Oh, Kiss My Ass

  There are a few ways you can take that. One is the long way to starting a fist fight. Another is a response to something you should have known i.e.  2 X 2 = 4. "Oh Kiss my ass! I knew that!". Another is a statement backing a fact. "Oh, kiss my ass, I'm so tired I can't see straight". That's more in line with the title today. Wanna go for a walk? Sure! Oh Kiss my ass! I've got to round up shit that takes 20 extra fucking minutes that I didn't really want to put into going for a walk/coffee/gun show/ what ever the fuck else 99.9% of the population sees as another fun outing. It's like taking a baby with you. Oh, kiss my ass! I forgot about parents of babies, so the 99.9% number is WAY off.  Well, it was a guess anyway. I will tell you this, it is damn close to making it more of a nuisance to go anywhere than it is just to stay home and occasionally go outside to see what the weather is really doing.

  This is where the cancer starts getting your entire system to think it can give you the finger and take everything away. He got awful fucking close with me the last three or four days, and that's no shit. I was right on the edge of just telling everyone to leave me the fuck alone, I'm just as thrilled dealing with "situational narcolepsy" at the house as I am at Starbucks. Fucking happened again this morning. I go in, order my cup of Joe, do my standard half and half with brown sugar (no, I can't taste it all) mix it up, get a taste for my tongue off the wooden stir sticks, load up a syringe and since I've dumped in some Half and Half the cup of mud isn't too hot to push in (made since now, didn't it?). So, I shove down 4 ounces of damn good coffee, snag the paper to give it a read. Nope, a nice MFD EMT shook my foot to make sure I was okay. I'd been out about an hour. Fucking shit. I write that I'm fine and thank him for checking on me. I'm embarrassed out the ass though, I don't even look the girls working in the eye because I'm embarrassed. It fucking sucks. Sorta sours my day right off the bat when I can't even enjoy a cup of coffee in one of the nice soft chairs they have without passing the fuck out. Because I passed the fuck out for almost an hour, I'm behind on my formula at home. To make that up, I've got to dump three cans of that bullshit which is overfilling and generally makes me feel like I'm gonna vomit any minute for at least three hours. So I get that in, and we go to get the dog some food and hit the gun show for a while. I know for around an hour I'm not going to feel well, but that will be okay. It's okay because it's out among the living, well, at least some of the people look like they are alive. There's always that percentage of the population that regards "living" as looking exactly like the worst redneck stereotype you can imagine. But that's for another day and story. I think the moving around helped out with the overfull feeling, it didn't last more than an hour this go round. (the second one came on a lot of coughing and that means that I also get to cough up some nasty acidic shit that is nicely balanced by the inescapable flavor of fresh moose shit that is the formula I have to use. Yum fucking yum.

   We walked around the Gun Show for about an hour. tiny O2 bottle on one shoulder, suction pump on the other, and fifty or sixty rude mother fuckers that can't seem to get around me, or the guy in the wheelchair, without bumping into us or acting like we are taking up the fucking space without permission. I can't talk or I'd been using that O2 bottle as a weapon. I did drop a short note on the wheel chair guys lap. We passed each other about 20 minutes later, he gave me a thumbs up. So either he read it and thought it was funny, or read it, thought was funny and said it out loud. "Wouldn't it be nice if all these cock-suckers that keep running into me without even a "boo, hiss, or kiss my ass" would just set fuck down for 2 minutes so I can shop without having them up my ass?" Yeah, I'd had about enough of the "Friendliest People In Texas" bullshit for one day. So we headed home. I took on some much needed water because I was dehydrating a little. And yet, once again, it was time to pour three more cans of that dog shit they call Formula down. This time it stayed with me, the feeling that I'm gonna hurl since I feel so overly full. I'm also texting with a buddy of mine. He texts, I pass out, I text 30-45 minutes later and he's still okay with that. I did text him one that I didn't fix after I fell asleep,  we both had a laugh over that. Hardy har.

   Some little shit that hits my "Pet Peeve" button. Now that I think about it, I may put up a few pet peeves just for giggles every once in a while.

PET PEEVES
When I write down I don't hear well, and you turn your back on me to talk, huge pet peeve, shows you don't care, your memory is shorter than a hamsters dick, or you want to piss me off on purpose. I'll even toss in that you didn't mean to do that.

Some times, if I croak out "wait a minute" could possibly mean I would like to run something by you. Just going on like you were just frosts my ass to no end. And again, being the magnanimous person that I am, I'll give benefit of the doubt on this too. Some people are crowding the forgiveness. I'm glad it's not anyone in my house that's crowding it.

When I sit down anywhere, and I'm only two or three feet away, I can hear you when you talk about me, you fucking dolt. There is no room for benefit of the doubt on this one.
 

  That's Three. check back after this is posted. If I quit dozonnn;jjjj''

 Dammit!!!!!!! I dozed off. Seriously, check after I post this, there maybe a spot for some of your own Pet Peeves. No grooming required

 
  Walker KS had a bomber training, B-29's in fact. It was between Gorham, Vicotoria, and Hays Ks.
North of Gorham, and just west of Paradise KS there was a high spot that you could see Gorham, Walker, and Victoria with the naked eye. There was also what looked like a storm shelter that had, or so it looked, like phone service and a good sized radio tower. If you're a kid, looked like a fun place to hang out. According to my dad who knew everyone and their first dog up in that country, it was not a storm shelter at all. This was German immigrant country. Volga-Germans. Enticed to Russia to settle the wilds around the Volga, then shit upon and denied the things they were promised. They moved to the high plains where they kept their heritage (learned to speak English. makes me wonder why a lot of the other immigrants we have here now can't do the same) and turned the state of Kansas into the Bread Box of the world.
  That was a bunker, set up to record flights, number of planes, which planes were being pressed into service by being shipped out with their crews. The phone line was a direct hook up to a man up the road so they wouldn't be caught, early morning transmitting with a radio to Germany. They were sending all the information they gathered every day and sending it to Germany via radio. They got turned in and were arrested by the FBI.

  So goes local legend. And when you're a kid of 6 or 8, that sounded neater than shit. I hope that story is true, and I wished I'd had asked Pop how to get to it before he died. I would have loved to moved back onto that ranch. Redone the old home from stem to stern and stayed there after I retired. Then remembering that Liz and I neither one like extended cold any more, or snow that stays more than 24 hours, that was looking less and less like it might happen

Hugs and all that bullshit