The Switch

My state is under a mask mandate per the governor. His decree provides for some exemptions, for which businesses are not allowed to demand documentation, but must take the customer’s word for it. However, there is nothing that requires businesses to allow these exemptions. They can implement any policy they wish, as long as it is at least as draconian as the statewide mandate. Except for work, where they can and do demand documentation, I claim exempt status if challenged, which I seldom am. Before yesterday, I’d only ever once been denied service based on a business not allowing exemptions to the decree.

Yesterday, Wife and I went to The Cheesecake Factory for her birthday meal. I’d have brought/worn my shemagh had I known how things were going to go, but hindsight is always 20/20. As soon as we walked in, the hostess kicked me out. Anyone who enters the building must be wearing a mask, no exceptions or exemptions, even if doing so will kill you. She didn’t actually say that last part, but it was clearly implied.

At some point, one must decide if they are going to simply submit to every whim of every petty tyrant who claims to have power over them, or refuse to obey. Yesterday, I had a choice. Submit, leave and go somewhere else if any such place can be found, or go home. What to do?

Let’s say that I didn’t want to bow to this demand. I could’ve argued with the hostess, trying to change her mind. But what if she wouldn’t budge, regardless of whether she’s following orders and wants to keep her job, or because she’s enjoying her own little power trip?

Ask for the manager? But what if they either wouldn’t speak to me at all, or refused to budge as the hostess had?

Call corporate and complain? But what if they don’t answer, or don’t care?

Stand at the front door and turn away potential customers with my story? But if they call the cops and I am forced to leave or be arrested for trespassing?

Go on social media and try to get more people to put pressure on the company? But if social media buries my story because it’s not the cause of the day and I’m not an Oppressed Person™?

Contact traditional media to see if they will help? But if they are too busy playing at social justice to care?

File a lawsuit? But if the judge throws it out because private companies can do what they want as long as they aren’t Christian-owned bakeries refusing to bake a cake for a homosexual wedding?

Reach out to the politicians to try to either get the mandate rescinded or add the requirement for businesses to recognize the exemptions already in the order? But if they are already too drunk on power to bother to speak to some peon?

That’s pretty much the end of the road for peaceful resistance, but nothing changed. Despite involving dozens of people, any of whom could’ve made a difference, I would still be left with the same choice. Bow my head and comply, or go home and cower like a beaten dog.

What if this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and one decides to go all H. L. Mencken and commence slitting throats? Where to start and how wide to cast the net?

The hostess? She’s enforcing the policy, even if only under orders. Her manager? They could claim the same, or ignorance of what the hostess was doing. The entire staff of the restaurant? They must know the policy, but continue to work there. The entire staff of every location as well as all the corporate staff who probably were responsible for the policy in the first place? The owner/parent company management and investors and or shareholders?

The customers who ignored the pleas and ate there anyway while ignoring the story told at the front door? The cop who came to perform the trespass arrest? His entire department? The government of the jurisdiction where it happened?

The lawyer who represented the company in the lawsuit? His entire firm? The judge who threw out the case? Their entire staff?

Every employee, manager and investor for every social media company that buried the story?

Every employee of the local media outlet who refused to air the story? Every employee of their affiliates and every manager, investor and shareholder for their parent/holding company?

The politicians who ignored the pleas for help? Every politician who had anything to do with the mandate creation or implementation process? All of their family members who publicly supported their efforts? Every other local and state level politician who didn’t actively fight against the mandate and restrictions? Every national politician who encouraged states to enact such measures?

Every “expert” who spoke in favor of such things? Every one of their colleagues and associates who contributed as much as a comma to a report or a study that encouraged such restrictions? Every member of every foundation, institution and/or government to whom these “experts” are beholden?

Every member of and investor for every media organization that ever spoke in favor of any similar restrictions?

Every member of every institution of learning who has helped to program the last several generations to go along to get along, don’t make waves, don’t question authority, and don’t think for themselves?

Every member of the general public who unquestioningly accepted and complied with these restrictions and mandates, further encouraging the tyrants to tighten them even more?

And that, my friends, is how the switch gets flipped from Do Nothing to Kill Everyone.

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Addiction Sucks

…and I am an addict. Food is my addiction. I’ve liked to eat for as long as I can remember. I mean really liked to eat. Which has turned into me being overweight for as long as I can remember.

