A ‘Theme Switcher‘ has been added to ‘TBS!’. This will allow you, my Dear Readers, to switch to other themes.
I’ve downloaded many of the themes in Alex King’s WP1.5 Theme Contest for you to examine. I’m using them to learn the ‘ins and outs’ of theme building. Enjoy!
Omar, out. 
An Old Jeep
Dear Readers, I’m searching for an old Jeep. You know, a “putt-putt-putt” 4-cylinder, 3 speed, 4WD, narrow-tire, Jeep.
I’m going to be giving my old Escort to my daughter for her first car. It’s a great little vehicle. After that I want to indulge my life-long love of Jeeps. A cousin of mine, Larry Hinkle, once owned the world’s largest Jeep dealership in – of all places – Pickens, SC. So, I grew up in Jeeps. Everytime Dad would go for tires he’d come home with the tires – and a new Jeep attached to them!
Over the years I’ve driven every Jeep there is. Two of my favorite models were the 1969 Commando and the CJ5’s dated before 1976. Fun vehicles! Still, the absolute dream Jeep for me is any military model (like the Willy’s) with the narrow tires and a wee 4 cylinder engine. All you could hope for was a bit over 45 mph, and at this stage of my life that is exactly what I want! If I can’t find a military jeep, perhaps I can find an old CJ5 that hasn’t been lifted and fitted with huge knobby tires and a whopping V-8 engine. I’m really set on a geared-down, 4 cylinder.
If I was to dream big I’d find a 1942 Willy’s like the one in the photo below. Who knows? Maybe I will!
So, I’m asking YOU, Dear Reader, to help me locate such a beast. Please, leave a comment here if you know of anything, especially in the states of Alabama, Florida, or Mississippi. For that matter, leave a comment if you just want to talk Jeeps!
While listening to the BBC tonight in order to keep up with the Liberal Brits I heard of Bobby Fisher’s flight from Japan and his words to the world concerning President George W. Bush. Then I listened to the more level words of Mr. Fisher’s mouth-piece. I listened to our President being called a “war criminal” by an American citizen. I heard how an American citizen no longer wants anyone to call America his home and how he will not return.
My reply to Mr. Bobby Fisher:
“Sir, I am deeply saddened that your choices have made the last number of years of your life less than comfortable. Especially the las eight months or so. I am also saddened that you harbor such harsh feelings towards our legally elected President. However, it is your right as an American citizen to speak your mind concerning our President and it is your right to choose to make bad decisions. I can only hope, sir, that you and your supporters will understand that it is also my right to speak my mind. Especially when what I have to say is that if there are any Gods in the Universe you will die a bitter and impoverished old man in some third-rate country in a damnedably cold part of the planet. If by some miracle you do manage to get back to this country to die – and die before me – I promise that I will make every effort to piss upon your grave, you communist freak piece of shyte. America and Americans are better off without you.
Sincerely,
Mark (The Bull) Jones,
Disabled Navy Veteran
Mobile, AL”
If you keep coming to this site and are becoming confused at the ever changing appearance, then… get used to it! For a few more days at least.
Things have been busy about the house of late AND I’m sleeping like a human being!!! YAY!!!! As long as the sleep thing is working I’ll be passing on the all-nighters at the keyboard. Sorry.
I’m actually looking over all of these themes and trying to decide exactly in which direction I want to take TBS!. I’m collecting ideas and more knowledge of CSS. Soon there will be a more distinct “Bull-like” feel to this blog. In the mean time just enjoy the diversity!
Omar, out.
~ Buy a steel dumpster, paint it gray inside and out, and live in it for six months.
~ Run all the pipes and wires in your house exposed on the walls.
~ Repaint your entire house every month.
~ Renovate your bathroom. Build a wall across the middle of the bathtub and move the showerhead to chest level. When you take showers, make sure you turn off the water while you soap down.
~ Raise the thresholds and lower the headers of your front and back doors so that you either trip or bang your head every time you pass through them.
~ Disassemble and inspect your lawnmower every week.
~ On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, turn your water heater temperature up to 200 degrees. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, turn the water heater off. On Saturdays and Sundays tell your family they use too much water during the week, so no bathing will be allowed.
