In an editorial in the NY Post today the writer shares this story;
BUTTERFLY HATER
When I was a teenager, strangers would sometimes stop in front of our house to take pictures of our front yard. We lived on a run-down street with no sidewalks or paved driveways in what was then a low-income neighborhood in a low-income town 45 minutes outside Orlando. But people didn’t stop because of the poverty. They stopped for my mom’s butterfly garden.
I cannot name every plant she grew, but I remember her telling me once that our tiny yard drew every kind of butterfly that migrated through Central Florida. When the flowers were in bloom and the butterflies were in attendance, our home looked like a Monet come to life.
But not everybody liked the garden. One day the man who owned the rental house next door informed my mother that he thought she should tear it down and have a normal yard like everybody else on the block. In his opinion, the best way to maintain a lawn was to mow the grass down to the nub every two weeks. After their initial conversation, he pressured my mom to raze her garden whenever he visited his rental property.
She didn’t have to appease him. We didn’t live in a subdivision and weren’t bound by the rules of a homeowner’s association. But my mom is a peacemaker, and so she had my brother and I put up a trellis between his yard and ours to create a visual barrier. We thought that would do it. We were wrong.
Six months later, a code enforcement officer paid us a visit. The man who owned the house next door had filed a complaint, claiming he’d seen a rodent scuttle into and out of the garden. (This was probably true! A good garden is home to more than just a few plants.)
After touring the yard with my mom, the code enforcement officer informed her that we would need to tear most of it down. My mom pleaded and explained that the wild flowers sustained butterflies and bees and that there was order in the apparent wildness. She had, after all, designed and planted the entire thing.
The city gave her a week to clear the yard. After that, she would be fined several hundred dollars a day until our yard looked as militantly minimalist as the lawn next door. Broke as hell and busy raising two boys on her own, my mom ran a push mower through the most beautiful garden in town. Afterward, she wept.
POPCORN HATER
He then shares a story that happened just last week, when just ONE piece of shit citizen complained about popcorn. An independent hardware store owner — in business for 25 years — offered free popcorn to his customers. Then one busybody piece of shit complained.
Then the San Diego County Department of Environmental Health told the owner he could no longer offer free popcorn to customers unless he installed kitchen equipment and submitted to regular inspections
KID COPFUKS
Did you know that at the turn of the 20th century, “Boy Police” patrols sprouted throughout the United States? Yeah, crime was rising, so adult copfuks recruited kid copfuks to help them find “criminals”. For example, the Des Moines Boy Police, formed in 1909 when the state of Iowa passed laws against shooting fireworks at Fourth of July celebrations, recruited hundred of Kid Snitches to rat out thousands of their friends. Then these Little Shits were encouraged by Big Shits to “track down” other youthful “criminals” who committed such felonies as swearing or, defacing sidewalks with chalk!
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Q1: Have you ever been snitched on?
Q2: Did you ever snitch on anyone?
Q3: What should be done to snitches?
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Me?
Q1: Yes. I once had a sales job, and I worked with a guy who was a complete fucking lying snake-oil salesman. I loathed him as I have few others in my life. To make matters worse, he sat right next to me, and I had to listen to his lying bullshit all day long. So, one slow morning he’s writing a marketing letter in order to, of course, drum up some business. Naturally, it was filled with moar bullshit and lies. It’s been over ten years but, iirc, his closing line was something to the effect — “I am different than other salespeople you’ll meet because my main goal is your needs, not mine. This is a win-win for both of us!”. Krist Almighty, I can still smell the bullshit. Anyway, this piece of fiction writing must have exhausted him as he went to the cafeteria for coffee and a doughnut. I decided to make a minor correction — wink wink. So, I changed the above to — ” I am different than other salespeople you’ll meet because I will admit my main goal is to fuck you over with excessive fees. This is a win-win for both of us!”.
I know … I am a bad man. But, look … I thought the jackass would proof read his work!! The jackass did not. It was a 500 piece mailing. A few days pass, and people start calling in to complain about the letter. The owner went totally apeshit ballistic. He wanted to fire everybody in that section … and even file some criminal charges, if possible. He did an investigation … interviewed everybody in that area. Well, some rat said he saw me sitting at this dude’s computer, and told the boss that both “Vinnie” and I hated each other. Of course, I denied it and, he couldn’t prove it. Nevertheless, there were no better candidates, and I was promptly fired.
Q2: Nope. Never.