Even during my time in the Air Force, I struggled to meet weight standards. I was allowed to weigh 164 pounds. I seldom weighed less than 160, and was often over – barely meeting the “tape test” where they measure your neck and waist and plug the results into a chart. I started 2021 at 275.8 pounds. Yes, one hundred twelve pounds above the USAF maximum for my height.

Last year I tried several what were supposed to be extended water fasts. I made it three days, once. Week before last, I decided to try again but with a new wrinkle. I’d allow myself to have a calorie-free electrolyte drink and one diet soda per day. In addition, I’d have a mug (two cups) of bone broth every morning when I got home from work.  Less than one hundred calories per day, but not a true fast.

I’m a in day number nine. I started at an even 270 pounds, having already lost a little by conventional means. Today I’m 253.4 pounds. Sixteen and six-tenths pounds. I’m aware that at least half of that is probably water weight loss from the transition to ketosis, but there is definite actual loss. Everything going forward will count as real.

I have enough broth to go approximately two more weeks. Then I’ll transition to a 150 calorie protein shake once per day until the mix is gone. Well, with one exception. Wife’s birthday is the thirteenth of next month. I do plan eat dinner with her to celebrate her special day. Then it’ll be back on the shakes probably for another three months.

By summer, I should be under 200, at which time I will probably double my shakes in preparation to go back to normal food as I approach my goal of 175. Fuck the Air Force and their 164 pound limit. And double fuck the “experts” who say that my ideal weight is 130-136, depending on which one you ask.

Back to the subject of addiction. I mentioned that I’ll be having birthday dinner with Wife. The other night I went over the menu of her favorite restaurant and literally drooled before I caught myself while deciding what I was going to order. Sad. It really is.

What am I having? Well, her restaurant of choice is Cheesecake Factory. I’m going to start with the loaded tater tots as my appetizer, and then have fish and chips for my meal. I’m not usually a fish or seafood person, but none of their specialties appeal and lots of places do better pasta, steaks and burgers. Since we have no Captain D’s, Long John Silver’s, or similar in town, I haven’t had battered/fried fish in forever. So, fish and chips it is. And of course I’ll be having at least one slice of cheesecake, probably two. I haven’t decided which flavors yet. I like the sound of four different ones, but I’m not going to try to eat that much. Although I could.

Yes, I’m aware that I’ll be sick afterward. I. Don’t. Care. Addiction, remember?

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Last week, I acquired a gallon of raw goat milk. Sold as Not For Human Consumption per the busybodies in Raleigh who think they know what is best for everyone.  But anyway.

I’ve been entertaining the possibility of raising goats, but I wanted to experience the product before investing in the means of production. I’d heard horror stories about how unpleasant the smell can be, etc., and how the smell/taste can vary greatly due to breed of goat, proximity of a buck and how the milk is handled after collection.

The only source I could find was from Alpine goats, which are common dairy goats, but are known for how much the taste can vary from doe to doe. I’d prefer Nigerian Dwarf goat milk, because of it’s consistency across the breed and the much higher fat content, but the closest farm with them had let their does go dry already in preparation for an early spring delivery of the next generation. So Alpine milk it was.

I’m not a huge milk person. I occasionally have cereal, and I will use a little milk or cream when I make mashed potatoes or scrambled eggs, but that’s about it. But I like cheese and butter, and I use significant quantities of both. Hence, the adventure. I figure that if I like the milk, I’ll like the cheese and butter too.

I finally got up the nerve to try it yesterday. I opened the bottle and sniffed. Huh. Smells like milk. Meaning, no particularly strong smell of any kind. So I poured myself a glass. Tastes like milk, too. Since about the only way I actually drink milk is as chocolate milk, I poured the requisite amount of Hershey’s syrup in it, stirred and enjoyed. I had another pint today before I came to work.

I’ll get a gallon from the folks with the Nigerians in March, but so far dairy goats are a definite possibility.

Goats are also raised for meat. I am considering that option as well, so I also set out to acquire some goat meat. All I could find was a farm that raised Kikos, and their meat selection was limited. I’m pretty sure I want Boers if I do meat goats, but I couldn’t find any available locally. So, I bought a pair of shanks and a pound of ground goat.

Last week, I invited Dear Niece over for tacos and proceeded to make them using the ground goat. There was no strong or peculiar odor from the meat, either as it cooked or once it was done. With all the spices and fixings that go into tacos, I couldn’t tell a significant difference in taste between it and beef tacos. DN agreed, but said that the texture seemed a little different than beef to her. Not bad, just different. We both enjoyed our tacos.

