spruce bugs deserve mercy?
My son and I hate them. They are huge and evil and I once fell off a ladder after one landed on me. I may have screamed like a toddler. Because they bite. Hard. Plus I know a guy whose face got ripped off by one. And another guy who mowed off his own leg trying to avoid one. I don't own a gun and frankly, never would, but if I ever did, I would likely choose a Glock and I would use it to annihilate spruce bugs for ruining our wondrous outdoors.
Have a nice day.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Actually no. They shit anywhere they want. Absolutely anywhere. And I'm okay with that. Because I'm not going to stop them. Or get out of the car. Gulp.
Monday, June 15, 2015
Yes. I'm still here. But I must admit, this prompt was a little unnerving. Why so existential Google? Are you watching me?
Someone who wonders sometimes if science fiction isn't so fiction-y anymore.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
It does look as though Hagrid or Mag the Mighty built it, but this picnic table-for-10 was indeed constructed by a very talented regular-sized human being whose only wizardry skill is nevertheless quite impressive: carpentry. I've decided it's the coolest picnic table ever, uh, unless it requires moving at some point.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
But I'm pretty sure this could work.
Saturday, June 6, 2015
these some days.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
What inspired this purple polka-dotted chicken butterfly chromosomal mess?
Sunday, May 24, 2015
1. I can't find my keys.
2. I have the wrong set of keys.
3. I left my keys in my other coat.
4. My key won't work.
5. Someone stole my car so my keys are useless. It could happen. That reminds me of the time
6. One of my teens borrowed my car but came home without it and well, you know that parking-lot-I-have-no-freaking-idea-where-my-car-is-feeling. That.
7. My dog ate my keys.
8. My kid dropped my keys in the toilet. (It's happened to several people apparently.)
9. My keys are at the bottom of the lake/river/swamp/ocean/vat of cheese dip.
10. My wife drove six hours away for the weekend with her keys and my keys. (True story.)
BUT HERE'S A NEW ONE.
I'm going to be presumptuous and declare that this has NEVER HAPPENED TO ANYONE ELSE ON EARTH except me and sure, that's probably exaggeration but wait, maybe not.
Rushing to my car one early sunny beautiful morning recently, I stepped off my deck and onto my driveway, my keys in my right hand. Suddenly I realized I had walked right into one of those cobwebs that spiders like to clothesline us unsuspecting humans with, likely to enjoy the effect of seeing us humans flail around in irrational horror while those same spiders record the drama on their tiny iPhones with the intent to upload footage to Arachni-you-tube and get lots and lots of hits, go viral, impress their friends, and become famous before someone crushes them with a shoe, repeatedly. (My bitterness will be explained momentarily). Anyway, instinctively I reached up to frantically remove that spider silk from my face and promptly shoved my car key up my right nostril into my brain aka a self-administered mini-lobotomy.
If there is indeed an Arachni-you-tube, I suspect I'm famous too.