Q3: It all depends on the severity of punishments coming your way for being ratted out and, also, if you can get away with administering said punishment. So, sometimes a snitch needs to be killed. Other times, a severe ass-kicking will suffice. And in all cases, at least a minor ass-kicking is called for. Of course, all these things can land you in hot water. So, alternatively, you might just secretly elect to fuck up his shit … like, burning down his house. This does not make me evil cuz even that Great Russian is in agreement;
“Kill the stoolie!” That was it, the vital link! A knife in the heart of the stoolie! Make knives and cut the stoolie’s throats — that was it!
—- “The Gulag Archipelago” by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
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Further Reading: “Snitch Culture: How Citizens Are Turned Into The Eyes And Ears Of The State”
Yes, threatened with “I’ll call the cops” for parking a tractor trailer in the neighborhood to unload household goods. Happened many times.
Usually, I tried to be polite and / or ignored them. The obnoxious ones? I flipped the asshole a quarter and told them the call to the cops is free, the call to someone who cares is on me.
NO. Threatened a drug-dealing neighbor. Told him the whole neighborhood was taking photos and plate numbers for every car (and person) that stopped at his house. If bad things happened in the neighborhood it would all go to the PD.
Snitches aren’t the root of the problem, the cops and bureaucrats who pimp the snitching are. Mrs. Grundy won’t come to the door, or bitch at you over the fence. The FIRST call is to the government.
People don’t have the balls to go face to face anymore, and find out what is going on. No personal relationship with close neighbors. It’s easier to call the HOA, zoning, building permits, the water waste snitch line, etc.
That’s how the gun control assholes are too. Get someone else to do your dirty work.
Snitches get stitches.
Supposedly West Virginia once was the #1 state where snitches were found laying in ditches, way beyond having any stitches.
Stucky: Your Q1 story was priceless. I’ve been fired twice in my working life and both times it was worth the cost. Great article. When you spoke of your mom weeping after mowing down her garden it damn near bought me to tears. Have a good weekend brother.
Thanks, pal.
My Q1 story is actually way funnier than what I wrote, but I didn’t want to drag it out. The really funny part? The first day when the angry calls started coming in! Recall that I sat right next to Vinnie, so I heard the calls … and the look on Vinnies face? … well, a couple times I had to leave my workstation cuz I could barely keep it together.
Also, a clarification. The lawnmower story is not about my mom. That was a story in today’s NY Post, and it was the author’s mom.
My misread. Guess I better stay away from signing any contracts, huh? Well, as Kipling wrote: “for I’m old and I’m nervous and I’m cast from the service” 🙂
Yes….I was snitched on
At work, our upper organization (several departments) printed a weekly BS of what great actions/events were accomplished. I had to submit a weekly list of my accomplishments to the Dept. Mgr. I got so sick of the nonsense that eventually I wound up fabricating accomplishments. More than one got published which was read across the Division.
No one ever challenged the yarns I invented.
Eventually I snitched on myself –
That’s hysterical.
At IKEA, a few of us knew they were going to fire one of our construction managers in the near future. HR ran an idiotic employee of the month competition. One of us nominated the construction manager and we got a bunch of people to vote for him. He won employee of the month and then got fired one month later.
A second class petty officer I knew was named sailor of the year. Name daily on front of Plan of the Day. Hot runner was told to put a package in for commissioning as a Limited Duty Officer when he got to first class petty officer. Someone snitched and he was found in a Guam gay bar by NCIS. Name removed from Plan of Day and him from Navy. I don’t think he admonished his charges by calling them cork soakers like other sailors did.
Got a hankering that your tale would have been a lot funnier if you had written it differently and with more detail. Seems it was written for a limited audience.
Perhaps you are right, but most with that have been around would have picked up on it. I, figured with NCIS being a msm show it didn’t have to be spelled out. I did know a lady that spent her whle life in her Nebraska county without leaving it. I wasn’t telling it for her types.
Admin…..I should have added to my story that the fake accomplishments were ridiculous for anyone that knew anything about the process involved.
Actually, they were so blatantly ridiculous that I was astonished they were published.
Robots everywhere
Q1. Yes, by one of my sister’s friends. This friend was a grade below me and just started at the same college I was at. So I offered the grand tour around town, let’s go to some parties, come back to my place (I was living off campus), I could help her prep for the sex-ed portion freshman health class (yes, they have to do these at colleges now), and so-on. She was being wishy-washy about the whole thing ‘oh, I don’t know…maybe I will, maybe I won’t…’ so I said ‘smell yah later, I’ve got better things to do than waste my time groveling before a tease.’ That must have pissed her off, because an hour later, my sister calls me. “You said you were going to do WHAT to so-and-so?!!! Oh-my-God, you are so gross…” Moral of the story: don’t flirt with your sister’s friends.
