Backstroke through

I want to change my frequency. Put me on vibrate, but out of phase with this world. Let me see what is in between. Thrown bricks become my gentle breeze and so does the absurdity of society. Waves cancel out existence for a brief moment, only to be born again and headed in opposite directions. Polar schisms branching out towards the extremities of humanity mark the climax of the mind's expansion. I look for a shift between these two worlds, so there is no collusion, just an aural swirl--a communication of differences. Let's not hit the reset button this time around. I want the world to remember what happened, and muse upon how we evolved.

God is everywhere, even under the sink

Where is the most unusual place that you've found God? I once found God hiding in a cupboard. Frankly, it scared the hell out of me. But I just had to stand back and say, "Oh, God". What a prankster.

There was a time that I found God in the supermarket. Really. BTW, God brings his own reusable shopping bags.

The last time I found God was at an art gallery. He was looking intently at a painting depicting human suffering. I looked at the painting and then up at him, without first recognizing him. His eyes met mine with some surprise and then awkwardness. He turned away and walked towards the back of the exhibit. I never got to ask him why. WHY GOD? WHY??? Why is there so much bad art in the world?

Forgive me.

Fester: the day after Easter!

Why do I have to go back to work? Why do I need money?? What is that smell coming from the pantry???

These are all questions that plague me, especially on Fester.

By the way, how was your Easter? Mine? Well, I did the Jesus thing and it was fun, because I was running on three hours of sleep. I've been having major anxieties and concerns for some family members lately. How does my mind choose to deal with it? An all night puppet show, featuring worst case scenarios, intrigue, and Hail-Mary style solutions to all life's problems. Who wouldn't want to stay up all night for that?

It wasn't all bad. I did go for a good long hike today. Guess what I saw? I saw an actual rabbit, a cottontail. That sucker was mighty cute and fast. I'll take that sighting as a good omen.

Freakin' Allergies

Head throbbing. Nose stuffed up. Eyes itchy. Bleh. Still doesn't explain all the farting.

Major Bummer

I attended a viewing (couldn't stay for the funeral) of a former co-worker today. He committed suicide on the 14th (self asphyxiation from car exhaust) . Man, the dude was only 21. He leaves behind an expecting wife, who has a lot of social anxiety problems. I've been pretty bummed about this for the past week, but I've kept it fairly quiet.

I know most of his family personally and it just doesn't add up. He came from a great and loving family. He was really great with his wife. He worked hard and was a warm, friendly young man. You can't do the math on this kind of tragedy--you'll go mad if you do. There's no one thing that is the cause. There may be a trigger, but it is not the sole reason.

I don't like going to funerals, but this was worse to see a man in his prime laid out in a casket: his family in their best contained sorrow and his sobbing wife, beyond grief, stuck in a dead-eyed stare with her deceased. If I could paint a picture of this scene any better, I'd promptly burn it to hell and rid the world of such a sight.

This was absolutely senseless, but I cannot judge him. I have no idea what was really going on in his world. I can say what things in my life drove me to similar shades of bleak, but I cannot be that person who knows the answer or "knows exactly how they felt", because I don't. There's too much suicide where I live. It can't be glossed over anymore.

The frauds have to own up to the conditions that they've (we've) set upon us. If we allow frauds to be our fathers, friends, or inner voice, they will only lead us over the bridge and into our own reflection--the last thing we'll confront before the impact is the truth--ourselves.

You can read whatever you want to in that last statement. It has its own merry meaning to me. Take care of what is dishonest in your own personal life and seek professional help if that is not enough.

You just want attention

I know I do. It's late and I'm lonely. You'd think that I'd have something profound to say, but no, I'm just horny for your comments.

In other snooze, I have a major sinus headache. There's something for ya!

In smother noose, I did achieve my very important goal that I was worried about--the one I wrote about in the previous post. What was the goal? Seeing how long I could hold my breath under the influence of jazz rock. I did three minutes, eyes closed. Beat that, the rest of yous!

In udder ooze, I did send my cover letter, resume, and application in time--5 minutes before the job closed. I haven't heard anything back yet. The job is a coordinator position for a program that helps disabled adults find careers. I live my life with my "adult" settings mostly disabled, so I figure I'm a shoe-in.

In buttered shoes, I can't get enough of Diet Coke. I think this means I'm going to hell, or McDonald's. Wait...it's the same thing. Glug. Glug. Sluuuuuuuurp! Still feel empty inside.