A few minutes after I finished the last one, I noticed a mild but definite aftertaste in my mouth. When questioned, DN acknowledged noticing it as well. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it was disconcerting, mostly because it was unexpected. It lingered for a bit, but eventually passed. I’ll try braising the shanks at some point and will reserve judgment on goats as a meat source until then.

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Back to Work

This evening I will return to work for my first shift since 15 November. With the transition to the three-day work week and how they chose to handle vacation time for the remainder of 2020 for those transitioning to said schedule, I found myself able to combine the paid Thanksgiving holiday and the rest of my vacation for the year to get over three consecutive weeks off. I’ve gotten used to being able to do whatever I want whenever I want, and going back will suck. Two weeks back, a week off for Christmas, some overtime the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and then I’ll be back to my normal weekend schedule. Yay!

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Women and Sex – Perspective at 50

This post is likely to be offensive, and definitely falls into TMI territory. You have been warned.

Last night at 2350 local time, I completed my fiftieth orbit around the sun on this mudball we call earth. In all that time, I have discovered nothing more pleasurable either physically or emotionally, than sex. A few things come close, but none equal it. However, I have reached the conclusion that, at least for me, the effort and associated drama involved make it a poor investment. In redneck vernacular, it just ain’t worth it. I’ll explain.

Compatibility does not generally seem to exist beyond the basic the penis fits into the vagina, especially when factoring in the non-sexual side of a relationship. I’m probably the odd one, as I am the only common factor in this sample study. I have to be okay with that, since I have no way to change that fact.

I’m currently in marriage number five. I’ve been engaged three times that didn’t result in marriage. Total sexual partners, eleven. I’m not someone who can do the casual sex thing, or use some chick as a cum depository, with no consideration for her or whether she got anything from the experience. I mean, I could, physically, but if those are my only options, I’d rather just do it myself.

In my limited experience, women either have no interest in sex at all, or they require things that I (and probably most typical/average men) do not possess in order to be satisfied. Usually, that “something” is either size, stamina or technique. The rare ones for whom this isn’t true are either unicorns, psychopaths, or both, and/or are in very narrow windows of their life that are subject to slam shut at any time without warning. At which time, they will fit the aforementioned statement.

Size – Either they can’t feel it (my problem) or they bitch about dude tapping on the back wall and how painful that is.

Stamina – Then there are those who want to go all night (more about that later) or the flip side of that, aptly demonstrated by the old joke: What do women think about during sex? Beige. I think I’ll paint the ceiling beige. Not a problem that I ever had. Unfortunately.

As for technique, for the main event, there are only so many different ways to stick a pole in a hole. Sure, there are lots of position choices but basically all any of them do is change the angle or penetration potential. With my short dick, lots of those alternative positions eliminate any chance of me getting anywhere close to the holy grail. And if I do try multiple positions that I am able to manage during the same event, one of two things is going to happen. Either I’m going to be done three strokes into position two, making it not worth the effort for me or her, or my dick is going to get pissed off that I removed him from a perfectly thrilling location before he could finish his job there and go soft in retaliation.

For pre-event festivities, I’m avoiding her asshole, no matter how much she claims that it turns her on. Sorry, exit only. Otherwise, I’ll rub, lick, kiss or suck anything from her neck to her ankles. Hygiene dependent (more later), of course. If a woman’s titties spend time in her armpits, I’ll ask her to forego the deodorant. I’d much rather taste sweat than get a mouthful of cologne laced with aluminum chloride. Anyway, if they don’t like where or how I’m touching them, I welcome instruction. I’ll try to adjust. If I’m doing it wrong and they won’t tell me, it’s not my fault. It is however, still demoralizing to fail.

One more thing about oral sex. I’m cool with a lady squirting when she orgasms, but I don’t want my face there when it happens. Which makes me reluctant to go downstairs if I know that she is prone to such things. I feel it’s only fair. Unlike probably ninety-eight percent of heterosexual men, I don’t enjoy fellatio. More than likely because I find the idea of forcefully expelling that into a lady’s face or mouth to be disgusting and disrespectful. I’m very self-conscious about my own hygiene given my expectations in that department regarding my partner. No matter how clean I’ve tried to get myself, I can’t help but think that the taste is going to be unpleasant for her, especially when the pre-cum and more eventually shows up. So I beg off if it is offered. I’ve only once ejaculated into a woman’s mouth, and only at her insistence. It was pleasant enough (or would’ve been had she not nicked me with her teeth on more strokes than she didn’t) but it felt odd. I couldn’t imagine her enjoying it beyond the enjoyment of giving me pleasure, and I’ll take a slick vagina any day.

