Yep already wet puppy feet here. Windy as heck too. Maybe blow down the rest of those leaves
-
As of today ICMag has his own Discord server. In this Discord server you can chat, talk with eachother, listen to music, share stories and pictures...and much more. Join now and let's grow together! Join ICMag Discord here! More details in this thread here: here.
The Original O'l Farts Club.
- Thread starter Putembk
- Start date
Im already wearing my raincoat, since last night.
dogzter
Drapetomaniac
Its the best part.I would hate being so vulnerable
Raghaulers and Stinkpotters... Done 'em both. Discovered my fave: Sumbody else's boat.
NEVER do it in the hay, Grasshoppers.please let us know what you get and how it smokes…
meanwhile , I have some winter chores to do , like spreading some hay out on the henhouse floors for to help keep the critters warm…
Irene is gonna help me for sure…
View attachment 18930780
Last edited:
Well that is directly related to the last time you did it Unc.
If its been a real real long time ,on top of the barn is good by me ,in my youth .
Hey! Alla this talk about @bigsur51 and sailboats triggered an old memory... I wrote a humor article for a magazine about my BFF and sailing some while back.
For thousands of years, Men have felt the irresistible urge to go far out to Sea, and many of them have died. Things got a lot better after boats were invented.
But still, it is a very, very dangerous thing, going to Sea. Especially with me on board. I suppose I could say that I am an experienced sailor, as I've leaned over the rail calling dinosaurs in both the Atlantic and the Pacific.
There are times when my pal, Jerry, manages to get me onto his sailboat. Granted, most of the times that he is successful in this endeavor occur when the sailboat is in a dockyard somewhere, getting the lazarette club-hauled or whatever. But sometimes, the horrible thing is actually afloat. And therein is the kernel of my misery.
I firmly believe that sailing can be defined as being cold, wet, miserable, and seasick while going nowhere slowly at great expense. To me, being on a sailboat is like being in jail with a chance of drowning.
Also, I hate wind. Jerry doesn't mind it at all -- when it's windy, he just tells me that it's my turn to take the tiller, while he sits back and watches with the gleeful, evil, beady little eyes of a spiteful goblin. In these conditions, the first hour or so is endured with only that sail there in the front strung up (note my excellent nautical terminology).
Last time, it was awful as I tried to keep the boat from swinging around in a sudden, uncontrolled circle... or falling off to wander around the wrong way, with my bowels doing the polka. Jerry, that wizard of shaftcraft, eventually took pity and fixed the problem. If I were a nautical man, no doubt, I could tell you what he did. I'm not, thank God.
If I were Bosun McSalty, I daresay I could describe how we jibed with our futtock gan'sls clewed up to the orlop bitts, and weathered her, d'ye see, with a lee helm and all plain sail in the bilges, burn me buttocks. As it was, when some more sail got strung out, the bleedin' boat got a lot easier to steer.
But now it is time to let you see the true nature of sailing with my fiend (I mean, friend), Jerry:
You must sail a grueling course, starting right near the launch ramp and ending, as many as two hours later, right near the launch ramp. Along the way, you must battle not only waves the size of throw pillows, but also the occasional other sailboat, some of them piloted by people as naked as jaybirds. Tragically, a lot of these people turn out to be, upon examination with binoculars, Men.
Braving the abyssal deeps that sometimes reach more than four feet, I go to Sea with my Boon Companion Jerry, his beautiful wife Fleek, and the Fabled PC (my Scottish Spouse). The boat is unnamed (or the name changes) because Jerry refuses to put extra money into it for frivolous items, such as lettering, water jug, working outboard, flaregun, or sweeps for the galley slaves kept freeze-dried in a small plastic baggy under the "sleeps four--honest!" miniature bed.
But the vessel has the two qualities that PC and I consider absolutely essential in our sailing craft:
1. She has beer on board.
2. She belongs to somebody else.
There are times when Jerry takes his sailing very seriously. He does not have his first Pina Colada until nearly 90 seconds after we start.
You have to understand discipline, at Sea. To help you understand, I'll reprint the Ship's Log here:
0900 We check our equipment. "I've got your binoculars," Captain Jerry says, "so we can see the nudies."
0903 We approach a lane through the thousands of lobster buoys. This lane is currently being utilized by two "K" class boats. (Jerry has never explained to me why he always classifies sailboats as "K" class). We maneuver toward the lane while disdainfully ignoring the screams from the other boats about rights-of-way, and other trivial nautical esoterica. Jerry correctly refuses to be baited when the captain of one of the larger boats shouts, "I used to cry because I had no shoes... until I met a man who had no class!"
0912 We pull into the 19-foot wide "deep channel". The K boats come bearing down on us. We have or Tuna Coladas in hand, but we know that we're in for the long haul... we deftly switch to beer. Jerry has opted for liquified bison's waste gases (Budweiser), and I'm drinking Beck's.
0918 We start falling behind the other boats. Jerry says this is because he has a smaller jib than the other boats. Jerry has serious jib envy. We tell him size is not everything. He has another beer, morosely.
