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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 07:30am PT
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And from the first time that she really done me
Oh, she done me, she done me good
I guess nobody ever really done me
Oh, she done me, she done me good
--Don't Let Me Down
[Click to View YouTube Video]
The Beatles last grammar lesson atop the Apple Corps building in a deafening windstorm.
Approopriate, woontyasay, on this windy day?
This was mentioned on somebody's FB timeline this morning.
This guy's, it was.
He just lost his little buddy & he's not real happy about that, so this goes out to Old Man Russ. The Flames say, "Hang in there, little friend."
The Ventures - The Lonely Bull
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGf2e9beXZI
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Apr 30, 2016 - 09:06am PT
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garbage, I'm home before noon, ice and Celebrex , running low on those.
Rat HoleAnd they were plentiful here is another, I liked better, fortified, brick entry hall.Kinda strange I didn't take more there were holes every few feet, decorated patio, side deck
um?
I was not around for a bit then I saw that it was a thing to play on a new BS thread when you you eat like rap. You will be less. Comfortable when dying than if you attend what they. Tell. You...... So eat what ever the hell your heart tells you unless it's
MORE ..chromosomes, or Acid wwe've eateen enough, although I see death as the last bad trip. .. .
Sunday mornin ing I was thinking that it was blaathfomus
Blasphemy, that EVERY SUNDAY the flames , or the church of flame ers?shows up at the top of the page
So I'm hiding the share here go figure?
The slow but ever increasing swirl around the normalcy Shute
The not just metaphorical representations
Climbers most of any other than musicians I think can feel the groove, the life force? Any tiny out side spark , a sudden sun flare when a drop of ones own sweat catches a ray of sunlight & lites up!
anymore than I)
Each traiuul, wave or climb is a life
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 09:44am PT
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Hey, braj! Cool holes! Got some of my own from yesterday's excursion.
These are VERY mysterious to me. They are small, not deeper than a couple of inches at best. They are located underneath a Monterey pine at Merced College.
I thought at first maybe a bird like a bagpie, or maybe a throwpillo, but it could be just a centralized dripping off point from some pine bough.
Whatever. They aren't as gnarly as your holes but they have olive trees a few feet away with last season's crop rotting on the ground. I imagine the crowpops and scalawarblers and California sea bullfinches are fed up, literally, with black olives.
Speaking of oodles, here's my niece's new schnoodle. He's no dang Yankee, his mummy's Bavarian, a Schnauser.
He'll probably "fix a few holes" at Alyssa's place, if only to keep from wandering.
[Click to View YouTube Video]Fixing holes used to show up on Liz's honeydew list. Whoo-hoo!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 10:34am PT
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Once there was a one eyed man who walked in to a pet shop.
He said, "Hi I'd like to buy that parrot."
The clerk said, "I think that the bird will make fun of your one eye.
The guy laughingly says, "I think I can deal with it."
He gets the bird home and says, "Polly want a cracker?"
The bird replied, "F*#k you you one eyed bastard!"
Then the guy hit the parrot on the head with a spoon.
He says, "Polly want a cracker?" and the bird says, "F*#k you you one eyed bastard!"
Then he puts the bird in the microwave for 30 seconds and says it again and once more the bird says, "F*#k you you one eyed bastard!"
So he puts it in the freezer and says he will come back in ten minutes.
He ends up falling asleep for 3 hours.
He wakes up and says, "Oh sh#t--the bird!"
He goes upstairs to get the bird, opens the freezer, and sees the bird frozen solid with his middle finger up and one hand over his eye.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 11:03am PT
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Just effin' stop that sh#t, Dwain!
Shut the front f*#kin' door on yer way out, mutthah-suckah!
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 11:23am PT
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BITE ME, YOU TIE-DYED FREAK!!!!
Silly CosMice goin' at it in real-time.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 11:52am PT
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You've named that Nape.
You've won THESE!!!!
A new pair of shoes from the Ellen DeGeneres Dance Colletion.
OR THIS!!!!
It's your choice, post-paid!
