lummox

who the fuk jokingly weight trains? i mix in plyometric shizzle. that way i get power. i get endurance. i get boing.

why dont you shove a brick up your ass. sideways.

lots of menial labor jobs. pitch a tent in your backyard and give em a bucket to crap in. aint no brain surgery complexity here dude. lots of menial labor jobs. se hablan espanol?

HOOKUP!

from latimes: THIS IS FUN? Rodent reeling byAshley Powers Is the squirrel attracted to the nut--or is it the other way around? They swear it's catch and release. Squirrel fishers tie peanuts to fishing lines, cast and wait. Shhhh. The critter creeps toward the bait, grasps it and … I got one! Then the squirrel takes the nut and runs. College kids love this. Penn State had its Squirrel Fishing Rescue Rangers. UC Berkeley's Squirrel Fishers rates student organization status, meaning it gets some funding. University of Oregon anglers are campaigning for similar standing. Does trawling for squirrel require the same skill and bait expertise as other forms of the sport? With no official experts to consult — come on, it's squirrel fishing — we asked a few presumed ones for tips on "hooking" one. John Harris, small-mammal biologist, Mills College, Oakland: Squirrels are picky like a toddler, Harris says, and prefer sweets to roughage. He has seen squirrels grub on pecans and scorn buckwheat. (Can you blame them?) Generally, they go where food is — they're fishing for humans. The exception is the Mojave ground squirrel, a night-crawling desert-dweller that Harris has studied: "You'd die before you'd get one of them. They're very secretive." Gregg Bassett, president, the Squirrel Lover's Club, Elmhurst, Ill.: Put the critters at ease. Speak squirrel; use an even tone, the way you would talk to a puppy. Or repeatedly slip your tongue off the roof of your mouth — the clackclackclack sounds like a squirrel's "bark." Peanuts are OK; black walnuts or acorns, better; macadamia nuts, best. At least, Bassett says, until someone invents peanut butter cologne. Yasuhiro Endo, Harvard University grad, Sunnyvale, Calif., engineer and co-creator of a popular squirrel fishing website: Fish where humans won't freak out the squirrels, like a campus, Endo suggests. When critter hugs nut, tug slightly and it will cling like a climber to rock. "I don't know what else," he says. "Maybe you have to be born with the talent." (The site — hit count about 1.4 million — is http://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~yaz/en/squirrel_fishing.html ) Jason McIlhaney, co-president, University of Oregon squirrel fishers club: Begin with peanut, unshelled, unsalted. "You don't want to kill the squirrels with high sodium intake," McIlhaney says. As with fly-fishing, let your line soar. (The club's casting coach, nicknamed Hawaiian Superman, was weaned on island fly-fishing.) "Some people get it all tangled or do this big arc thing," McIlhaney says. No arc needed

boatskiclimbsail must be an engineer type

a bigass bastard mill file works fine (you know: a flat one). i cant think of any reason why a flat file woulnt work.

winds and tetons in july = mosquitoes.

i got that one already.

20 inches? thats like my hatband size. wtf?

i read this bullshit on msn.com that the average guy has 13 inch biceps. that is pretty big. wtf? they averaging in fatass people or what?

ah shit! it is al qaida taking it to the hole!

more like a fable by aesop is apropos.

i smurfed a

just a work jacket. i step out wearing the stylie shizzle my man.

truth be told my favorite jacket is a fuked up ole carrhart given to me by a boss when i was working outta cordova. it is frayed and smells like engine oil and i like it. sumpin like

just testing. and you failed.

sheeit. when the cops say 'you were going pretty fast there' i just say 'that aint even fast compared to what this baby can do. know what im sayin g?'

i gots this cheapass cagoule from campmor. that fukin pos has saved my ass more times than any other.

'letters to penthouse volume 3'. it is exhausting me.

you bulimics make me puke.

i tell the fuker the truth when he axes how fast i think i was going. works everytime.

check out the exhaust on that one.

oops i did it again

exerpt from The Log from the Sea of Cortez "We come now to a piece of equipment which still brings anger to our hearts and, we hope, some venom to our pen. Perhaps in self defence against suit, we should say, "The outboard motor mentioned in this book is purely fictitious and any resemblance to outboard motors living or dead is coincidental". We shall call this contraption, for the sake of secrecy, a Hansen Sea-Cow -- a dazzling little piece of machinery, all aluminium paint and touched here and there with spots of red. The Sea-Cow was built to sell, to dazzle the eyes, to splutter its way into the unwary heart. We took it along for the skiff. It was intended that it should push us ashore and back, should drive our boat into estuaries and along the borders of little coves. But we had not reckoned with one thing. Recently, industrial civilisation has reached its peak of reality and has lunged forward into something that approaches mysticism. In the Sea-Cow factory where steel fingers tighten screws, bend and mold, measure and divide, some curious mathematick has occurred. And that secret so long sought has accidentally been found. Life has been created. The machine is at last stirred. A soul and a malignant mind have been born. Our Hansen Sea-Cow was not only a living thing but a mean, irritable, contemptible, vengeful, mischievous, hateful living thing. In the six weeks of our association we observed it, at first mechanically and then, as its living reactions became more and more apparent, psychologically. And we determined one thing to our satisfaction. When and if these ghoulish little motors learn to reproduce themselves the human species is doomed. For their hatred of us is so great that they will wait and plan and organise and one night, in a roar of little exhausts, they will wipe us out. We do not think that Mr Hansen, inventor of the Sea-Cow, father of the outboard motor, knew what he was doing. We think the monster he created was as accidental and arbitrary as the beginning of any other life. Only one thing differentiates the Sea-Cow from the life that we know. Whereas the forms that are familiar to us are the results of billions of years of mutation and complication, life and intelligence emerged simultaneously in the Sea-Cow. It is more than a species. It is a whole new re-definition of life. We observed the following traits in it and we were able to check them again and again. Incredibly lazy, the Sea-Cow loved to ride on the back of a boat, trailing its propeller daintily in the water while we rowed. It required the same amount of gasoline whether it ran or not, apparently being able to absorb this fluid through its body walls without recourse to explosion. It had always to be filled at the beginning of every trip. It had apparently some clairvoyant powers, and was able to read our minds, particularly when they were inflamed with emotion. Thus, on every occasion when we were driven to the point of destroying it, it started and ran with a great deal of noise and excitement. This served the double purpose of saving its life and of resurrecting in our minds a false confidence in it. It had many cleavage points, and when attacked with a screwdriver, fell apart in simulated death, a trait it had in common with opossums, armadillos, and several members of the sloth family, which also fall apart in simulated death when attacked with a screwdriver. It hated the engineer, sensing perhaps his knowledge of mechanics was capable of diagnosing its shortcomings. It completely refused to run: 1 when the waves were high 2 when the wind blew 3 at night, early morning, and evening 4 in rain, dew, or fog 5 when the distance to be covered was more than two hundred yards But on warm sunny days when the weather was calm and the white beach nearby - in a word, on days when it would have been a pleasure to row - the Sea-Cow started at a touch and would not stop. It loved no one, trusted no one. It had no friends. Perhaps towards the end, our observations were a little warped by emotion. Time and again as it sat on the stern with its pretty little propeller lying idly in the water, it was very close to death. And in the end, even we were infected with its malignancy and its dishonesty. We should have destroyed it, but we did not. Arriving home, we gave it a new coat of aluminium paint, spotted it at points with new red enamel, and sold it. And we might have rid the world of this mechanical cancer."