0926 The following nautical conversation takes place between Fleek and Captain Jerry:
Fleek: Everybody else is going that way.
Jerry: Yes, I know.
Fleek: Why are we going this way?
Jerry: (nothing)
0950 We have our first [nearly] confirmed sighting of a semi-naked woman. It turns out to be a large inflated plastic banana trailing from a K- boat.
0951 Fleek and PC, who are clearly starting to feel the strain of the long voyage, go downstairs (is that the term?) to take naps. Jerry and I, being Men. remain on deck, drinking beer, and watching boats with bigger jibs pass us by with stately roarings and gushings.
1005 At a crucial moment, I start pulling on the wrong rope, as Jerry calmly keeps pointing with wild jabbing motions to something out of sight that I'm supposed to do something with; all the time his voice is rising higher in a panicky coolness. It seems I have caused the jib to "furl", which means that it becomes even tinier than it already is. The ship is saved by a convenient utter dead calm which settles down over the boat for two hundred feet in every direction. We have a beer.
1022 Fleek comes back upstairs (?) looks around for a moment, and the following nautical conversation takes place:
Fleek: What I wonder is, how come there are never any other boats behind us?
Jerry: (total silence)
Fleek: I mean, how come all those other boats are in front of us?
Jerry: (total silence)
1030 We are exhausted, and heading for home. We have been on the water all day (well, an hour and a half) and have seen zero naked people of any sex whatsoever. We're almost out of beer. The Sea can be a harsh and unforgiving body of water, all right. We cannot believe that Columbus sailed all the way across the entire ocean hundreds of years before the discovery of aluminum cans. Of course, he had a much bigger jib.
1036 Our boat rams the dock exactly one stall down from where Jerry had said he was headed. Jerry grunts in immense satisfaction for the result of his navigation, and leaps out with ropes tied to each end of the craft.
1037 We pull Jerry from the water. One rope has snagged a cleat. We have a beer.
1038 The wind begins to blow surely and steadily -- exactly paralleling the shore. Jerry begins chuntering.
1038.5Jerry speaks: "Who wants to go sailing?"
All At Sea With The Nautical Nuts
©Walt C. Snedeker
©Walt C. Snedeker
For thousands of years, Men have felt the irresistible urge to go far out to Sea, and many of them have died. Things got a lot better after boats were invented.
But still, it is a very, very dangerous thing, going to Sea. Especially with me on board. I suppose I could say that I am an experienced sailor, as I've leaned over the rail calling dinosaurs in both the Atlantic and the Pacific.
There are times when my pal, Jerry, manages to get me onto his sailboat. Granted, most of the times that he is successful in this endeavor occur when the sailboat is in a dockyard somewhere, getting the lazarette club-hauled or whatever. But sometimes, the horrible thing is actually afloat. And therein is the kernel of my misery.
I firmly believe that sailing can be defined as being cold, wet, miserable, and seasick while going nowhere slowly at great expense. To me, being on a sailboat is like being in jail with a chance of drowning.
Also, I hate wind. Jerry doesn't mind it at all -- when it's windy, he just tells me that it's my turn to take the tiller, while he sits back and watches with the gleeful, evil, beady little eyes of a spiteful goblin. In these conditions, the first hour or so is endured with only that sail there in the front strung up (note my excellent nautical terminology).
Last time, it was awful as I tried to keep the boat from swinging around in a sudden, uncontrolled circle... or falling off to wander around the wrong way, with my bowels doing the polka. Jerry, that wizard of shaftcraft, eventually took pity and fixed the problem. If I were a nautical man, no doubt, I could tell you what he did. I'm not, thank God.
If I were Bosun McSalty, I daresay I could describe how we jibed with our futtock gan'sls clewed up to the orlop bitts, and weathered her, d'ye see, with a lee helm and all plain sail in the bilges, burn me buttocks. As it was, when some more sail got strung out, the bleedin' boat got a lot easier to steer.
But now it is time to let you see the true nature of sailing with my fiend (I mean, friend), Jerry:
You must sail a grueling course, starting right near the launch ramp and ending, as many as two hours later, right near the launch ramp. Along the way, you must battle not only waves the size of throw pillows, but also the occasional other sailboat, some of them piloted by people as naked as jaybirds. Tragically, a lot of these people turn out to be, upon examination with binoculars, Men.
Braving the abyssal deeps that sometimes reach more than four feet, I go to Sea with my Boon Companion Jerry, his beautiful wife Fleek, and the Fabled PC (my Scottish Spouse). The boat is unnamed (or the name changes) because Jerry refuses to put extra money into it for frivolous items, such as lettering, water jug, working outboard, flaregun, or sweeps for the galley slaves kept freeze-dried in a small plastic baggy under the "sleeps four--honest!" miniature bed.
But the vessel has the two qualities that PC and I consider absolutely essential in our sailing craft:
1. She has beer on board.
2. She belongs to somebody else.
There are times when Jerry takes his sailing very seriously. He does not have his first Pina Colada until nearly 90 seconds after we start.