On to specific experiences. Once in my life, for a few very short months, I got all the sex I wanted, and it seemed to be mutually satisfying. Overall, the best sex of my life, and not just in quantity. One comment of note that she made towards the end of this good part of the relationship supports my original statement, though. We were discussing our sex life in a general, positive and conversational manner. I commented on the frequency, and she admitted that she wasn’t always interested, but was afraid that I would leave if we didn’t indulge so frequently. It hurt that she saw me as that kind of a person, but I got past it. The sex was that good, and I was truly in love with her. But of course she was a psycho. She ended up cutting me off, and a month or so later she moved out of my home without any notice, stealing several thousands of dollars worth of stuff as she left. I’ve spoken of her here before.

My first sexual partner took advantage of my youth and gullibility. She was a few years older (early 20s, not cougar old) and married, but when she found out that I’d never been with a girl before, she wanted to be my first. She swore that her husband abused her and the marriage was over just as soon as she could leave. There was a child from a previous relationship prior to her marriage in the mix, which should’ve been a huge warning sign. But I wanted to be the knight in shining armor, so at 18 I tried to help her accomplish her stated desire. I loaded her, some of her stuff and the kid into my truck and took her to a neighboring state. We had one very enjoyable weekend, after which neither of us could walk normally. The next week she was back home with hubby and no longer interested in me.

The rest won’t be in any particular order, and some traits apply to more than one. There was the one for whom I was the first. I never did figure out how to get her interested, although she was able to reach orgasm at least on occasion. She was accommodating, though, which I appreciated. “I don’t want any, but you go ahead,” was an oft-repeated phrase in our bedroom. But she fell in love with her boss, then called me a sex addict (complete with a self-help book) and told me she wasn’t sure she ever loved me as she exited my life. Seems I broke her for white guys in the process, as she ended up leaving me for a drug addicted Mexican Indian, then left him for another Mexican, and is now married to a black dude. Not that it matters, just a notable tidbit.

There was another, early in my “career” who never provided any feedback either during or after the act. Consequently, I have no idea if I ever did anything for her. She seemed eager enough at first, and there were two particularly memorable moments with her. One was when we were in the swimming pool at her mother’s house and chatting with another couple sitting nearby but outside of the pool. At one point she slid her bottom to the side and I maneuvered inside. We gently rocked back and forth while continuing to carry on conversation with the other couple. The other time was the single best experience of my life to date, bar none. It was a couple years after the pool event. We broke up for reasons related to youth, but tried again later. I can’t tell you what it was about that particular night, but it was an earth-moving, near religious experience for me. I was physically shaking afterward, and not from exertion (although it was energetic sex). Of course she had to ruin the moment by saying that my reaction was like a virgin who’d just gotten his first piece. Our second attempt at a relationship didn’t last long either. Soon after we got back together and she rocked my world, she cut me off completely. After more than six months of being told that my time would come, I got tired of waiting and being used financially while obviously being lied to. Bye, bitch.

Then there are the hygiene issues. One partner was interested regularly, and I seemed to be doing things right. But when I go downstairs (which by then I’d learned was a thing, although I still hadn’t figured out how everything worked down there yet) and come back up with a face full of toilet paper flecks, it’s not exactly pleasant. Also, a strong odor or taste of urine isn’t exactly sexy. I mean, how difficult is it for a lady to at least rinse the area a little before letting their man head down? Things there naturally have a unique and moderately strong scent, but that’s not a turnoff. The opposite, actually. But if it’s covered in pieces of TP and smells like the bathroom in a third world fish market before her legs are fully open, I’m not going down there. I’ll stick my dick in it, but I’m not putting my mouth on it.

On a related note, there was the one who let her dog (unbathed for years) sleep on everything. Her bed. Her pile of “clean” laundry. Everything. Bitch smelled like wet mutt from across the room because of how much her clothes reeked. My nose insisted that I was making out with a dog whenever we were together, especially when we were at her house. I couldn’t maintain that. Even if it was nice and tight down there.

And what the hell is wrong with so many women who want to be dominated, humiliated or hurt in bed? One bitch had a rape fantasy. More than one wanted to be spanked and/or have their hair pulled. Sorry, but no. I’m all for enthusiastic sex, but in my book it should be respectful and tender (if not necessarily gentle – although that’s my personal preference). I won’t smack or hit a woman unless she’s trying to kill me.