In gutter booze, I'm more afraid of my dependency of watching "Supernatural" episodes on Netflix, or as I like to call it, my alternative to a "step on my balls with high heels while I freebase cocaine" type problem. I'm not sure what I just said there, but it's late and I'm horny for your comments. Be nice, okay?

Mojo, where art thou?

It's not happenin'. Things are not going my way, it seems. My body is rebelling against me, adding the hurt and magnifying my discomfort. Files that I swore I transferred from my old computer to this computer are nowhere to be found. It appears that I'm not going to achieve a very important goal that I set for myself this week. I want to ball all of this negativity into excrement and crap it out once and for all, light it on fire, and then dance around the stinky blaze, laughing maniacally.

It isn't funny. I actually just found out that I've been wearing my underwear inside out. This explains a lot.

Pics of random adventures in a local canyon

This was about three years or so ago. I was doing an eighty-foot rappel. This section was fun because you would drop down with nothing to touch for thirty feet. You can see that I just kicked off and am about to fly down. It's all kid's stuff, though.
This is an example of the stuff that I find off of the beaten path and why I really like finding mines. Pictured above is part of a steam compressor that has been abandoned for over a century. Oh, and the mines...They are a bit scary, I admit. But I am not too afraid to pop in and see what might be lurking in them. I occasionally find big ones; however, most are small prospects that either never produced or the ores were so poor as to not be profitable. Some mines later served as a hideout for moonshiners. Even more interesting are the mines that were used as scams. These played out or phony holes were "salted" with gold from a shotgun blast (the shot replaced with some amount of real gold or silver) or other method, so that crooks could lure in investors and then run off with their money. With gold at today's prices, you'd really have to con some serious money out of someone in order to make it worthwhile. It's these kind of stories that intrigue me the most, not the hole itself. I also like hiking to "death" cars. Having a couple of connections to search and rescue, I get the low down on these grizzly places. This one was particularly gruesome. Three guys came down a dirt canyon road at night and missed a corner. This is what a six hundred foot tumble looks like. Two guys died, with one of those guy's head getting completely crushed. The third guy was thrown out of the Jeep a third of the way down. Although he was seriously injured, he crawled up the incline to the road, nearly died, but then was found and saved. It may seem a bit weird, but I know of guys who have scavenged these wrecks to fix their own vehicles. Don't worry, I would never do something like that.
Then you have more appealing to the masses stuff: waterfalls. I would have to say that checking out waterfalls is my first love when it comes to hiking. Just to give you some scale on this picture, that rock on the right is about twelve feet tall. A sad story about this waterfall: A girl fell to her death here about ten years ago. She was with her boyfriend. They were walking around the rocks at the top and she slipped and fell head first down to the bottom. Her boyfriend scrambled down the hole (the bottom is a very treacherous spot to get to) only to find that he could not do anything to help her. So, he ran down the canyon as fast as he could to get help. In fact, he ran so hard that he broke some bones in his feet from the impact. It was not enough, though, and it was later determined that she had died instantly.
Well, I can't have a bummer ending for y'all, so I thought I'd include my other favorite thing to find on my expeditions: finding rock art. Now, this panel was not in the same canyon as the previous pictures, but is still in my hometown. These simple figures were probably drawn by some Shoshone or possibly Blackfeet--they were both in the area before the settlers came and pushed them out. I've found better examples of rock art outside of my backyard, but I still enjoy hiking up and looking at these little bunny-eared stick figures.

