Ugh

Colonoscopy in one hour’s time for Kimmy.

Yeah, I know:  TMI.  Sometimes on this blog, ya just gotta take the rough with the smooth.

Wish me luck.


Update:  back home, all good.  The Commies are stuck with me for a while yet.

Slow News Days

Now that the mid-term elections are over (no comment), the news is not only slow but boring.  That fat little swindler has been arrested, Elon’s causing all sorts of shit with Twitter (excellent)… and that’s about it.

I’ve also been laid low (again) with that same flu I had back in the fall, which means I don’t have the energy to peel a frigging banana.

Accordingly, all you will see on this website for the next couple-three days will be pics of cars, women, guns, and anything else that grabs my fleeting attention or causes an outburst of ungovernable rage.

Hmmm… okay, so pretty much as normal, except no thoughtful essays.  Whatever.

What A Difference

…a day makes.

Yesterday:  Had my annual physical.  Doc says that my stats show that I’m actually in better shape than at my last physical.

Today:  Wake up with post-nasal drip and a sore throat.

Reminder and RFI

As you all will recall, I canceled my PayPal and Venmo accounts because reasons, but of course that means that I can’t get any electronic payments from supportive Readers through that medium anymore.

I know it’s a PITA to write checks, but until I set up an alternative, please send donations via that medium at the Sooper-Seekrit mailing address (6009 W. Parker Rd, Ste 149-141, Plano TX 75093) until I set up another electronic payment method.  In the interim, rather than sending monthly donations by check (as many of you do), please consider using Patreon instead in the meantime.

Which brings me to the RFI:  if not PayPal/Venmo, then who?

Suggestions please, in Comments.

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Apologia

I had every intention of attending the WWII shoot up in Kansas last Saturday — I was even bringing New Wife along to meet people — when somewhere along the interstate north I managed to drive over a discarded 18-wheeler’s tire tread, and I mean the entire tread, lying on its side and looking for all the world like a tire.  No time to avoid it — I was looking back for oncoming traffic as I came onto the highway* — and only saw the fucking thing when it was about twenty feet away.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMPETY-THUMP-THUMP FUCKING HELL

Bloody thing did a number on the underside of the Tiguan (fortunately, not the engine, at least, I don’t think so as no warning lights came on), and tore off parts of both front-wheel wells.

So much for that car trip.  Ignoring the horrible scraping sound from underneath, I limped off the interstate and managed to get to a mechanic shop.  They cut off most of the draggy parts, but then recommended I not drive the thing.

And here I sit, waiting for the insurance guy to look at it and write me a check.

My apologies to all for my non-attendance, but there it is.


*Texas drivers will not yield to nor even slow down for cars entering the freeway in case they lose their God-given place in the traffic, so it’s vital to look back to see that someone isn’t coming up on you at speed.

Rock, Meet Hard Place

Via Reader Mike L. I get this bit of news:

In Missouri, where abortion is illegal, Planned Parenthood sees surge in vasectomies

Doesn’t surprise me.

I had mine done in 1997, some time after my 43rd birthday, and have never looked back.  Frankly, I think that any man who doesn’t have it done by age 45 is asking for trouble, whether or not abortion is legal.  (If your Missus has had her tubes tied or her factory is otherwise disabled, then fine — but be aware that as long as the little swimmers are still there, you can still become a Daddy regardless of the recipient thereof.  I shudder just at the thought.)

And let’s not forget that nowadays you can be stuck with child support payments even if you’re not the daddy — but having had your tubes tied, such an eventuality is highly unlikely if not impossible.

I must admit that back in the times when I did this kind of thing on an ad-hoc basis, it was a real comfort to know that the old production pole had been turned into a joystick.