smitty

A little bit of change would make that post a joke for all time.

....And, your wife bought it?

Amen.

That's a tough call on plural Bigfoot. (lol Siri or whatever is running my phone while I type this capitalized "bigfoot") I like bigfeets. I think , "Hey yaw, 'ey's two bigfeets ow tear!, sounds better than, "I say kind sir, but perhaps knowing there are two bigfoots (squalling--Siri dit'n correct that word!) outside might lead you to give up your seat!".

The person who was named the World Hide-And-Go-Seek Champion in 2008 has been missing since the contest started. Just saying.

Personally, I wouldn't even do that. Them just knowing that sending something to that address gets a response might be of some value to them. And too, the sender might need to establish correspondence with you in order to fulfil a legal requirement for something else. Returning the package might amount to correspondence. Perple are desperate out there.

You said "profits". I'm suspicious it could work, but I don't feel like doing the math.

Translation: Honey! We're having another baby!?

I don't know yet.

Oh sh*t! <goes off to reassess the racket coming from under the house)

...And don't hesitate to buy a used tiller after your spot is rock-free. Once it was rock free, it takes me ~60 minutes to till my little spot. It's so easy, I could do it in 15-30 minutes, but because I enjoy the reward of having de-rocked it, I have to slow down to make it last ~60 minutes. A used one is almost certainly going to give service as good as a new one...especially if your going to be using it 2-3 hours per year like I do. The gas will "go bad" over the winter in a new one the same as an old one.

Google "Top Secret government plan for alternative transportation via tunnel." I forget its acronym....stands for something like that. Also Google "TSA", "NSA", "DHS" and "NTSA". It's just a start. You'll have to read all these sources--at least that's how I did it--to figure out the tunnels are for real, and top sectret, because none of these publications mention them. Somewhere in the dark basement of a government building my file is being reopened.

Assuming your yard is like ours: RENT ONE! RENT ONE! RENT ONE! RENT ONE!...first; until you've flipped all the rocks that are in the area that your garden will cover. Don't put that kind of wear on a tiller you're going to keep for decades to come. Seriously, and while making a conscious effort to not exaggerate, tilling out the rocks the first time will be more wear on you and machine than the next 25 years of tilling after the rocks are gone. When I say "rocks are gone", I mean gone from the depth of the soil your tiller's tines (The parts that spin and dig are the tines

tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock DING! Oh boy! Mamaw's done!

You ain't offending me. I was raised in the sticks in NW Alabama.

We called that fid'lin' (fiddling). The cedar roughs where the limestone rocks broke the surface was the place to go. Not every location was fruitful and to this day, the reason is a mystery. It may well have taken generations to find the hot spots in the cedar roughs that we knew about. Find the old stump of a small cedar tree used before as they'd last for years. (I need to back there and look for some of those stumps as they're probably still there being cedar. A cataclysmic drought about 25 years ago killed virtually every tree in the roughs, but the stumps should still be there.

Our wormy spot was around Daddy Willard's silo. He kept left-over concrete slabs from the silo construction around on the ground and old, very thick boards from something. Anyone was welcome to dig some up, but heaven help you if you didn't flip the slab or board back over the place he had put it. Worse still if you didn't put the specially styled hoe back where it goes. I have forgotten exactly which of the silo's steel hoops it was hung from. Their nosey cat, Ooch, a virtually invisible calico, would always break cover to stroll over from the barn to see what's going on. I dare say

It would be 10000 degrees in the house when mamma was canning. She froze stuff mostly though. Our garden was huge and next to a cotton patch about 1/2 mile down the road. Uncle Pete poisoned our garden one year out of sympathy for us kids--we HATED working in the garden of course--and for Pure D. Meanness. That's another story. Uncle Pete thought kids should be playing or studying; not working in a garden. He was a modern thinker; he thought it unnecessary to make kids work in modern days. God rest his soul. Anyway, I remember the old shack next to the garden that was

The C-5 has an ass on her that the C-141 doesn't have. Note the buttock-shaped portion of the fuselage just forward of the tail section. From a very long distance, one can't determine if that girl (a C-5 or C-141) has an ass on it. I believe there are no C-141s left in service except for maybe one or two oddities.

Oh, she still is a marvel.

My cousin and I would take turns 1) cranking the ice cream maker or 2) sitting on it to hold it down––to keep it from turning with the handle. Remember that? ...You'd get up from sitting on the maker that's so cold that your ass would be itching like crazy from the mild frost bite? Papaw'd make us crank it until we couldn't stop the bucket from turning with the handle, even by sitting on it. Seeing the grown-ups like the ice cream so much, and watching them insist we went first because we deserved it taught us a lot about doing our share, and the expected and realistic reward, and recognition.

I understand, and, thanks.

In case anyone brings up <whisper> firearms </whisper>, I want to give a little tidbit seldom mentioned that should accompany every CCW application, but doesn't: Training as to when whipping it out and popping a cap in a deserving ass isn't going to land the would-be victim in jail.