Solo Expedition, Nov. 20, 2011: Discovery/Excavation of Tunnel

This site is high up on the mountain. I drove up a dirt road up one canyon and then hiked down to this location. It's really steep. You take a tumble and it will take awhile to stop rolling.
Anyway, these might look like your everyday rock outcroppings, but underneath lies something hidden. I got a feeling looking at this ridge line, from a canyon road miles away, that there was something man made here that had been taken back by mother nature or TNT.You can see my ruck sack and pickaxe, ready to go to work on what I could tell was the remnants of an old prospect.After about a solid hour of swinging my pick, leveraging out some pretty big rocks, I managed to break through. This confirmed that I wasn't smoking old ropes from the garden shed after all. What you see is the largest I could make the opening, due to a massive rock slab that had fallen from the ceiling wouldn't let me dig the hole taller or wider. It was time to either leave, tape a camera to a willing squirrel, or suck in my gut and squeeze through this birth canal. I chose the last one...and it was almost the last choice I ever made.
The slide in was terrifying. I had a sharp rock digging right into my back while my stomach was trying to slug crawl over a smooth domed rock. I relaxed and let gravity take me down into the pit. In the picture above you can see a tunnel that is pristine. Nobody has been here for many decades, if not, a whole hundred years. There were no indications of footprints in the dirt, litter, or animal nests. From what I could tell, it was a very old prospect that collapsed not long after it had been abandoned. I was rather excited to be the first in a long time to be in this place. Little did I know that soon I would be in serious trouble. Though, the euphoria I was experiencing didn't let on that I was waltzing into my tomb--usually when one is giggling and stumbling around in the dark, it isn't deep inside a mountain hole that they just dug their way into.Bad air in mine shafts is something that I've certainly read and heard about. I clearly knew better than to just jump in this hole without a buddy, without more safety precautions, and (duh) letting the damned thing air out for a week. I was too jazzed to remember these important details to not leap in like I was chasing a leprechaun into his den. Like I said earlier, I started feeling euphoric. I was getting dizzy and started laughing for no apparent reason, other than it just felt good. I don't know what I was breathing, but it wasn't oxygen. It was probably carbon dioxide or possibly methane gas. The moment that I realized that I was suffocating, I got my wits back enough to turn around and head back the hundred or so feet that I had walked in. Despite my legs feeling heavier than lead at this point, my retreat was frantic, bumping into the sides of the tunnel as I weaved.The sight of blue light coming from the entrance calmed me down. Despite the urgency of the situation, this was picture worthy--I mean, it was like a micro rapture happening for me right then and there. It's hard to express the terror I was experiencing, yet somehow I was still in some strange la-la land of foggy elation. These feelings were all going on while I was thinking about potential death and how to escape from it. Nobody could even know what was happening to me at this time. It was all me and the Great Gazoo.

I laid down on the ground for awhile where this picture was taken. I could literally taste the air on my tongue. However, resting at this spot wasn't getting me enough air. My head was hurting more than I've ever experienced before, with exception of having actual head injuries. I started my crawl up the collapse to my hole, pushing my pack ahead of me.

The thing about climbing up, versus sliding down, is that now I have to use all my muscles to climb out. When I use all my muscles, I get bigger--I can't suck in anything. Simply put, I did not fit. I was smart enough to pop my pickaxe head off and throw it down the hole before hand. I don't know why I did this, but I am glad that I did. This move saved my freakin' bacon. I slithered back a bit and dug out the pickaxe head. I only had enough room to paddle the dirt from side to side, down behind me, as I rocked left to right. This was slow going, but I eventually made enough room to get past the tightest spot, but then my feet didn't have enough room or traction to get me out the rest of the way.

The pickaxe handle was left at the hole (you can actually see it at the top of the hole in the last picture). I reached and grabbed it with my right hand, turned it sideways, wedged it into the sides of the outer rocks, and pulled my body up enough to make it out to safety. I spent another twenty minutes laying outside on the dirt pile I had made. My body was burning, and my head was taking longer to clear than I had expected. Snow flakes started falling all over my body, but I didn't care; it felt good. Embarrassment and triumph are odd feelings to have at the same time, but that is what I felt at that moment. I gathered myself together, thanked God for saving me from my own retardation, and then realized that I still had to hike a long way uphill back to my truck.

Good times: I won't ever do that again by myself. Do you know of any women that like to do this sort of thing?

Just stuff

This last weekend I went for a hike. I was eager to try out some new crampons out on the trail. I've been trying to stay active this winter. Exercising like a normal person at a gym or jogging is not my deal. I need to feel like I am on some adventure; this is my motivator. Anyway, the snowy trails get packed down and then ice over, making it hard to hike safely without using poles or any type of crampon (strap-on spikes for your feet). Full-on crampons are overkill; it's not like I'm trekking over a glacier and scaling walls of ice. So I ordered some medium-duty crampons and received them last week.