~ Raise your bed to within 6 inches of the ceiling, so you can’t turn over without getting out and then getting back in.
~ Sleep on the shelf in your closet. Replace the closet door with a curtain. Have your spouse whip open the curtain about 3 hours after you go to sleep, shine a flashlight in your eyes, and say “Sorry, wrong rack.”
~ Make your family qualify to operate each appliance in your house – dishwasher operator, blender technician, etc.
~ Have your neighbor come over each day at 5 am, blow a whistle loudly, and shout “Reveille, reveille, all hands heave out and trice up.”
~ Have your mother-in-law write down everything she’s going to do the following day, then have her make you stand in your back yard at 6 am while she reads it to you.
~ Submit a request chit to your father-in-law requesting permission to leave your house before 3 pm.
~ Empty all the garbage bins in your house and sweep the driveway three times a day, whether it needs it or not.
~ Have your neighbor collect all your mail for a month, read your magazines, and randomly lose every 5th item before delivering it to you.
~ Watch no TV except for movies played in the middle of the night. Have your family vote on which movie to watch, then show a different one.
~ Make your family menu a week ahead of time without consulting the pantry or refrigerator.
~ Post a menu on the kitchen door informing your family that they are having steak for dinner. Then make them wait in line for an hour. When they finally get to the kitchen, tell them you are out of steak, but they can have dried ham or hot dogs. Repeat daily until they ignore the menu and just ask for hot dogs.
~ Bake a cake. Prop up one side of the pan so the cake bakes unevenly. Spread icing real thick to level it off.
~ Get up every night around midnight and have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on stale bread. (midrats)
~ Set your alarm clock to go off at random times during the night. At the alarm, jump up and dress as fast as you can, making sure to button your top shirt button and tuck your pants into your socks. Run out into the backyard and uncoil the garden hose.
~ Every week or so, throw your dog in the pool and shout, “Man overboard port side!” Rate your family members on how fast they respond.
~ Put the headphones from your stereo on your head, but don’t plug them in. Hang a paper cup around your neck on a string. Stand in front of the stove, and speak into the paper cup “Stove manned and ready.” After an hour or so, speak into the cup again “Stove secured.” Roll up the headphones and paper cup and stow them in a shoebox.
~ Place a podium at the end of your driveway. Have your family stand watches at the podium, rotating at 4 hour intervals. This is best done when the weather is worst. January is a good time.
~ When there is a thunderstorm in your area, get a wobbly rocking chair, sit in it and rock as hard as you can until you become nauseous. Make sure to have a supply of stale crackers in your shirt pocket.
~ Make coffee using eighteen scoops of budget priced coffee grounds per pot, and allow the pot to simmer for 5 hours before drinking.
~ Have someone under the age of ten give you a haircut with sheep shears.
~ Sew the back pockets of your jeans on the front.
~ Lock yourself and your family in the house for six weeks. Tell them that at the end of the 6th week you are going to take them to Disney World for “liberty.” At the end of the 6th week, inform them the trip to Disney World has been canceled because they need to get ready for an inspection, and it will be another week before they can leave the house.
Ahh… Family. Thanks, Syd!
Omar, out.
Authorities said that John Evander Couey admitted that he abducted Jessica from her bedroom more than three weeks ago. He also told them the general area where the young girl’s body could be found, according to police.
Here’s another one for the chamber.
No, not the night club in Atlanta! And not the gas chamber either, though I’ve got to tell ya that I like the idea of the gas chamber much more than this “lethal injection” shyte.
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I mean the TORTURE CHAMBER!
I’ve worked closely with sex offenders. I was a Team Leader in a Group Home that only accepted teenage boys convicted of sex crimes. I heard their stories and I helped them carry out their therapy and encounter groups. That said, I am convinced that when we have a repeat offender, like this P.O.S. “Couey“, it’s time to dust off the rack and heat up the irons! The SOB committed a crime and served his time. Now he has re-offended. No more “chances”! It is time to remove this deviant from the gene pool and while we’re at it we should use him to make an example to others like him out there.
You’ve had your last chance. Re-offend, harm another of our children, and you will die – but it will take a long, long time. And you won’t have fun.