Back to the unachievable requirements. One lady appreciated digital and oral stimulation, but needed PiV to be satisfied. The problem was, she needed twice. The first one was just an appetizer. I was never able to last long enough to give her that all important second orgasm. That left her unfulfilled. It should’ve come as no surprise when she went completely cold after a couple years. Honestly, I’d already taken to doing things myself more often than not rather than initiating what I knew would inevitably turn into a frustrating experience for her. Not her fault, just incompatibility.

Then there was the one that never lasted long enough to determine compatibility. She got so homesick within weeks after the wedding that she packed up and moved back to her mother. Total number of bedroom encounters can be counted on one hand. After more than a year of waiting for her to be ready to come back, I divorced her.

Then there’s the one who hadn’t yet had her first orgasm when we got together, although I wasn’t her first husband. That didn’t change with me. Not sure if she ever has/did. She married the dude she left me for and proceeded to shit out three kids for him to abuse. She eventually left him and was in a lesbian relationship last I heard.

Then the other side of that – the ones who can have at least 6.02 * 10^23 back to back orgasms. You never know when you can stop, because they’re never done. And what if you stop before they want you to? Again, failure. Again, not worth it.

One more thing I want to get off my chest. Whoever popularized the French kiss needs to be shot. With one notable exception, every woman I’ve ever kissed (not including pity kisses on the cheek at the end of a date that both knew wouldn’t have a follow-up) wanted this. For some, it was the ultimate turn-on. It feels awkward and is thus extremely uncomfortable for me. I don’t know what to do since it’s not natural to me. Instead, French kissing feels like I need to be able to unhinge my jaw like a snake trying to swallow a small dog in order to participate. And there is the tongue play. No. Just no. If a lady wants me to use my tongue on her, she needs to drop her panties and spread her legs. Then I’ll happily oblige. With gusto.

And about that. I always thought that women love cunnilingus. I guess, despite my enthusiasm, the women I’ve been with don’t. More likely, I’m doing it wrong. They give the it feels good even if I can’t finish that way response just like the it felt good even if I didn’t finish that they say when guys finish without getting them off. It’s a kindness, but it’s also bullshit.

Back to the French kiss thing. Only one lady in my life didn’t want to kiss that way.  We talked about it and even tried it. Neither one of us liked it. We were in high school, and the relationship died before things never went sexual. Looking back, I’d give my left nut, one kidney and probably a finger or two from my left hand if I could go back in time and kiss Chastity (yes, her real name – it was over a third of a century ago and nobody who knows her reads this) again. And try to not fuck things up with her this time around. We would spend our lunchtimes in a seldom used alcove of lockers in each other’s arms. I didn’t appreciate the experience then nearly as much as I should have, and I regret it. I hope Rusty made her happy. She was one hell of a lady, and deserves happiness if anyone does. But I digress.

Not that any of this matters at this point. I’m old and fat. I can barely reach my dick to jerk myself off. As for with a partner, things hurt and cramp long before I get done. Not to mention that her body doesn’t work much better than mine in that department, so she can’t be on top and do all the work. Which further frustrates things. Getting old sucks.

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Navy Federal Credit Union

I knew it was too good to be true. Up until now, I’d been pleased, no, impressed with how NFCU does business. They annoyed me mildly with a couple things early on, but no deal breakers. That is no longer the case.

In addition to the checking account (and obligatory “share” savings account), I also opened a credit card account with them. They offered no fee balance transfers with a zero percent interest rate for a year. I don’t typically carry balances on my credit cards, but I will occasionally do so for promotional purchases. Use other people’s money free? Sure!

At the time I opened these accounts, I had a few thousand dollars worth of promotional balances that were nearing their end dates. So I transferred them to the new card to reset the clock for another year.

Before doing so, though, I called and verified that payments made would first be applied to new purchases. That should eliminate finance charges on new purchases as long as the amount paid was enough to cover said purchases. Or so I thought. The way the payments are applied was accurate, but my assumption regarding the interest calculation was not.

It seems that, as long as there is any balance on the account, even if the entirety of said balance is on a no-interest promotion, interest is charged based on the average daily balance. No grace period. Sure, it’s in the Terms and Conditions, so it’s legal. And based on my normal purchase level, the amount charged is usually less than a dollar. But it’s the principle that matters.