The canyon that I hiked up this weekend had more use on its south side. I was not interested in bumping into people, so I went up the north side. At one time, this canyon had a wagon trail up it that miners built to get up to their claim. Ranchers used this way as well to get up to the flats above for grazing. In 1930, overgrazing of the hills and flats above this mining operation led to a small disaster. After a hard rain storm during the spring runoff, and instability from the overgrazing, a flood washed out much of the mine, mill, and road that was located up the canyon. My intentions for choosing this route on the north side of the canyon was to retrace what I could of this wagon trail.

The trail up to the highest Bonneville shoreline was sandy and steep. Approaching the mountain, the trail became overgrown with scrub oak and maples, but I could make out that a wider than normal path existed there at one time. It was at the start of this higher trail that I picked up on moose tracks and scat. This trail took me up into a bottle neck between two cliffs and dropped in just above a small waterfall. It was here that I lost all trace of the wagon trail, but picked up some cougar tracks; I followed.

The surrounding cliffs are prime area for predators to get a good vantage of what is coming up or down this canyon. During warm months, the flats are host to big animals, such as deer and moose, and of course, beaver, which have made more than several dams up there. Birds of prey, bobcats, and mountain lions have prime real estate in this bottle neck, essentially being able to keep tabs on what food is coming through and then pounce on them. Coyotes mostly hang out below on the benches.

I have never had such a hot spot for wildlife this low in my county than in this canyon and on the side I went up. (The south side trail is more developed and popular, but follows the bench and then switch backs ascend up and to the southeast over to another canyon). Most people don't want to deal with unimproved trails and bushwhacking. This is what I count on when I am picking a hike that will give me a more unique experience.

Anyway, I was mostly psyched hiking up, following the moose and cougar tracks. But then I had to make the descent; something about turning my back to the mountain made my hair stand up on end. This feeling of having cat eyes on me was a bit too much. I was at a point where I really needed snow shoes. The snow pack was up to my thighs, and if I had to stand my ground it would be very hard not to appear vulnerable. So I picked up a tree branch and swung it around my head, beat it on tree trunks/rocks, anything to make me look big and threatening. If anybody was able to hear me, they would have been treated to my "outdoor voice" version of self analysis. It's always the same on these more isolated adventures: I'm all brave and eager on the way up, and then paranoid and twitchy heading back.

I made my way down with the setting sun. It was quite a sabbath for me; one where I didn't have any judgment or expectations from people, but God and nature deciding whether to grace me with beauty and grant safe passage. I probably should have taken somebody with me, but I figure my only sin is in not having taken any pictures.

The Hog's Back

I keep finding my life drawn towards your mysteries. The fascination of dreams lost in your deep places and wood. Man clung to your sides and rode your spine, trying to break you and extract an immortality that only fortune can provide. Denuded and gored, you shook them off with floods and fires. You kept the secret and held tight the riches that were never promised, rather, assumed. I dream of those that came before and tried their best. I wonder what I might find, besides others' attempts. Will I be given a fair turn? Or will I be shaken off prematurely and sent down without my name? Despite this, I'll wander in deeper with disregard to my pride. Some dreams live where nothing is certain and most is hidden. In that reality I'll build my shelter.

Passion vs. Obssesion

Passion is something that you freely participate in; whereas, obsession is something that you can't help.

Passion: Doing something you love.

Obsession: Doing something because you feel that if you don't, something bad will happen or be felt as a result.

Let's examine obsession.....

Crazy person: (Wipes ass) Nope, still seeing brown. Better keep wiping until I see blood!

Now for passion....

Well adjusted person: (Wipes ass) Interesting...The color is lighter than expected. I can detect notes of citrus and hazelnuts. Now to test consistency!

I'm glad that I could clear this up for you all.

Community (on a cellular level--and no, this has nothing to do my health)

("Bob" the cell) "Hey guys, what's up?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, don't kill yourself."

(Bob): "So, I'm kind of out of things to do....um, I'm going to kill myself, if that's okay?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, we need you to not do that."

Bob the cell goes away for awhile, floats around bumping into shit a fair amount and then comes back to the rest of the gang.

(Bob) "Hey everybody, I just got back. I'm pretty tired now. I'm going over to brain and off myself there, if that's okay?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, don't kill yourself. We need you to something for us first. We heard of rumors that Jerry was mutating over in the corner of the colon. He's quite charming and might have a following now. We want you to go and deal with it."

(Bob) "B-But, I like Jerry."

