Out with the old.

One more score

Ok so I just posted a dumpster score. I know. But every once and a while, a score comes along that is so beautiful and bazaar that I can’t help but show it off… so check this shit out!!!

Do you see that? You can’t miss it. It’s a fucking purple cauliflower. PURPLE! I looked into whether this was some dyed kooky eating operation just like the purple ketchup days. Well apparently the purple color is caused by the presence of the antioxidant group anthocyanin, which can also be found in red cabbage and red wine. Imagine that…

Purple Cauliflower. Gaze into it.

Touché!

Well in about 20 minutes time, Jacqueline and I have procured this slew of edibles and drinkables. The cost of which would typically be about equal to the average joe’s 20 hour work week. This proves to be extremely helpful when in the throngs of a body such as mine that is considered to have gluttonous qualities, as well as a superb matabolysm. Waste not want not, right?

I’m crossin’ my fingers on this one

About three days back, Jacqueline and I started working on this house two and a half blocks from our current house. We’ve ridden pass the place 666 times because its on the way into town-ish and we’re both lusting over it. It’s this sick looking old house with a dead tree standing tall in front of it. What we’re basically been doing is raking all the shit up in the yard, trimming the side walk, and making it prim and proper. We even added plants in the ceramic pots on the sides of the stairs, see? See ’em?. A neighbor of ours named John [I call him “Beard Man”, cause he has this fucking incredible huge white beard.] Anyway he helped us get the number of the owner and now we’re going to call him up and ‘strongly suggest’ he let us sub-rent the place out and fix it up in the process. Here we go.

; )

“We have now reached thirty three thousand feet. It is now safe to move about the cabin” is what I heard shortly after I began reading Kurt Vonnegut’s Timequake. I had purchased the book several days before my flight back home to Savannah, Georgia. My friend, and confidant in book recommendations, Brian Crabtree verbally sold me on the book in a few short sentences. And in a few short minutes we were walking to the book store so I could buy a used version for a reasonable price of $7.50.

See that cover? That’s the same one that I have in my home here. I can even see it in my peripherals.

Anyway, the book was incredible. I was put in a dream like ponderous stupor that only comes from the end of a satisfying read. Thank you Brian. It was a nice break from Dostoevsky’s C&P that I am reading as well, of which I’m am on page 386 of 564. So here we go, back to Raskolnikov’s dizzying perception.

Post Script: Kurt Vonnegut never liked the semicolon. Which makes me wonder what he thought of the modern day’s internet chatting invention of the “winking smile”. At best he would have been amused that it was at the very least made semi-useful.

Who needs grocery carts,

or shelves, or even check out lines where you deposit money you had to make in order to retrieve food from these places that tell you you must pay to survive. Sucks doesn’t it?

Well we didn’t have to do that, Jacque and I made this marvelous meal with the fat of this excessive land. Thank you David B Dillon for telling your stores to be wasteful fuck-heads. I eat the same food that you do, only I learn how to cook it without spending 100 dollars to eat off someone’s pretty plate. We’ve got our own pretty plates!

What you see before you is corn risotto and roasted tomatoes w/ sauteed zucchini:

The Shed

For those who haven’t sen the shed that I built a few months back. Here it is in all it’s absurd splendor.

Serial Killerilla

The house where I live contains a section on the lease that plainly states: upon ownership of dogs in the house, the lease relinquishes all responsibility for rodent control. This being on grounds that dogs somehow attract rats and mice. Possible? I dunno. Anyway, I wasn’t too thrilled about this once we began noticing chunks of bread from the top of the fridge missing, the gardening seeds were disappearing and rat shit pellets peppered ever mother fucking corner of the house. So, right before I lost all hope, things began to change.

It all started one fateful night at around  3 a.m. Emma and I had been lurking around our bedroom for this rat-fuck for the past three days, but to no avail. Then on that last night, Jacque and I were snoozing, and I wake up suddenly to a scuffling sound, I lurch up knowing exactly what’s going on to see Emma soaring across the bedroom like a aerial demon and pouncing on the rat. Followed by squealing and crunching and then… silence.

So there you have it. Emma became a true killer that night and has been running a tight ratless ship ever since. In fact, she has gotten so good that I’ve started keeping score marks on her leash. She even killed one two days ago. So here you are, the leash and the fresh kill:

Note: the Budweiser can is present to clarify scale.

Emma “Babe” Goldman

Name from Birth: Killerilla

Breed: Watchman Pitbull

Coat: Brindle

Height: 1′ 8″

Weight: 50lbs.

Mother: Blue Nose Pit, “Ghostface”

Father: Brindle Pit, “Killer”