That would be so cool.

UPDATE: So would Tank Gunnery.

UPDATE: I was going to go Infantry. Then the recruiter showed me that demo tape of the M1. That recruiter was okay, I guess. For an MP. No offence MP’s. (Okay, but really, nobody likes you. Don’t blame me. I’m just the messenger.)

UPDATE: Of course, my feelings for terrorists make my feelings for MPs look like puppy love.

UPDATE: Should my mirror have a sign above it that says, "Warning: Persons in the mirror are uglier than they appear"?

UPDATE: No. My wife might think it was referring to her.

UPDATE: I’ll think I’ll watch an episode of Deep Space Nine.

UPDATE “Looking for par Mach in all the wrong places.”

UPDATE: Parachutes are cool, too. I wish I could go to Jump School again. That was a blast. I wish I could have learned HALO too. That looks awesome.

UPDATE: I still think I could have made it through the Q Course. Damned frostbitten hands!

UPDATE: Damned knee!

UPDATE: Damned ankle!

UPDATE: I’m glad my stomach doesn’t rest in my lap when I sit down. Where does your lap go when you stand up?

UPDATE: P. S. Although I am entered this period of fasting of my own free will, and fully knowledgeable of the risks involved in going 24 hours without eating I wish to declare my intention, should anything go wrong, to blame President Bush, Vice President Cheney, and SECDEF Rumsfeld. After all, this is their fault; they got us into this illegal war for oil in the first place. Had they not done so, Cindy Sheehan would still be a nobody; and this fast wouldn’t be necessary. (Besides, blaming the President has gotten to be such a fad that I can no longer bear to be left out.)

UPDATE: I’m still pissed off about Somalia.

UPDATE: P. P. S. Sweetie, should anything happen to me I just want to make sure that you are the one who ends up with my collection of Robert Ludlum novels.

UPDATE: “Sweetie” is what I call my daughter, not my wife. What I call my wife is classified.

UPDATE: Those beetles are making me hungry.

UPDATE: When I started up Deep Space Nine, I caught some coverage of some place in Israel which must have been bombed recently. Was that a cow carcass there in the background? Mmmmm. Barbecue.

UPDATE: I better go check on that rabbit. (It’s the humane thing to do.)

UPDATE: But first, the Tobermory!

UPDATE: Whew! Those steps may as well have been Mt. Everest! (I’ve never realized how dark it is down there, even with the lights on.) Those weren’t beetles. The wind from the storm is making the concertina wire rub against the building.

UPDATE: No rabbits either.

UPDATE: I find myself prepared seriously to consider the proposition that MREs really are an alternative source of food.

UPDATE: Ugh! It’s amazing what a picture of Cindy Sheehan will do to a man’s appetite. Why do I do such things to myself? At least she was dressed!

UPDATE: Was that woman ever attractive? She reminds me (with all due respect to her son [MHRIP] of my sixth grade homeroom teacher, Ms. Glore. We called her Mistress Galore. (Get it?) She made my skin crawl. Right now I’d like to give her a big, fat, wet kiss. (That would probably make her lifetime! And my wife jealous! Better not.)

UPDATE: Ms. Glore, that is. Not Cindy Sheehan!

UPDATE: Must have more Tobermory. I wonder what Mr. Sheehan drinks. Whatever it is, I should send him a case.

UPDATE: Klingon chicks are sooooooooooooooo glorious.

UPDATE: I’m glad my wife doesn’t read this blog.

UPDATE: Is it a bad thing that my wife doesn’t read my blog?

UPDATE: I really like the fact that my shoulder-girdle area is 15 inches larger than my waste. Does that make me vain?

UPDATE: Twenty-three hours to go.

UPDATE: Oops! As it turns out, my wife does read this blog. Gotta go!

UPDATE: Suddenly I can't stop thinking about huevos rancheros!

UPDATE: Wow! Flash flood warning out here in the desert! (I need to go down into the bunker and check on the, uh, beetles and rabbits.)

UPDATE: I forgot: beetles float!

UPDATE: Don't they?

UPDATE: Join my band of manly men, and you too shall have a manly laugh like this: Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!

UPDATE: Nothing personal ladies. I like my ladies womanly, not manly, with womanly laughs, or giggles. Or whatever.

UPDATE: Unless they are like Klingon women. Ka' plah!!!

UPDATE: Well that was a knock-about of pure fun. Now it's time for that cornish hen. And the blood wine!


Nora said...

You should blog like this more often, Snuffy.

About Me

James Frank Solís
Former soldier (USA). Graduate-level educated. Married 26 years. Texas ex-patriate. Ruling elder in the Presbyterian Church in America.
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