(The rest of the cells) "We know and feel that, based on your relationship of trust, you are the cell that can get close enough to him and get the job done. Plus, you did such a great job with the flu earlier this year; we thought of you."

(Bob) "You know that I'm a joiner. This is totally not going to work."

(The rest of the cells) "It's what we all want, Bob; just do it already."

Bob travels to the dark recesses of the colon and finds his ol' chum Jerry, only Jerry is a bit different now and is keeping some bad company.

(Jerry) "Well, look what the crap dragged in...Bob!"

(Bob) "Hey Jerry. You're still hanging 'round here, huh?"

(Jerry) "Yeah, you know me. I can't really do much else. I'm kinda stuck here with the twenty-year-old macaroni. You?"

(Bob) "Oh, just cellin'. Say, things look a bit different around here. Who are your new friends?"

(Jerry) "Same gang, Bob. We all felt that the scene was a bit old and wanted a change. And you know what's funny? Ever since we changed, we don't need everyone telling us to not kill ourselves. In fact, we want more cells like us. This is fun!"

(Bob) "Sounds great, but who's working the colon right now?"

(Jerry) "Who cares? Who??"

(Bob) "Well, we care bob and me and the rest of the cell community request that you kill yourself. Isn't that great?"

(Jerry) "Bob, fuck you!"

Bob, feeling like a total failure, went back to report what he found to the rest of the cells. The rest of the cells continued to deny his requests to commit suicide. He was given light duty assignments because they all thought he was weird. Later on, Bob finally got the order to die and so did every other cell. The End.


Author's note: C#

Never leave your child alone with a party clown

I think the title is all this post needs. Happy Hanukkah!

Oldest Dirty Bastard

In order to hold the title of "Oldest Dirty Bastard" you must use food stuffs as your main source of innuendo. Anyone for "instant mash" or receiving a "gift basket" (just add banana)?But even with success in mashing potatoes and inserting bananas into the fruit basket equation, the Oldest Dirty Bastard would occasionally suffer "writer's block".Of course, there is one simple cure for writer's block and cold frankfurters, which involves much repetitious pleading, again, referencing food stuffs found in 1930s era pantries.After all remedies have been applied, the requisite compliments and flattery are employed to ensure continued therapy and possibly a large breakfast of biscuits, sausages, fruits, and figgy pudding (well, I'd want figgy pudding afterwards).

Giving thanks for good health

I had an examination with my oncologist today. My health is good. I am really happy about this. My oncologist has been there for me over the past while like no other person. To be honest, not only did she save my life, she gave me a different life. I have been able to talk to her about things that I'd not been able to with anyone who was in an "official" position to help me, including spiritual. She is a true healer with no intent to judge.

Anyway, she is moving on to another hospital. Today was the last checkup I had with her. We talked about the past four years and how she was only two years out of her residency when she handled my diagnosis and treatment plan. We talked about my rough journey of overcoming cancer, the loss of my sister to alcohol, and the loss of my mother to cancer (whom she got to know well during my chemotherapy treatments), all while we knew each other. We hugged and said our farewells. I also told her how grateful I was for all that she had done for me.

I don't know that I'm ready to break in another doctor. It will not be the same, but I am okay. My life may not be perfect, but the deep wounds that I've carried in my life are not so bad anymore. To have been treated by a true healer is a blessing. Doc, I give you thanks from the best part of me. I will try to make the life you gave me worthy of the effort you put into saving it.

Scrape

The process of me getting up in the morning is similar to that of one ridding their shoes of undesirable matter. Despite the hard work of the people I find that my country is not any better than it used to be. I don't quit getting up in the morning to face the day, despite the feeling that things aren't improving. I hope this isn't what being an American means, nowadays. I'm looking forward to what the coming "Occupy Congress" movement will do. The US needs more effective management. Hopefully, the public will not give up in voicing this demand.

I never once thought that Wall Street would have given two shits about any of the occupy movements, so long as they could conduct their business. They are about the money only. This is their job. Why was this a surprise? Congress, on the other hand, are public servants, and the only thing the public is getting served is a confused arrangement of shit.

I have no overwhelming desire to be rich. Hell, it would be nice, but I'm not motivated in that regard. I would, however, like to feel some of that hope that I once heard about a few years back. Having the "right" ideals means nothing if you lack the ability or resolve to see them through. Why would I order the best pizza in the world if it wouldn't get delivered? Hell, I can say lots of fun stuff to people and get them all excited too! Whatever gets me the job. I'm tired of leaders either being insane or some golden retriever stuffed into a suit.