Q2. Yes, after all options were exercised. Same off-campus apartment, three new guys move into the unit next door. Dirtiest, nastiest, bad-tempered, sketchiest, meanest trio with acidic, caustic curry body odor that burned your nose, that you ever did see. Music at 3AM that shakes the walls. Visitors at strange hours and all hours. The units shared a back porch, and they’d leave their overflow garbage there. And always a thick, funky odor coming through the vents. We tried talking to them directly, and got told to fuck off. We talked to management and they said there wasn’t much they could do. It is surprisingly hard to evict people. So for a few weeks we took pictures of their visitors license plates. After a few weeks, another try at the neighbors, and another try at management, we called the anonymous campus P.D. line and sent them the photos. The State Patrol raided the place, turns out I’d been living next to drug dealers.
Q3. It depends on the severity of the snitching, and then what you are capable of pulling off. Burning their house down if warranted sure, but some people aren’t tall enough for that ride. I find the best method is a good public shaming. That friend that tattled on me to my sister, I put the word out to my buddies, and them to theirs, that so-and-so is a tease, that she will string you along for a country mile, and leave your nuts the color of blueberries after you’ve blown time and money on tickets, dinner, and gas. After the first two weeks of class, my sister calls and demands to know what I did. “So-and-so is having such a hard time. None of the guys in her classes will talk to her! What did you do?!!!” I just told everyone the truth sis. What they make of it is their own business.
In third grade, I snitched on a classmate who had stood up on the bus and gave our principal the “finger” after lecturing us for acting up on the school bus ride home.
I was held in the principal’s office to witness him getting three licks with the principal’s leather strap.
I never forgot it. Neither did he. He blames me for all his miserable life decisions.
I will admit I do feel a pang of guilt sometimes when I hear how his life has played out. A 30ish daughter he has zero contact with (but that happens to the rest of us too, with estranged children through divorce and distance) in spite of living nearby. A failed marriage and failed relationship with an old friend’s sister leading to a stalking charge and arrest for disorderly conduct. A marriage at age 50 to a 20 year-old nursing student obviously in need of a sugar daddy dumb enough to make it legal. Three years later (2015), the nurse walks and the guy went bezerko bonkers and ran his truck into a car and drove away from the scene more than 30 miles to his country home with police cars following sirens blaring. He met the police at his front door with a loaded 45 and the last I heard he was spending a little bit of time in the lockup.
Just because I snitched on him for giving the Principal the finger behind his back and he got three licks from a leather strap (had air holes around the edge; that guy was sadistic) did not turn him into a lunatic. I think he must have already been a lunatic.
OK, stop the bullshit! Who marries his friend’s sister? That be like your own sister. OMG, I would never even consider somebody from my same grade school, that would be some sort of incest there. Or a woman who has the same name as my sister, my mom or aunt. Nope. Sick, sick, sick.
That’s just it… he ended up with the latest child-wife because she was the ward of his brother… in a way, his own sister! I owed Nick lots of apologies for that one. I’m a LOT more cautious about renewing old friendships now. Especially after the guy ended up on all the local news stations for meeting the cops at his door with a loaded 45.
That popcorn thing is just next level absurdity. That’s how you know its too far gone. Soon you will need a frickin license just to talk about how you need a license to have something like a lemonade stand in front of your house.
Years ago when I was in 4th grade my class went on a field trip. The leader was our gym teacher, who was a big swedish-looking muscular guy and sort of looked similar to the Russian dude that killed Apollo Creed in Rocky 4. Anyway, the teacher, towering above us, stared us all down before we started walking and said: “NO THROWING ROCKS! ANYONE WHO THROWS A ROCK WILL BE IN BIG, BIG, BIG, TROUBLE.”
About 15 minutes later as we were taking a shortcut through the local fairgrounds, I saw a building with a flat metal roof. I picked up the largest stone I could find and tossed it in a very high arc as far as I could. When the rock hit the center of the roof it sounded like an airplane gliding with no gas before silently crashing into a band-room closet full of cymbals. Everyone jumped, including the gym teacher. He turned and yelled: “WHO DID THAT?!!”
Over 20 little fingers all pointed at me at once.
The teacher ran over to me and looking down said: “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”
I shrugged, and said: “I don’t know”. But, thanks to my older brothers, I was thinking the following words inside my mind:
“Because FUCK YOU, that’s why”.