You have to understand discipline, at Sea. To help you understand, I'll reprint the Ship's Log here:
0900 We check our equipment. "I've got your binoculars," Captain Jerry says, "so we can see the nudies."
0903 We approach a lane through the thousands of lobster buoys. This lane is currently being utilized by two "K" class boats. (Jerry has never explained to me why he always classifies sailboats as "K" class). We maneuver toward the lane while disdainfully ignoring the screams from the other boats about rights-of-way, and other trivial nautical esoterica. Jerry correctly refuses to be baited when the captain of one of the larger boats shouts, "I used to cry because I had no shoes... until I met a man who had no class!"
0912 We pull into the 19-foot wide "deep channel". The K boats come bearing down on us. We have or Tuna Coladas in hand, but we know that we're in for the long haul... we deftly switch to beer. Jerry has opted for liquified bison's waste gases (Budweiser), and I'm drinking Beck's.
0918 We start falling behind the other boats. Jerry says this is because he has a smaller jib than the other boats. Jerry has serious jib envy. We tell him size is not everything. He has another beer, morosely.
0926 The following nautical conversation takes place between Fleek and Captain Jerry:
Fleek: Everybody else is going that way.
Jerry: Yes, I know.
Fleek: Why are we going this way?
Jerry: (nothing)
0950 We have our first [nearly] confirmed sighting of a semi-naked woman. It turns out to be a large inflated plastic banana trailing from a K- boat.
0951 Fleek and PC, who are clearly starting to feel the strain of the long voyage, go downstairs (is that the term?) to take naps. Jerry and I, being Men. remain on deck, drinking beer, and watching boats with bigger jibs pass us by with stately roarings and gushings.
1005 At a crucial moment, I start pulling on the wrong rope, as Jerry calmly keeps pointing with wild jabbing motions to something out of sight that I'm supposed to do something with; all the time his voice is rising higher in a panicky coolness. It seems I have caused the jib to "furl", which means that it becomes even tinier than it already is. The ship is saved by a convenient utter dead calm which settles down over the boat for two hundred feet in every direction. We have a beer.
1022 Fleek comes back upstairs (?) looks around for a moment, and the following nautical conversation takes place:
Fleek: What I wonder is, how come there are never any other boats behind us?
Jerry: (total silence)
Fleek: I mean, how come all those other boats are in front of us?
Jerry: (total silence)
1030 We are exhausted, and heading for home. We have been on the water all day (well, an hour and a half) and have seen zero naked people of any sex whatsoever. We're almost out of beer. The Sea can be a harsh and unforgiving body of water, all right. We cannot believe that Columbus sailed all the way across the entire ocean hundreds of years before the discovery of aluminum cans. Of course, he had a much bigger jib.
1036 Our boat rams the dock exactly one stall down from where Jerry had said he was headed. Jerry grunts in immense satisfaction for the result of his navigation, and leaps out with ropes tied to each end of the craft.
1037 We pull Jerry from the water. One rope has snagged a cleat. We have a beer.
1038 The wind begins to blow surely and steadily -- exactly paralleling the shore. Jerry begins chuntering.
1038.5Jerry speaks: "Who wants to go sailing?"
A new Inmate
A new inmate at the prison was lying on his bunk at lights out. After a while, he heard someone say "Number 24", there erupted laughter from all over the prison. A little bit later, someone shouted "Number 12", and again, laughter roared thru the prison, even the guards laughed. This went on for quite some time, and the new inmate could stand it no longer, he inquired of his elderly cell-mate, "Why is everyone laughing at people quoting numbers?" The old-timer replied, "Well, young fella, we have all been in here so long, and heard each other's jokes so many times, we assigned them numbers, saves a lot of time." The new guy thought for a moment, and then shouted out "Number 19", nothing. the crickets even stopped chirping. He asked the old man, "What happened? Everyone laughed at them when the other guys told them, why didn't they laugh at mine?" The old-timer looked at him and said, "Well, young fella, some can tell em, and some can't!
piper
Well-known member
dispensaries suck in ny
dispensaries want $255 and up for an oz, the rez (i am cherokee) charged me $100 plus a 5 pack of joints and sticckers
it sucks buying it but like my wife said
ITS ALL MY FAULT
yes dear
Dispensaries are selling swag for under $100/oz here. Top shelf does go for that price. I have bought a vape pen at a dispensary but NEVER bought weed there. I think their weed sales have dropped dramatically in the last couple of years. Most people by weed on the black market. But vape and edibles is what keeps them going.
Mrs Pute won't let me make edibles because of the smell it takes to decarb marijuana. Wish I didn't live in the suburbs.
To bad you don't live close ...... you would not be out. ha ha
we found out recently that my 8th great grampa was a tribal chief of the Wolf Clan in the eastern Cherokee Nation before the trail of tears
some Of the best weed was from the back of a smoke house in Sapulpa Oklahoma….
Do you drink coffee all day......I would be climbing the walls.
piper
Well-known member
my mum was a half breed, maybe a hair or two is indian on me (it's all the hair i have)
i have always had good smoke from the rez
I have enough trouble sleeping at night. No caffeine or sugar after noon for me.