It is the media and the primaries that have spawned this ridiculous campaigning that we enjoy today. You tell me who looks like a normal human being, or a competent leader of a superpower? We have no clue how to get out of this mess, we really don't.

SUPER POSITIVE EBAY FEEDBACK ENDING!!! A++++++!!!!!!!

The absence of effective State, and, especially, national, restraint upon unfair money-getting has tended to create a small class of enormously wealthy and economically powerful men, whose chief object is to hold and increase their power. The prime need to is to change the conditions which enable these men to accumulate power which it is not for the general welfare that they should hold or exercise. We grudge no man a fortune which represents his own power and sagacity, when exercised with entire regard to the welfare of his fellows. Again, comrades over there, take the lesson from your own experience. Not only did you not grudge, but you gloried in the promotion of the great generals who gained their promotion by leading their army to victory. So it is with us. We grudge no man a fortune in civil life if it is honorably obtained and well used. It is not even enough that it should have been gained without doing damage to the community. We should permit it to be gained only so long as the gaining represents benefit to the community.

The fundamental thing to do for every man is to give him a chance to reach a place in which he will make the greatest possible contribution to the public welfare. Understand what I say there. Give him a chance, not push him up if he will not be pushed. Help any man who stumbles; if he lies down, it is a poor job to try to carry him; but if he is a worthy man, try your best to see that he gets a chance to show the worth that is in him. ~President Theodore Roosevelt

Confession

I am not a Vietnamese prostitute. I am sorry that I let this charade go on for so long. In other snooze, I have written a children's book on the art of taxidermy. In other, other snooze, I lied about writing a children's book on the art of taxidermy. I am so sorry that I let this charade go on for one entire sentence. I blame the Liberal media for the first and Fox News for the later.

Now that things are straightened out, I need to attend to more important matters. By the way, if I were really a Vietnamese prostitute, I would go by the name of Netflix.

The End!

Etheuorque (Now featuring a mustache!)

Click here to see an old post with a picture of me with horrible facial hair.

Who would like the challenge of defining my newly minted word? It's the title; I made it up. Yes, I'm silly and have no life, but help me anyway.

In other snooze, I did manage to sneak up to the hills on the weekend, during a break in the bad weather. I tried to excavate what I was talking about in the previous post and it wasn't even a "Geraldo" moment. What I thought was the entrance was a pocket, but through more digging found large slabs of rock collapsed on top of each other. I did find a bunch of ash, possibly from an old miner's campfire. So, I determined that it was foolish and way too dangerous for me, all by myself, to proceed. There is a tunnel back in the mountain some distance further, but it is beyond reasonable effort and risk to uncover. This is fine, however. This is just tunnel #1 of 4 in this camp--the one in the picture found here. I will have to post pics later. I'm hoping to at least have something interesting, besides dirt, to show.

Could this be my Geraldo moment?

I remember watching Geraldo Rivera excavating the "secret" vaults of Al Capone with great anticipation of him finding a cache of loot or human remains. In the end, all that was found was a couple of broken bottles. My "Geraldo" moment may come soon. I have found an intriguing old mine that I discovered from a misidentified photo on the Utah Historical Society website. I located the mine camp last weekend and the mine entrance has long since been covered over by erosion. There is very little indication of human activity in that area, due to its overgrowth and difficulty of access.

Anyway, I started prying around with a branch and found the earth coming out with ease--the opening starting to reveal itself. While this is not a good idea, I have got all excited with thoughts of finding some cool artifacts left behind. This is probably unlikely, but I intend to find out anyway just for the hell of it. So this weekend, it will be me + pickaxe vs. landslide. I might be able to talk one of my friends into coming along and bringing his gullible brother in law along to do the brunt of the work. The only problem with this is that if any real loot is found, then you have to split it up. Well, the solution to that is to bring a gun and kill them right after they hand me the goods. I will already have a ready-made crypt for them; now all I need is a giant stone to roll over the hole.

Wait, you guys do read every word I write in my posts, not just the first couple of sentences, right? Drat! Okay, forget the part where I murder two people and pretend I said that we gave our riches to the starving orphans instead. I'm probably just going to find a couple of old, broken bottles anyway.