I am again searching for a primary bank. Sigh.

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I’m midway through my first shift back at work following the second corneal cross-linking procedure. It’s been busy enough, and I’ve struggled when trying to read wire labels and terminal board numbers, but I’ve managed thus far.

After this weekend, I’ll be off for three weeks, between Thanksgiving and the remaining vacation that I have for the year. Two weeks off, work three days, then off for three weeks. Wish I could maintain that sequence.

I’ve noticed that my vision clears significantly if my eyeballs are at their lowest possible point of travel. Just a couple degrees up and things start to blur. I don’t know if it is a result of the removal of the epithelium during the procedures, and the fact that it hasn’t completely grown back/healed, and the epithelium in that area of my eye wasn’t disturbed, or if there is another reason.

I’ve also noticed that I will get noticeably clearer vision if I grin maniacally. Yes, I’m serious. No, squinting or otherwise manipulating my eyelids doesn’t produce the same effect. Presumably, I’ll maintain a neutral expression during my next eye exam in order to get the most useful correction. I just find it odd that there are so many things that change how I see.

I was told to expect fluctuations for the entire first year. I thought those would be gradual as my eyes stabilized, not caused by facial expressions and eyeball angle. I just hope that the procedures have accomplished or will accomplish the strengthening of my corneas as advertised. I’d really like to have stable vision again, and I would prefer not to need corneal transplants.

I got some tractor work done while I recovered. The current project is to level and smooth the front and side yards, now that the trees are gone and the holes are filled in. Mother Nature decided to give me a progress report yesterday by dumping about a foot of rain in roughly twelve hours. Even without vegetation to anchor the soil, the newly contoured areas suffered only minor erosion.

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They’ve been pounding the drum of “early and mail-in votes strongly favor democrats” for weeks, and have kept repeating it ad nauseum since the polls closed. Coincidentally (yeah, right) there were hundreds of thousands of such votes waiting to be counted in states where the margin is thousands or at most tens of thousands of votes. As many have feared, they kept “counting” these votes until they won. American politics is beyond hope. America is dead. I’m done. I plan to live out the rest my days as below the radar and deep in a hole as possible. I am so very thankful that I have no children to worry about. May God have mercy on us all. Not that any of is deserve a.

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My first four-day weekend is almost over. It was nice. I ate too much, which I’ll have to work on, but it was a good balance of productivity and laziness.

I’m six days away from corneal cross-linking procedure number two. I’m definitely not looking forward to it. I am, however, looking forward to having it behind me and being able to get glasses that actually work well and will continue to work for some time.

I took my truck to a nearby self-service car wash a couple days ago to get the last residue from a load of dirt I hauled a year ago out of the bed. There wasn’t much, maybe enough to fill half of a five-gallon bucket. I was maybe a minute into the process when this dude walked up. He told me to make sure I washed everything down the drain, told me that I should pull the truck forward so the tailgate would be directly over the drain, and then bitched about how he’d been out there for hours cleaning up mud left by one of my buddies. All while the timer was counting down on my nozzle time. Way to make sure I never come back, asshole.

Subway is so hit-or-miss. With current promotions, I can get three sandwiches for less than Jimmy John’s gets for one. At their best, they aren’t as good as JJ’s, but since my local JJ’s no longer has wheat sub rolls, there isn’t that much of a difference. The problem is inconsistency. I order online so I can get in and out quickly. Last time I got Subway, they were excellent. Today, despite requesting double mayonnaise and putting a request for “lots of mayo” in the order request field, there was almost none on either sandwich. Big bread plus minimal dressing makes for an unappealing meal. Yes, I brought them home to eat, and yes I have mayo here that I can add, but it is a lower calorie version. When I get Subway, it’s a splurge and I don’t want budget (calorie wise) dressing. Either I give up on them, or I suck it up and order in-store so I can make them make it right.

Just finished watching the original Death Wish franchise. There was lots more nudity on screen back in the 70s and 80s. Haven’t seen full tits, much less FFN in any movie made in the last twenty plus years.

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Drunk Tractoring

I may had several drinks tonight. And once I ran out of beer, I may have fired up the tractor. And attacked the last two piles of dirt from the stump removal. I may have even gotten stuck so badly that I had to stagger over to the truck and use it to yank the tractor out of the hole.

I did manage to make the piles disappear. Tomorrow I plan to start grading. It was interesting and fun bouncing around on the tractor, drunk off my ass.

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