Sunday, February 21, 2016

The Sad Saga Of Rocky Raccoon


So, some dumbass (me) left the garage door open a few nights ago.

The next morning I find shit and piss all over the place and a raccoon and a cat holed up in my garage.

I persuade the cat to leave, but Rocky will have none of it.  He has gorged himself on dry cat chow and is fat and happy and has taken up refuge in my gutted, derelict 1968 Chevelle project car from hell.

Rocky's a big motherfucker, and he doesn't want to leave.


I really don't want to hurt the dumb-ass critter because I am a man of peace like Gandhi or Mandela and all of God's creatures are sacred.

So I call up a work buddy to see if he has a live trap I can borrow.  He does, and I go over and get it.  The trap looks a little too small, but Rocky hasn't eaten in a couple of days and I figure he's gonna be getting desperate and he just might try to force his fat ass into the trap for some free goodies.

I bait the trap with canned cat food and put it in the trunk of the Chevelle.  Rocky's in the passenger compartment, but since there is no interior he can move freely from there to the closed trunk space.

Well, this morning I get up to check the trap, and this is what I see when I go outside.

Somehow, Rocky escaped the car and tried to wedge himself under the garage door and got stuck so tightly that he probably asphyxiated himself.  He was cold and stiff and very much graveyard dead.


I tried to do the right thing and be humane, and the ignant motherfucker offed himself.

Stoopid.  You shoulda taken the deal.  Now look atcha.  All dead an' shit...

I am sorry, Rocky.

Friday, February 12, 2016

I Am Sorry. Really.


Being armed doesn't equate to being violent.

Being armed isn't violent until a trigger is pulled.

Being armed is prudent and proper and polite.

Be polite.

Monday, September 14, 2015

I Loves My Job!

I apologize for all the cursing...both in the video and here.

I am a vile heathen.

...but you knew this already.

So anyway...there I am...minding my own damned business jammin' to some groovy tunes and bein' cool...barreling (safely) down an Ohio mountain when my eagle eyes spot a large obstruction in my lane.

Some Buckeye asshole has decided, "This is as good a place as any, Virgil.  Go ahead and heave great grandma's filthy, stained, Pall Mall stench-ridden Barca-Lounger out of the truck."

It sits in my lane at the convergence of two interstates.

I look to see if I can swerve to the left lane around the large object, but I have cars there.

No dice...I'm gonna have to swerve right into the merge ramp of the other interstate...or blast what looks to be a heavy object with my truck.

Homie don't blast nuthin' if homie don't got to.

I head and mirror check to my right.

Homie don't gotta blast nuthin.'


I am a stone-cold truck drivin' badass!


Easy there, Sparky.

The day ain't over...

I know.

We truck drivers talk to ourselves.

A lot.

We are insane.

And yes...I know most cops don't monitor CB radio any more.

It was worth a shot.


Here's a blowout that happened just six days prior the the one above!

About the only notable thing in this video is the Buckeye stinkbug walking across the hood after I get it pulled over.

I know.

I suck.

The good news?  I now have eight new drive tires and two new steer tires.

Damn thing drives like a Cadillac now. 

The boss loves me.