Was I mad at the snitchers? No. I made my decision.
Have I ever snitched? Not that I can remember.
Untimely, I find it irksome to hear an anachronism in the movies. I’m old enough to know people did not use that phrase back in ’80. Some of these supposed nostalgia movies use modern lingo as if the teen audience will not understand yesterday’s Ebonics. Pffft.
Our free popcorn hardware provider ceased due to people stopping by to pick up extras for their senior living bunkies.
Let’s be open minded here. One man’s “butterfly garden” is another’s nightmare. Milkweed isn’t the prettiest plant, hence the “weed” in the name.
This is why I live in a planned community where every blade of grass is measured, every shade of beige has been approved, every car is supposed to be garaged, etc. Because I don’t want other people’s “tastes” to be in my visual periphery.
Conformist!!!
Dumb question but I have to ask, what is the approved skin color?
white with a smattering of yellow.
Redlining out, planned community in. I bet you guys are firm believers in Gerrymandering.
Very open minded, as you say.
Actually, I think it’s funny or pathetic. That you have to move to a gated community. My buddy moved into one such gated community. He bought the house from his co-worker friend. Since he is brown, his neighbor makes every effort to let him know he is watching him.
With Red Ropes to make sure all the rules are followed.
How’re you doing?
American politics and copfuks are turning us into East Germans. Only 20 some comments. Fine. Not taking it personally. But, I think it’s time to hang up the QOTD. Try to come up with some other way to get people involved. Peace.
Stuck – I appreciate the effort. Place is currently not what it might be. Hope that changes. Many thanks for your service!
Back when this place was hard to get into, you almost literally got shown the door if you couldn’t put a complex thought into words, folks were popping up everyday. LLPOH and I-S worked overtime to kick noob ass. Now that Admin has basically thrown the doors wide open, inviting (not deliberately) queers, miscegenators, transgenders, racists, ageists, heathens, pagans, the unchurched, unschooled, Nazis, NAACPists, survivalists, etc., I’m not sure what the message is.
EC, I think the message is the medium in this case. The garbled state of our world’s harmonics prevents effective communication exchange. This disconnect in the ability of mankind to grasp meaning from context has taken only our generation to bring about, my old Air Force bud I never met. I am not saying it is our fault, exactly. How could it be? But it happened on our watch.
Seriously, I spent almost thirty years in the military (ten active duty, then ten as a contractor to the military, followed by ten as a disgruntled former IAM union member and steward suspended by management). Now that I’m out of the urban and military environment completely and have completed decompression, decontamination and detoxification, I realize the world took a real turn for the worse out here in flyover country. I have seen some things here over the past couple of years regarding a number of issues from which the military-industrial complex shielded me (meth use, child trafficking, police brutality, drug fraud on a scale unimagined and the insane and outrageous misuse of VA benefits by more than one person I have come to view as less of an “old friend” from back when and more as one of Nick’s nightmares. Seriously, think of my poor husband, tricked by me into believing there was something wholesome about the Missouri Ozarks. Within a year of moving here, a house a mile away exploded under suspicious conditions yet unresolved. Then, two years ago, that nice farmer who pulled me out of the mud that first year and has been baling our hay got arrested for hiring a hit man to kill his wife. Apparently, at age 64, he met a young woman around 35 who introduced him to meth. I guess he decided killing his wife was something he could openly discuss at local gatherings and within a few weeks of that drunken conversation with someone, he got approached by some undercover cop to discuss the details and payment.
Now, I nod solemnly at his wife when I occasionally see her while walking the backroads around here. A terrible tragedy for her, but worse for me because I had to find someone to cut the field and it wasn’t as good a job as he’d been doing. Seriously, I called his brother and offered to write him a note saying he’d been a good neighbor to me and he is a former U.S. Marine from Vietnam… I am imagining that at 62ish, the drug gave him a buzz he hadn’t had since back in ‘Nam and, let’s face it, a 35 year-old meth whore can do a lot of things to a guy who married his high school sweetie when he got back from Vietnam that he may or may not remember from his tour over “there” but he sure as hell ain’t getting from his wife of now 40-something years here. But, as you know MeHoe, the big head is most vulnerable to sneak attacks by the little head.
There are several stories like this in the region, with my husband beginning to think I fibbed on my resume. In fact, having come through a patch of cognitive dissonance myself with most of my fingers and toes intact, I’ve had to take a step back and replace the rose-colored lenses on my viewfinder. I think there are many of us waking up to the fact that we got totally screwed over by a bunch of Communists dressed up as beatniks and hippies.