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Apr 30, 2016 - 03:42pm PT
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The Road to Onyx
(Fiction)
I was boy once who loved hunting
And mentored by a man named Red
Learned how to keep my rifle steady
And always aim right for the head
Taught me to track for elk and pronghorn
To only kill what we could eat
In east Nevada and Wyoming
Packing on horseback for a week
But I found girls and I went climbing
And on the weekend climbed the peaks
Life and its obligations found me
But still I'd disappear for weeks
I loved to follow my own foot falls
And let my heart ride on the wind
But when I heard that old Red died
I found myself back home again
He was my mother's only boyfriend
That ever treated her with worth
And I felt something in me dying
When he was covered by the earth
So then I set out to go hunting
Just to honor him in that way
To a place near the Bright Star Wilderness
Where we once hunted back in the day
Stopping at a bar east of Bakersfield
A woman for whom I didn't care
She followed me with her eyes
While she was playing with her hair
Something she whispered in my ear
Displeased the man across the room
Looked like he kept some ugly company
I left and knew it was none too soon
That day the mountains were so beautiful
And I had to go look at a horse
Way out on Ranch Lake Isabella
Though it was well to fear the worst
I kept on checking in my mirrors
There was one car also took my route
Up to that point fear had been a friend to me
Like the insurance in my boot
Turned off to Ranch Lake Isabella
Off highway one seventy eight
Many miles back I'd lost my tail
But at a turn off sat to wait
Some horses at the ranch were feisty
Of a strong gelding and a mare
The mare had time with trails and hunting
The gelding also to be fair
The rancher stared down at my hands
"There's something boy you ought to know
He spooks from things above eye level"
That said I loaded him up to go
As I turned east towards the pass
The moon rose full upon the crest
A dark sedan turned on its headlights
And pulled out towards me from the west
I wrote it off as paranoia
Dull to alarms by youth and pride
But I turned south five miles from Onyx
Killed the lights and stretched my hide
Then one lone car drove on east beyond me
It stopped a ways and there it sat
As it U-turned it killed its head lights
I was driving south before all that
Taking the back roads by the moonlight
Turned southwest to a gravel tract
I drove off road into a creek bed
And bought myself some time to act
Mounting my saddle with my rifle
I rode my horse a quarter-mile
Feeling secure that I had lost them
Dismounted then and walked a while
He went by Buck and in the moonlight
Though he was tan brown like his name
He had a white flame from his nose up
Between his ears into his mane
By first light we'd made our acquaintance
And made some distance just the same
Though over ridge tops and beyond
I checked my six time and again
I found some grass behind a boulder
Left Buck to graze and fixed the rein
Scrambling the rock I scanned the ridge lines
Something odd chattered in my brain
Dropped to my belly and heard the gunshot
Distant two figures I could see
I climbed down swiftly to mount the gelding
He spooked and then ran off on me
Boulders ran up along the ridge line
I ran to dart beyond the stones
Buck ran down into the next valley
I took a route all of my own
Finding high ground to spot my pursuers
When they saw Buck a shot rang out
They'd missed him neatly as he bolted
That's when I circled far about
I sprinted hard and gained momentum
My boot heels grinding on the grass
Beyond some trees o'er another ridge line
I found my horse standing at last
I took some time as I approached him
Calming my rasping burning breath
While speaking soft I watched the ridge top
My horse was life while the ridge was death
The trees had given us good cover
But trusted to no one again
That buck and I might find survival
So I thought to think like my new friend
One battered apple from my pocket
One hungry horse lest we might die
I took a bite and chewed it slowly
As Buck still had me in his eye
I took the bridle ever gently
Buck took the apple in his mouth
Riding saddle o'er the next ridge line
Heard two shots ring as we bolted south
There was a spot between two tree stumps
Overlooking the valley down below
The sunset quartered to southeast
That's where I reasoned they would go
At two hundred yards I had the drop
Adjusted minutely for the breeze
Last I remember one turned and ran
The other slumped down to his knees
I'd never hit a moving target
From anywhere close to this range
But when the shot rang out he stumbled
I felt something animal-like and strange
Buck walked behind and we tracked him east
I sighted him once but fired wide
We found more blood but he'd kept moving
We crept along as twilight sighed
The moon hung low now in the east
The breeze had settled to just a whisper
I heard his legs scraping the sage brush
He was up ahead then not too far
I'd never paid much heed to dying
But learned to listen on a curve
I knew what ambush laid in wait then
And that the wounded had way more nerve
I'd left Buck tied at an old mesquite
And in the moonlight on the scree
In darkness heard some labored breathing
There was a dark figure beneath a tree
Though my approach was slow and steady
He must have heard me on the sand
At forty feet a muzzle flashed
It felt like a hammer struck my hand
I saw my rifle at my feet
And limping towards me a tall man
That thirty eight from my right boot
Was something for which he hadn't planned
He had his rifle down as he walked
I aimed towards his head like I was taught
He wasn't a man to me right then
Just something dangerous to be shot
He took his last breaths on his back
And then I thought I heard him curse
"You mother f*#king bitch," he called me
I could have come up with much worse
Though he was dead I still felt sorry
For he had wounded me but good
His bullet had gone through my left hand
And one rib felt like splintered wood
I took my jacket off and tied it
To staunch the bleeding in my limb
I took a deep breath and passed out
I came to staring up at him
Maybe that horse had seen a raven
Whatever he saw I'll never know
I only knew was that he found me
And it was time for us to go
Don't remember getting to the road
Recalling only fields of hay
When a rancher found us Buck was grazing
I was passed out cold I’d heard them say
After three days sleeping in the hospital
I'd had my fill of loving care
The cops they asked me plenty of questions
Then suggested I wasn't welcome there
Said I pissed off some local gangsters
Two members had singled me out for play
With no clue what was in the bargain
When they went hunting me that day
I picked up Buck where he'd been stabled
With apples and two bales of hay
We headed east over to Ridgecrest
Three ninety five, then north all day
We only stopped for fuel and groceries
Slept once off road near Reno way
Heard there was lots of grass up in Oregon
And peace of mind, that's what they say
-Tim Sorenson
(Archived,
Writers Guild of America West
04/30/2016)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 03:50pm PT
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WTF?
