ha ha sucker, you got as much chance of viewing a picture here as you do of finding a winning lotto ticket in your pocket while you’re getting a blowjob from she-ra the warrior princess. You can, however, should you choose to waste the next several moments of your life enjoy what I like to think of as the least common denominator in faux literature.
The day began with a Roscoe. It always does. You know the old saw about teaching kids to walk and talk and then telling them to sit down and shut up? That’s what my rescue of Roscoe is beginning to be. He went from being the rabbit version of being a clam, to being the bruce willis in die hard version of being a rabbit. Tile no longer limits his range, but for whatever reason makes him crap. I mean all over. Little bunny balls needing to be swept up every three to five minutes so the kitchen table doesn’t disappear. He’s like a never ending bag of rabbit poo. I now sleep with a shovel so I can navigate the hallway when I awaken without smelling like an excerpt from mutual of omaha’s wild kingdom.
He has also taken to bullying Mollie. I mean bullying in the Ole’ sense. He will build up a full head of bull rabbit steam and slam into her. Mollie is mostly fur, but roscoe is a midget, and the affect of his new ramming technique on Mollie is to make her aware that he is present. Roscoe on the other hand spends three to four minutes roaming around the living room like Dean Martin after a weekend in vegas. When the concussion subsides, he proves that bunny memories are short by slamming into her again. This goes on for as long as it takes mollie to decide she is tired of the game.
So that’s how the morning starts. This morning also included a beautiful sunrise, the picture of which you can find here. It made hateful hard until I remembered we were dismantling the slag caster today. We didn’t though. It was delayed a day I know not why. The sum total of my involvement in this project is going to be cutting the molds off the chain, stacking them on pallets, and then returning them to be mounted on the new chain.
Instead me and Forrest Gump (I know it’s supposed to be Forrest Gump and I, so lick ass) painted the baghouse. Thats the new nickname of my forgetful young protege. He doesn’t seem to like it much which makes it all the better. Due to safety concerns I am required to be with him anytime he’s on plant property (to head off some dumbass, no, not in the bathroom), and he keeps forgetting things. Which means I have to walk extra steps, which vexes the hell out of me. Maybe the new moniker will encourage him. The problem is it may encourage him to throw me off the baghouse. I’ll chance it…tormenting the young is fun as hell.
So as I’m driving home my daughter calls and informs me that after I give her some money her and her friend are going to the movies and she’ll be home sometime next tuesday. That’s how she does me. I figured what the hell, I’ll stop and get some food at the deli. Cooking for one is just stupid. I order my victuals (thats vittles spelled right you chitlin eating rednecks), and the young lady behind the counter says “you don’t remember me do you?” All the alarms start sounding in my head, and I’m scrambling like hell trying to figure out what the hell I had done to this one. She appeared to young for me to have taken carnal liberties with her, so I assumed she was pissed at me for dumping her shrew mother or some such. I couldn’t place her so I said, “well, you’re obviously not one of the hateful old fat heifers that normally gaurd the fried chicken.” She said “oh, you know my coworkers.” I’m still searching my brain. I never forget anything, and I can not place this woman for shit. It turns out that she used to hang out with this gal that used to live next door to me. I even babysat her kids once. I remember her as a typical hotter than hell party girl, and not much else. She no longer looks like she did. In fact, she is no longer recognizeable, and I said so. Tact and diplomacy are not a dish that I partake of. It occurred to me after I said it that she probably took this harsher than it was meant. She is not an unattractive woman, but her hot chick party days are behind her. To me she is more attractive now, but I’d be willing to bet based on what I’ve been reading about women and mirrors she looks in hers with a bit of angst. Maybe I’m wrong. It seems 6 years changes the young more than the middle aged. She recognized me instantly. Then again, when you look like a cross between quasimodo and homer simpson, you’re a little hard to forget.
that was mostly the day. Rotten kids, rotten pets, rotten coworkers. A nice good morning, and a chance meeting of an old acquaintance. I’ve had worse days.