Pages

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

Ghetto Garden

I have to say, I'm pretty pleased with how the front is looking.



Dick

Is not a crook...and he's still alive.
(We're going back to Dick...because well, I went from Jimmy straight to Lyndon and JFK. So now we're back to Dick. Dwight is next.)

Monday, June 06, 2011

The JFK Assasination

I've been joking that I'm going to kill the next squirrel I catch. Keeping with the tradition, the next one is going to be named after John F Kennedy, and we all know what happened to him.

Truth is, I was only joking. I wasn't going to kill him. I was going to take him for a little ride and let him go, just like all the others.

But I killed JFK.
Catching him was easy. After watering the front garden, I saw three squirrels messing around in my yard, two in one tree and the other on this tree stump I have sitting out there.

So I set the trap, and in minutes, JFK was sniffing it out. I watched him for a while, hoping I'd get to see him set it, but he hopped back into the tree. When I came back in about fifteen minutes, he was in the trap, scratching at the wire, chittering and hissing at me.

Score! I put him in the back of my truck and took his portrait. Then I went and did other things.

When I came back out to leave for work, I noticed he wasn't moving. Sometimes, usually after a long drive, the squirrels will calm down, curl up into a little ball, and lay still, hibernating almost. I tapped the cage to wake him up, but he didn't move. I turned on the hose and sprayed him right in the eye, but he didn't even blink.

He was dead. He had been in the trap for less than two hours.

Sunday, June 05, 2011

40 Acres and a Hill

Here's a couple panorama shots I stitched together. This one is from atop the hill:
Here's one from atop a windmill looking at the hill.

LBJ

It's perhaps a little unfair to name all my squirrels after U.S. Presidents, considering that I'm pretty sure that Lyndon here is a female.
You know who's next right?

I do, and that's why I'm thinking of getting a pellet gun. Back and to the left, baby, back and to the left...

Let a Poor Man Be

No shit. Me and my brother were walking down a residential street in Alamosa, Colorado yesterday and blasting through the windows of a house was some Clutch.


I made a couple Clutch CDs to bring along and this song came up.

I don't know...seems kind of appropriate to my life at the moment for reasons I'll leave unexplained.

If you don't listen to the song, at least read the lyrics:
I’m gonna move to the outskirts of town
Where none of your friends are hanging around
That’s right, I’m gonna move to the other side of town
Where none of your business is hanging around

Woman, please let a poor man be. Let a poor man be
Columbia, girl, please let a poor man be. Let a poor man be

I’m gonna build a castle out of Goodyear tires,
Cinderblock and busted doors; that’s where I’ll retire.
Gonna dig a mote. Fill it up with ale.
Not much of a defense, I know, but the supply never fails.

When you come knocking all in tears wringing hands and genuflecting,
You’ll understand that I am a busy man and my subjects demand my attention.
These walls don’t build themselves and I am running out of time.
So if you desire anything else, you had better get in line.