I mean, Who the Fog?
Is it Black Dog?
Lincoln the Log?
Not Kermit the Frenchman,
or Batman's new henchman.
So, nice, to, CU, back, Dogberry.
Now I see a horse, not an ass, not a spookie, nor a fright.
I feel better, yes much much better, and for these sore eyes you're a sight.
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Apr 30, 2016 - 07:06pm PT
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I never paid much heed before, but congratulations mousie on getting Hussong's into The Flames Hall of Fame/Flames perp walk.
Just like "THE MERRY PRANKSTERS WELCOME THE BEATLES."
So too, do all old Hodads and Gremmies WELCOME THE FLAMES.
What made this party special wasn’t its mix of intellectuals—poet Allen Ginsberg and Harvard psychology professor Richard Alpert (aka Baba Ram Dass) among them—and countercultural icons such as Hunter S. Thompson and Neal Cassady; it was the 15-foot-long, red white and blue sign strung up outside the ranch: THE MERRY PRANKSTERS WELCOME THE HELL’S ANGELS.
We did not welcome them in Ensenada and El Comandante sent in die soldaten, such as they were.
If by chance you weren't alive, read all about it here.
http://electrickoolaidblogtest.wordpress.com/2013/07/07/hells-angels-merry-pranksters-party-at-ken-keseys-1965/
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 08:19pm PT
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Who needs angels in Ensendada?
We really are all bozos on this bus (® Firesign Theater)
Because
In a far distant time and place
Savage used to paint his face
With spidery lines
And twisted vines--
His only way
Up the Magic Mountain
With six flags of cloud
Streaming off the summit.
Furthur and furthur out
The thurd Rock from the Sun
Orbits around R. Mighty Orb
Carrying ourbits and cubits
Noah and Methusealot
Hexcentric and Camalot
Slimy snot and whatnot.
Nixon's vixen daughters,
Julie and Pertricia,
Decline to recline
In the back of the busker bus.
"Herenow, what's all the fuss?"
Asks one Prankster
(Not our Crankster)
Of another who looks
As suspicious as Aloysius
(He doesn't belong,
At least not to this throng)
And who breaks into song
Singing
"Lay, ladies, lay,
Lay across my big brass head
It's trippin' and I'd like it said
At my funeral when I'm dead
That I at least got some head
From a future president's daughter."
--Wilson Piquard
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Apr 30, 2016 - 08:29pm PT
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Though their Pink Floyd covers get more airtime, this one is dedicated to Carlos who actually played there.
[Click to View YouTube Video]-
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 08:33pm PT
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Meanwhile, back in Onyx...
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 08:42pm PT
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And somewhere near Almo, Idontno...
"Give me your dirt roads, your dirtbags, your bandit campers, your befuddled masses
And we'll make this country a different one."
--Fritz
And I just had a jolt of Deja vino.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 30, 2016 - 09:23pm PT
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Sorry, zBrown, but this is overflow from the NEW NEW Science and Religion thread (Fear of Darth thread).
They are stuck in Limbo.
Limbo here, limbo there
Cosby ask, "Why is air?"
http://where-is.biz/called.php?qcity=Limbo
[Click to View YouTube Video]
There is no town or city called Limbo Rock.
How low can you go?
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