While we live remote from most towns and/or settlements of any size at all (less than 500 people) we still don’t really “fit in.” Some of the locals are still a bit suspicious of us and I like it that way. We will be the exotic people who moved here from Oklahoma. I prefer that over admitting that I actually grew up down in the Bottoms… on that big expanse of alluvial farmland created out of what was once swampland in the middle of the country. But that life is further away from me than Oklahoma, so I prefer to be the “new people from Oklahoma.”
I like to think I wouldn’t have ended up married to what’s-his-name with the MOPAR fetish and one un-descended testicle and I suspect there isn’t a day goes by he doesn’t kick himself in the ass with his one good leg for letting me go, but go I did and thankfully, I stayed “went” until I had enough sense to pass on that one-legged International Harvester Jockey. (He lost the one leg in a RoadRunner/Transam accident a few years after I left the area.)
By demanding we surrender the meaning of words by allowing the SJWs to make certain words or terms suspect (like the “suspect class” of anything the SCOTUS whores claim to understand prima facia), we find ourselves besieged by madness with this nonsensical gender gaming infesting our culture. There is an onslaught of diseases such as hashtagmetooitis which seems to demand we praise a bunch of tramps who became big stars because they were hobbing the knob so they could hobnob with the big stars at the Oscars. Really, I moved into hillbilly southcentral here, but the trash out of Hollywood is beginning to make that Honey Boo Boo shit seem tame. Imagine a world where we didn’t have to see the smarmy faces of those rich and famous television and movie star moguls every damn day. And, when it comes to the bad behavior of the little starlets and tartlets and too good to smell each other’s fartlets, why the hell does anyone care?
I am not sure what images are here, because I went and made Nick lunch then forgot to post this comment.
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Nice update, very Samuel Clemens. Studied in MO, I believe.
Calaveras County is named after skulls.
I’d forgotten this mid-afternoon break from the shady garden (you really do need both, you know). It was a good rant and I hope others got the update and got a good laugh at the irony embedded in the news from Podunk.
Poor EC
Apple don’t fall far from the tree, bigfoot. Could it be that DNA is destiny?
Hey Stuck – it could be because people don’t want to incriminate themselves. Maybe they snitched and they don’t want everybody here to know it? Probably for the same reason people don’t like to tell how many times they fap a day or if they worship in Wiccan and the weirdest thing they ever stuck their wick in. ?
Here are some questions people might want to share the answers:
Example 1 – who is the coolest person that you’ve ever met in your entire life and what was so great about them?
Example 2 – on your deathbed and looking back over your life what will be your most favorite memory?
If those don’t work, maybe resort to the old controversy approach in order to drive up comment counts like:
Why do people have such a hard time embracing the verified hard science of global warming?
Or
Why won’t people accept the inevitability of Benjamin Netanyahu as future king of the Middle East?
Or
Why do some people deny the obvious and undisputable facts behind the moon landing?
You know, like that?
Glad I re-visited this QOTD. I might have missed your suggestions otherwise. I got inspired almost.
I put together quite a lot of “copy” for the Agnes project. When I finally emerged from the realization that Freaking Agnes was indeed “Magness” and I had to either dump the theme/idea or figure out a way to make it work without having a pack of freaking lawsuits headed my way from the idiots who have inhabited my world.
Did you ever read the children’s story The Flim Flam Man?
While the movie was quite entertaining with George C. Scott, the children’s story by Darlene Bailey Beard is quite profound, if read as a thinking adult. Now, should EC see this and claim you are once again favored, I will remind him I mentioned the flimflam dude to him and he “meh’ed” me.
Meh.
I’m snitching on him.
jFish, jFish, jFish!
I hate the name Agnes. Inez doesn’t sound so bad.
Emma is a nice old name, it wouldn’t be anachronistic like Shaniqua.
Plus I had a little crush on Emma in hs. I don’t recall her face anymore, just her cutoff shorts.
I got snitched on at AF officer candidate school. Each week, we had to log the miles we ran and submit it in writing, and also had a graph where we had to put the miles up for everyone to see how the flight as a whole had done. One week, I had forgotten to update the graph, so it did not match the log I submitted. A fellow candidate turned me in for lying. That could have resulted in my discharge if proven. He was supposed to have come to me to discuss before he turned me in, by honor code regs. He decided to go straight to defcon 6. I was able to easily explain what had happened – a simple oversight, and all was fine. Except for the other candidate. I picked him up by the throat and told him if I ever catch him off base I was going to beat shit out of him. He squealed about that too, to the captain. The captain essentially told him to fuck off, as he had royally screwed the pooch. That candidate was a Mormon. Ever since, I have no time for Mormons.