Note to my Liberal readers: Call me what you will, but I stand by these statements. Moreover, I’ll do the torturing if they can’t find anyone else. As a devoted student of history, and especially as a Pagan, I can think of no one better. After all, my kind learned all there was to know about torture at the tender hands of the Catholic Church.
Omar, out.
Wonder what Hillary and her cronies would say on this matter?
Doctors:
Statistics courtesy of U.S. Dept of Health Human Services.
Now think about this:
Guns:
Statistics courtesy of FBI
So, statistically, doctors are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous
than gun owners.
Remember, “Guns don’t kill people, doctors do.”
FACT: NOT EVERYONE HAS A GUN, BUT ALMOST EVERYONE HAS AT LEAST ONE DOCTOR.
Please alert your friends to this alarming threat. We must ban doctors
before this gets completely out of hand!!!!!
Out of concern for the public at large, I have withheld the statistics
on lawyers for fear the shock would cause people to panic and seek medical
attention.
Thanks, Pop!
Omar, out.
Well, I finally set up a web page – using this as a template, (I’m lazy…) – for our fledgling “Reptile and Pet Rescue”. Lady Beth has been after me to do so for ages. At this point in our collection I figured it might be a good idea just in case we accumulate any more creatures.
…and we will.
The name & link is: Somerset Reptile & Pet Rescue. Go check it out!
Omar, out
Meet Zoe, our newest rescue! Zoe is an 3 month old female AKC registered Great Dane, merle color. She has one ice-blue eye and one very light green eye.
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She suffered a fractured skull due to an attack by her previous house-mate, a 7 year old Lab. Anyhoo, she is fully healed but could no longer stay at that home for fear of further attacks. There are no scars at all, but she does have a more pronounced eye-ridge due to the fracture. In this photo she is getting to know our Shih Tzus, Max & Ruby. (Double click for a larger image.) Isn’t she a beauty?? More on her later!
Omar, out.
No. Nothing broke.
And I’ve not gone nuts.
I just have decided that I *have to* rearrange my files if I’m going to get the most out of this stunning new version of WordPress. Further, if I’m ever gonna “Wow!” folks with my layout I need to incorporate both a theme switcher and new photos. So I’ve got pics from my mother-in-law, Debbie Brazell, as well as my life-long friend in South Carolina, Tim Evett. Both are never without a camera and both are bloody brilliant when it comes to picking their shots. (Doesn’t hurt that Debbie is probably the best mother-in-law around!)
On other subjects…
Oh yeah! Y’all pray from my oldest daughter, Clancy. She’s the one that had spine surgery at age 16. She’s now dealing with her second kidney stone. Any of you that have had one will understand what this brilliant 17 year old is going through. I can’t wait for her to get down here and start her nursing training at the Univ. of So. Alabama.
Omar, out.
The Submariner’s Seabag
by Bob ‘Dex’ Armstrong
There was a time when everything you owned had to fit in your seabag. Remember those nasty rascals? Fully packed, one of the sonuvabitches weighed more than the poor devil hauling it. The damn things weighed a ton and some idiot with an off-center sense of humor sewed a carry handle on it to help you haul it. Hell, you could bolt a handle on a Greyhound bus but it wouldn’t make the damn thing portable.
The Army, Marines and Air Force got footlockers and we got a big ole’ canvas bag.
After you warped your spine jackassing the goofy thing through a bus or train station, sat on it waiting for connecting transportation and made folks mad because it was too gahdam big to fit in any overhead rack on any bus, train and airplane ever made, the contents looked like hell. All your gear appeared to have come from bums who slept on park benches.
Traveling with a seabag was something left over from the ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum’ sailing ship days.
Sailors used to sleep in hammocks. You stowed your issue in a big canvas bag and lashed your hammock to it, hoisted it on your shoulder and in effect, moved your entire home and complete inventory of earthly possessions from ship to ship. I wouldn’t say you traveled light because with one strap it was a one-shoulder load that could torque your skeletal frame and bust your ankles. It was like hauling around a dead linebacker.
