One year ago today: June 13, 2025, is Ireland overdue?
Five years ago today: June 13, 2021, guitarists, roofing, jail.
Nine years ago today: June 13, 2017, the rebel to Miami.
Random years ago today: June 13, xxxx, WIP
Good, another post-operation barrier passed. Is that French toast or freedom toast? That was breakfast—but then directly into the yard. No burnout, I filled the bird feeders (which involves lifting more than chest height, and hung the metal birdhouse for decoration. I’d love to make something fancy from it but there’s too much to do. I cut some box boards, they are now under the laser, and finished opening and mixing all the new cans from last Saturday. Here is a nice flat green exterior.
Oh look, there’s a pic of the gourmet weekend birdie nuts being chopped down to little beak size. I just know you spoil your birdies just a much as I do, but remember to fun these through the screen in case you miss any big pieces. It’s enough these little folk have to fly all the way over here for breakfast. I mean, have you ever tried flying? It’s uber-work.
Orania, the White colony in S. Africa has a training school. If I didn’t say, the town just turned 35 and I was surprised to find they experience a parallel to my own life. They allow their teens to go live in the city any time they want, then make a big deal when many of them come back. Sound familiar? Yep, make growing up so desperately empty they can’t wait to get the hell out. Only to find city kids had a complete support mechanism, including housing, cars, cash, and the know-how to work the system via parental guidance. That’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar head start the farm kid will never know. No wonder so many are forced to come crawling back. Sorry, do not expect me to take the side of people who think pulling that kind of a stunt on a kid is “teaching them a lesson”. There, I feel better now,
What? There must have been one hell of a windstorm went by while I snoozed. But, I was sweet-dreaming away in the semi-soundproof back office-slash-bedroom. My back yard looks like an Iranian missile site, pieces of once-useful things everywhere. There is a reason for these new small boxes around here. Price. My box procedure uses a now hard-to-find 7/8ths inch brad nail, I’ve had to substitute the next size up, which is the 1-inch type shown here. It is not the price, but the principle. These have shot up from $4.79 to $9.98 per box, that’s your Biden 8%.
It was a plan to sort through the “Gold Coast” book and point out the massive inconsistencies in Hortt’s tale. But it is so bad, just step back and assume he is covering up outright fraud and lying about most of the rest. By 1925, Fort Laudedale was nothing but hype, yet its primary function as a place to overnight was good—trains and other then-slow modes of travel made it too long a stretch otherwise. And of the crooked businesses, real estate was about the crookedest. It was up to the buyer to discover if anything funny was going on.
For example, the seller could stick you with undisclosed debt unless you contacted the banks who were under no obligation to assist you. They did so only out of self-interest. Even with the Torrens system, it was possible to find yourself in debt to parties you had never contracted to. Say, below is a picture of that “tilt marble” from last day, the one with the moonscape surface. See how far I go out of my way for my readers? What other blog provides even a fraction of this diversity without in-your-face advertising? Riddle me that.
Egyptian strippers.
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Yep, I have video of prepping the boxes and birdie guitar, you only get half the show. Turns out the full video required some 600 photos and I’m too tired. It’s just me removing sawdust, but the photos show such gems as other guitars, wall maps, and the general condition of my work environment inside what was supposed to be my kitchen. I’m listening to Bartow radio and watching my dwindling coffee supply.
I had some energy reserve, but stayed home anyway. I’m an old Saturday man, if I out only once, it is that day. I didn’t want that to change, yet here I am. I chose the new used staple box to test the sander to the limit over an ice-cold Yuengling. What has happened to me? Drinking tea, staying home, can radio bingo be far behind? To perish that thought, I’m now going to shoot a star and plot its position. Its 550°08..4’W x 04°02.9’N. That’s -298.0129 x 04.6864, putting us between Somalia and the Maldives. The star is Menkar, because it is near the center of the page.
The Alamo is again pretending to be a battle monument. I’ve issued warnings since 2013, the place is a church, there is no fort left. It was torn down 140 years ago. Even the legend is hype—Santa Ana could have bypassed the place with nothing to worry about. What’s more, the Texas sharpshooters picked off all his best officers, ensuring he would lose at Jacinto.
Plus, the Mexicans only scaled the walls when the Texans ran out of ammunition. A chilling omen of future infantry attacks on prepared defenses when 189 men shot down 600. Some say only 250 Mexicans died, but in those days most of the wounded succumbed, and I’ll bet Davie Crockett nailed 20 by himself.
ADDENDUM
The AOLs at Google have screwed the system again. Over years (not weeks), I’ve published this blog by setting the posting date to match the calendar date. It’s the way logical, educated people do things. Millennials, not so much. And it is another of those “inherited” (and invisible) logic errors they love to deny is their fault. Normally that date is set once per post. Not no more. And my protocol for thousands of days has utilized that. If I post five pictures a day, I use that setting ten times a day. You learn not to think about it.
Until some Google cucktard comes along. He (it is always a he) changed some other module that cancels your setting every time the page loses focus. You go through a stage where you forgive this as youthful inexperience, but then you see Google staff photos showing these bastards are in their mid-30s. If you point out the problem they caused, you meet with blank stares. That is, they don’t even grasp the concepts of consequences and consideration. Why, it is you and the world causing all the trouble, not them. Oh, and if you think not, you are racist.
I will find a workaround. I’m not that smart, it is that they are that stupid. They have no clue what bastards they are, the conciliation is that it will always catch up with them. I’ve heard of coders who got lucky and became millionaires, but never the other way around.
