So let’s stay under the sea, while trying to get out of its way with a few chuckles…
Enjoy the week. If you can, after seeing the above.
So let’s stay under the sea, while trying to get out of its way with a few chuckles…
Enjoy the week. If you can, after seeing the above.
I’m not triskadekaphobic, because I’m not in any way superstitious. In fact, I got my job at the Great Big Research Company (Seffrican division) on Friday 13th, August 1979 and I never looked back.
I knew one otherwise ordinary guy who was so afraid of the number thirteen, and Friday 13th in particular, that he would take the day off work and stay in bed, drinking only water all day. Other than laziness, the only reason I would stay in bed in Friday 13th was if Nigella Lawson was in it.
And so would anyone else not a homosexualist.
I never understood superstitions, by the way. I know that some of them are rooted in past customs — e.g. not spilling salt (because salt was really expensive back in the day) — but getting all worked up about a black cat crossing your path? Give me a break.
People in Roman times would pay a soothsayer to tell them whether it was safe to travel by having the soothsayer “read” an animal’s entrails (which had to be fresh — no PETA back then, obviously). What people don’t know is that our Dr. Fauci can trace his lineage all the way back to Roman soothsayer Gaius Faucissimus in 87 B.C., so he’s still in the family business of making money off ignorant people.
Don’t get me started, because where superstition is front and center, can religion be far behind?
I’ll just leave the topic alone, but here’s another pic of Nigella recumbent.
Apparently, pubs were thrown open in Wales for the first time in over a year, with predictable, Train-Smashy results:
Of course, the girls had no shortage of male companionship:
Well, maybe not ALL the girls:
I can’t help thinking that she’s a little too old for such shenanigans, but that’s just me.
Yeah, whatever… so let’s have a couple laughs.
Something more wholesome, you said? Okay:
…which means that the Krauts don’t have a Second Amendment, as witnessed by this sad tale:
Granted, there’s a law in Germanland called the “War Weapons Control Act” which says you can’t own, for example, a Pzkw Mark V (Panther) — I assume it means a working tank; otherwise, it’s nothing more than a museum piece…
…which old Klaus-Dieter’s clearly is.
And in any event, the old buzzard is eighty-four years old; he’s hardly likely to launch a blitzkrieg on the local municipal offices, is he?
On the other hand: 70 assault rifles? That’s impressive, even by Texas standards, although the alleged ammo stash (2,000 rounds) is woefully inadequate — assuming they’re the Stg-44’s 7.62x33mm Kurz cartridges, that’s less than one 30-round magazine per gun.
Also not enough to launch a decent assault on the local Ampt.
Now, the anti-tank “cannon” (seriously?) — even if it’s the teeny Pak 36 with its 37mm gun — would be kinda fun to take up to Boomershoot or to use in times of, shall we say, civic fun and games. Had it been the fearsome 88mm KwK 36…well, now we’d be talking turkey. But unlike the Pak 36, you can’t tow it behind your Ram — it’s way too heavy, even for the 5.7-liter engine.
But whatever the actual gun, there’s no mention of any ammo for the thing, which makes it all the more ridiculous that Klaus-Dieter’s been fined a quarter-million euros for owning it and the other decommissioned items.
Final note: he kept it all in his basement. Some basement.
And I’d love to get my hands on one of those Stg-44s, assuming they haven’t been wrecked.
Here we go, off to work again:
And just because I have a backlog of sex jokes on my hard drive [sic], here we go:
Exclusive!!!!
Speaking of dentistry, take look at Carol Vorderman’s perfect teeth:
…also, the pearly whites of Kelly Brooks:
And let’s not forget the dazzling smile of Christine McGuinness:
Finally, there’s Claudia Winkleman, looking a little chilly, but happy all the same:
Good luck with the week.