They wasted a lot of time in boot camp telling you how to pack one of the sonuvabitches. There was an officially sanctioned method of organization that you forgot after ten minutes on the other side of the gate at Great Lakes. You got rid of a lot of issue gear when you went to the boats. Did you ever know a smokeboat sailor who had a raincoat? A flat hat? One of those nut-hugger knit swimsuits? How bout those roll your own neckerchiefs… The ones the girls in a good Naval tailor shop would cut down and sew into a ‘greasy snake’ for two bucks?
Within six months, every boat sailor was down to one set of dress blues, port and starboard undress blues and whites, a couple of raghats, boots, shoes, assorted skivvies a peacoat and three sets of leper colony-looking dungarees.
The rest of your original issue was either in the tender lucky bag or had been reduced to wipe down rags in the engineroom.
Submarines were not ships that allowed vast accumulation of private gear. Hobos who lived in discarded refrigerator crates could amass greater loads of pack rat crap than boatsailors. The confines of a diesel boat side locker and a couple of bunk bags did not allow one to live a Donald Trump existence.
Space and the going pay scale at the anchor end of the submersible social order combined to make us envy the lifestyle of a mud hut Ethiopian. We were the global equivalents of nomadic Monguls without ponies to haul our stuff.
And after the rigid routine of boot camp we learned the skill of random compression packing… Known by mothers world-wide as ‘cramming’. It is amazing what you can jam into a space no bigger than a breadbox if you pull a watch cap over a boot and push it in with your foot… Of course it looks kinda weird when you pull it out but they never hold fashion shows at sea and wrinkles added character underwater appearance.
There was a four-hundred mile gap between the images on recruiting posters and the actual appearance of submarine sailors at sea. It was not without justifiable reason that we were called the ’sewer pipe’ Navy.
We operated on the premise that if ‘Cleanliness was next to Godliness’, we must be next to the other end of that spectrum… We looked like our clothing had been pressed with a waffle iron and packed by a bulldozer. But what in the hell did they expect from a bunch of jerks hot-sacking in a ‘Hogan’s Alley Hell Hole’ on a contraption that leaked like a screen door and smelled like a skunk jamboree?
After a while you got used to it… You got used to everything you owned picking up and retraining that distinctive pig boat aroma… You got used to old ladies on busses taking a couple of wrinkled nose sniffs of your peacoat then getting up and finding another seat… It came with Dolphins.
Do they still issue seabags? Can you still make five bucks sitting up half the night drawing a diesel boat and Dolphins on the side of one of the damn things with black and white marking pens that drive old master-at-arms into a ‘rig for heart attack’ frenzy? Make their faces red… The veins on their neck bulge out… And yell,
“Jeezus H. Christ! What in god’s name is that all over your seabag?”
“Artwork, Chief… It’s like the work of Michelangelo… Dolphins… My boat… Great huh?”
“Looks like some gahdam comic book…”
Here was a man with cobras tattooed on his arms… A skull with a dagger through one eye and a ribbon reading ‘DEATH BEFORE SHORE DUTY’ on his shoulder… Crossed anchors with ‘Subic Bay 1945′ on the other shoulder… An eagle on his chest and a full blown Chinese dragon peeking out between the cheeks of his butt. If anyone was an authority on stuff that looked like a comic book, it had to be this E-8 sonuvabitch.
Sometimes I look at all the crap stacked in my garage, close my eyes and smile, remembering a time when everything I owned could be crammed into a canvas bag. Maturity is hell.
I wonder where my ol’ seabag is…? Thanks for the memories, Dex!
Omar, out.
I should have thought of this one with my ex-wife…
Omar, out.
SANTO DOMINGO, Dominican Republic �?? One person is dead and three are gravely ill following a tequila drinking competition in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.
The winner of the contest died. Officials say Ricardo Ivan Garcia �?? who was 21 �?? drank more than 50 shots of tequila Sunday night at a disco. The prize was ten-thousand pesos �?? about 330 dollars.
A prosecutor says the man died of apparent heart failure brought on by alcohol poisoning.
Three other contestants remain in serious condition in the hospital.
Er… Duh! Why else is the stuff named “ta-kill-ya”?
Omar, out.
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