sobo

So this is you, rob?

Yeah, that has really been pissing me off lately...

huh?

WTF, there was a ball game today? I need to quit spending so much time at the office...

I gave up on that shite when my Alzheimer's set in...

Picking up where FW left off... The following is a true story. As a kid of about 12 or 13, living in a beach town in Italy, my buds and I decided to explore the intricacies of pyrotechnics one day. Now, these tiny Italian hamlets didn’t have fashionable landfills 35 years ago like we have today. Oh no, it was just a patch of ground in the woods at the edge of town, where some guy (the dump guy) had a backhoe. Every day, he would sort through the "new arrivals" for anything worth keeping, then dig a new hole and push a bunch of shit in it, set it on fire, leave, and wait for it to burn up. Then he'd come back a while later and backfill the hole and start all over the next day. So my buds and I had found this propane cylinder that felt like it was nearly empty. Now, I’m not talking about a Coleman propane canister. No, I’m talking about what the Italians called a "bombola" and they were used to power your kitchen stove or clothes dryer. These fuckers were about 15 inches in diameter and about 3 feet tall, and were delivered to your home by a service. So you can get an appreciation of how big these things were, figure it’s about the size of a huge expedition pack, almost 6,500 cubic inches. Now that’s fucking huge. So we found this thing that had apparently fallen off the delivery scooter (we called these scooters "relics" for the lack of a better word, cuz they were generally in pretty shitty shape – here’s a pic of a new one). We took turns dragging this bombola along the trails through the woods towards the dump, and we were trying to do this while riding our bikes (don't ask). We had this grand idea that we'd wait for the dump man to light his daily fire and leave, then we'd throw this thing into the hole and see what happens. So we do this thing, and we ran a ways and jumped into one of the other holes in the dump that hadn't been backfilled yet. We're waiting for what seems like forever for this thing to cook off. We thought it would go pretty quick, but WTF did we know? We were just punk kids, right? Anyway, we discussed getting out of the hole and going over to see what had happened. Just about the time we decided to climb out of the hole and go take a look, the bombola finally cooked off. It was ferocious! Loudest explosion I had ever heard; our ears were clanging. And that wasn’t all... all of the cars and houses along the adjacent street at the end of town had their windows blown out. It was a fucking war zone! And the hole had become an even bigger crater – huge I tell ya! So there we are, holding our ears, laughing and "congratulating" ourselves on the event’s outcome, when the dump guy starts screaming and yelling at us. Seems he had forgotten something and had come back a little too early, or whatever, but he was there and he was fucking raging mad! Upon later reflection, it seems that we could have killed him, but we didn’t think about that back then. We all jumped on our bikes and high-tailed it into the woods, splitting up our little group at each trail junction. We didn’t even have a rallying point, so we all stayed "hidden" until we got together back at school on Monday. It took us a couple days before we could muster the cajones to ride down that street and do a Battle Damage Assessment. Glass all over the street, windows blown out, shrapnel holes in the sides of cars... it was freakin’ awesome! But I’m all grown up now and don’t do stuff like that anymore... mostly.

That's a pretty fucking bold statement to make with no metric with which to measure against. Now that's what I call a cop-out.

I'm all over it. :brew: Thanks, Doc Wolfe!

"Who's pickin' banjer, here?" "This river don' go to Aintree..."

You're welcome, Kurt! Glad to be of service.

Uhhhhhhh, Marc's not even old enough to buy beer yet... How old would that make you if you consider him "older"? I guess by your yardstick, I'm a fossil, no?

Ah! I mistook the meaning of your post in response to Norm's post.

Hardly a cop-out, Kev, let alone a "huge" one (like a Smith Rocks whipper??). Get off yer self-described lazy ass and put in a little effort, like a mouse click or two. Christ, do I have to do everything around here???

Uhhh Doug... Norm's right. That was the Marshall Tucker band... linky debut album, second track...

:lmao: I'm sorry, but I just couldn't keep from laughing. Now I need something to clean the beer off my monitor...

Or roundhouse kick it to the recycling center

Free either way, huh?

WTF is that on her cheek and neck? Dried bukkake??

That depends. What are you looking for, and how much do you want?

It would appear that Choada Boy is an adherent of ZT policy. Good for you for allowing the dumpmaster some level of discretion on the enforcement of the $15 policy. Let me ask you one question: Do you partake of illegal drugs, in any manner, form, or quantity? For if you do, you may want to rethink your position, as you be a hypocrite. By your above comment, at the very least, you're a tool. I share Gary's consternation, specifically regarding what is clearly a classic case of ZT. While trying to take a load of yard waste to my local transfer station (where dumping is free for city residents, BTW), I was told that I needed proof of being a resident of Kennewick. The conversation went something like this: Dump Woman: "Do you have a driver's license?" Me: "Yes I do." (produced WDL) DW: "That's no good." Me: "Why not?" DW: "Because it has a Yakima address on it. We need to see a Kennewick address." Me: "Well, I changed my address online when I moved to Kennewick. The DOL doesn't require me to get a new license until this one expires next year." DW: "Well, that doesn't work for us." Me: "So, Waste Management has a higher burden of proof of my residency than the DOL, local law enforcement, and the State Patrol?" DW: "We tell people that you can put a stickie on the back of your license with your local address on it. Or you could bring in your Waste Management bill - that would work." Me: "I don't get a bill because I have the bill deducted automatically from my checking account... Hey, I have my checkbook on me! My checks have my Kennewick address on them." DW: "No, we'd need to see a bill." Me: "Well then, do you have a stickie I could use to put on my license now?" DW: "No." Me: "So I have to get out of the line that I've waited through for 45 minutes, go home, make a stickie, put it on my license, come back here, wait through the line until you see me again, and then you'll let me through?" DW: "Yes." Me: "Doesn't that seem just a tad bit ridiculous, seeing as how you would have no further proof of my residency than what you have right now?" DW: "No, you would have the stickie on the back with your current address on it." Me: ( becoming frustrated) "How about this: I have my voter registration card in my wallet right here. It has my Kennewick address..." DW: "No, I'd need a picture ID." Me: "Well, if I had a Waste Management bill, would that have a picture ID on it?" DW: "No." Me: "Are you beginning to see how ridiculous this conversation is...?" After another minute or so of this nonsense, it was made abundantly clear to me that I would not be allowed to dump my yard waste that day...

That's what an 8-year-old is for. BTW, VHS is sooooooooooo 90s...

I thought it was Steve Perry/Journey, too. Nice vid, Marc. Keep wrestling it. My thoughts exactly, Kimmo. 'boner, you're an ass.

I once walked up to the drive-thru window of an espresso shop to get a shot of caffeine. Freaked out the girls inside. After they calmed down, they told me they thought I came up to rob them. I said, "If I had wanted to rob you, would it not be more effective for me to be inside the store, since you can just leave the window if you don't want to give me your money?" Seems they'd been robbed at least once before, and they had just handed the thief the money through the window, after having left the window to get the money from the cash register...

Reminds me of this scene in 2001:

Go easy on him, Gary. He's a disenfranchised sanitation engineer, unable to accept or deal with changes to his daily regimen, or change at all, for that matter. And the blistering logic of your argument left him totally defenseless and unable to respond cogently. Pity him, for he knows not that he's a dump dumbass...