Yes, depending how you define squeal, I have squealed when I have found folks doing illegal, dangerous stuff. Captured a guy once starting a fire in a school hallway. Beat shit out of him and turned him in to the principal, who asked what have you done! this kid is bleeding everywhere! Explained how the kid -a teenager- had started a fire, I had caught him, and he got injured when he tried to escape. Not another word about that, and we never saw that kid again. I have squealed on burglars, thieves, dangerous drivers and the like. My civic duty and all that.
Have squealed on the fuck who would not get out of my car spot after several requests. Fuck him, I paid for and owned that spot. Have I squealed over flower beds or stuff like that? Nope. Quit a job once when I was told to tell who had done such and such. I knew who had done it, but was never going to squeal.
What should be done to snitches? Not a damn thing. Think Snowden. Think wikileaks. Think Watergate. Think criminals needing to be caught. When you punish squealers, how do you get the truth when you need it?
It depends on the definition of squealer, I guess. And everyone will have a different definition and view.
I have never been snitched on that I know of.
I snitched on my cocaine dealer neighbour who used to beat the crap out of his kids aged 7 and 9.
I have also snitched on dangerously drunk drivers -twice.
But, in general, snitches deserve stitches.
Especially if you live in a beige mandated community like JR Wirth.
There is no moral high ground in such places.
I should have organized a ‘boot party’ for neighbour in retrospect. I am sure his son Mickey would have loved to have attended such an event.
It’s one thing to report a safety violation, an actively dangerous individual, a crime or the whereabouts of a perp. Those are in fulfillment of your civic duty.
A traitor is one who has falsely sworn allegiance to a group and promptly forgets his oath when it serves his purpose.
An informant is different from a snitch, he has a financial interest or actually works for the cops.
I think a snitch is a dirty rat who has no purpose other than to fuck somebody up indirectly because he hates that person. I have often daydreamed of snitching but I would feel just as guilty as the person I snitched on. In the many years I’ve seen, fuckers get their payback whether you snitch or not, that’s just the luck of assholes, they are headed for a fall and they don’t even know it’s coming.
A weasel is one who has no particular ill-will like a snitch but he likes the attention and seeks out shit to report. This motherfucker is not above calling in a fake domestic altercation just to see if the cops will blow away his neighbor or a stranger in another city.
Yes, have been squealed on. Cost me a stretch doing porridge.Details are not important as that was then this is now. Squealed on anyone. No and not fucking interested. What should be done to squealers. Publicly named and shamed.
So, you edited Eddie Haskell’s letter. Always wanted to know what became of him.
Having a douche like the guy who wants all the colors approved is why we still have choices about where we can live. Fuck him and all the other busybodies like him.
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Just for you, Stucky, to show you that I have indeed dropped another ten to twenty. And what I’m doing in this image is finishing digging a trench to let the waste water drain from my bunny cages. I’m harvesting the worms for the new chickens (it helps that they call me “worm-giver” when it is time to get them inside at dusk) and also getting some wonderfully composted soil for my new herb beds I’m putting at the edge of deer camp. To tease and entice. I chatted with a large doe and her little fawn just this morning. I am naming the little one Sausage.
As far as the weight loss goes, it is the result of two years of changing the way I eat and live. When I make juice now, I make real juice. Same for other foods. It changes one’s life.
Maggie porn. What’s this blog come to? SMH
You know you like it. Maggie’s got nice old lady legs.
Your a cool broad, Maggie. Don’t ever leave me here alone with the knee-jerks. They don’t understand my messed up psyche. I have no beef with anybody. I like to rib people; you especially, because you do not stew over an occasional roasting or flame broiling. You don’t marinate in a sauce of hurt feelings. I know you were a real hot dog at survival school and not just a piece of meat. Nice rump, btw. I shall add it to my collection of Maggie cheesecake.
Seriously, Stucky, sometimes your questions are a little accusatory. For instance, “Snitches are Bitches” seems a little harsh, especially when I carry the lifelong sense of guilt for ruining Michael Eakin’s third grade life by not only getting him three licks at school but a real ass-beating when his father found out.
Your questions sometimes seem a little “Have you stopped beating your wife?” in nature. It’s been a while since the masturbation interrogation.