One year ago today: September 7, 2016, a generic day.
Five years ago today: September 7, 2012, a generic Friday.
Nine years ago today: September 7, 2008, sounds like Deep Purple.
Random years ago today: September 7, 2004, there, I said it.
Miami is in full panic mode, coupled with their companion retard fashion. The gas lineups were blocking the main roads to those had to be policed. All the pumps ran out of premium gas by the time I got on the road around 8:10AM. It still took me two hours to get the first 15 miles. Strange as it seems, the road west to Naples stays uninhabited during evacuations. I went that route after taking one look at Dixie Highway. It was perfect motorcycle weather, although I did not feel quite comfortable toting that extra can of gas. I would not have made it to Carnestown otherwise.
Quite a surprise. I was expecting another settlement because it is five miles off the secondary. Wrong, it is a brand-spanking-new Catholic retirement community. It’s got a hospital, a university, coffee shops, even a tavern and the entire section (160 acres) is hand-landscaped. The entire downtown is dominated by a metropolis-looking Catholic Church. I even made some ground with the young lady at the dollar store as I went to buy some extra rope for the gas can. I just like to be as safe as possible over that. What until you hear what happened.
In the meanwhile, I’m putting a posse together to hang every government official who pronounces it “Hurricane EARR-mah.” If there is major damage in Miami, it is not entirely due to the storm, but because of the horrible extent to which the city has become third world. Why prepare? Depend on the government for everything. Remember it only takes a tiny minority of jerks to do things this way to force the entire community to follow suite.
Let me explain. I am not referring to the Latino accent where I is pronounced as E. I’ve live in Venezuela. I’m talking about white goofs to pronounce it “EARR-mah”. They should be rounded up and shipped to New Jersey. By Greyhound.
Hundred dragon ladder.
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This is your typical Miami picture of the day. Over at JZ’s place, the back parking lot has only one exit. Now remember, the town in under threat and there has been an evacuation order in effect. So here is a jerk who not only parks his SUV right across the lane, but then opens his doors so nobody could possibly squeeze past. Then he walks away and leaves for a half hour.
As you see, there are plenty of parking spaces. He could have parked ten feet forward or back (see picture), but that would not block anybody’s path. Now, is anyone seriously trying to tell me when he waddles back out in his sandals carrying only his microwave and gives his finger to the blaring horns, that nobody is going to notice he looks Cuban? True, not all of them are like this. But the majority are. I’m aware there are no statistics to back this up, but that is because the liberal media refuses to publish any. Whatever they hope to accomplish by suppressing the truth is long buried under layers of rhetoric. So don’t be calling me anything racist until you see for yourself.
“I’ve said I love you to two women
and every dog I’ve ever seen.”
Various.
ADDENDUM
Here’s more for the record. I took 38 pictures of the burning bike with Vivitar. More of the other guy who’s at fault. Remember how many times I’ve told you Vivitar and these cameras in general will let you down. In spite of the fact pictures all displayed as if they had been taken, none of them turned out. No files found. Piece of crap Vivitar. So, although people saw me take all those pictures, there is no need to tell them I really don’t have any.
The other camera lost in the fire was, get this, the good old reliable Argus 1600. The one we thought was lost. When JZ finally got rid of that big and ugly girlfr . . . er, I mean armchair in his living room that nobody except me ever sat on, he found the camera. Well, now it is lost for sure. But I’m already talking to a personal injury lawyer and you know how I feel about tort law. Those who do negligent damage should have to pay, forever in necessary. I’m injured more from the explosion than the collision, but the second person I called was Trent.
The Honda Rebel is gone forever. The guy tried to shine me up with the old “at least your still alive”, and “Thank God” angles, but fact it. He plowed into my motorcycle while it was stopped on a clear, flat, level piece of ground in broad daylight. You’re damn rights I’m furious. He kept saying he was sorry until I told him I didn’t care if he was sorry. You think I don’t know he’s going to argue it is just an old motorcycle? Little does he know I’ve been to court over that one before. I have over 380 photos documenting the improvements. And 8,600 people who are aware of the progress on how nice I made that motorcycle.
Last Laugh
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