HI GIZ,
YEP stirring it up all the time. Just gotta figure out how to pick it up LOL.
As far as MICRO BREWERIES go I'll stick with the oldest original. AKA POTTSVILLE PUNCH.
http://www.yuengling.com/
Get a belly full of it on Thursday nite aka FRIDAY EVE, after playing GOLF against brother. Gotta drown my sorrows.
B good or B gone,
laz57
Hobo Jungle
-
Renovo PRR
- Posts: 1309
- Joined: Wed Apr 25, 2007 5:39 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania
Hey I'm the first to post today. Well I made a mistake the other day. After doing the first cutting of Hay I always take the utility tractor and cut as close to the tree lines as I can get.
That is when I made my first mistake, I noticed that the black raspberries were ready and because of all the rain it is a banner crop.
The second mistake was when I told my wife. Well now we have over 50 quarts of black raspberries and she wants me to pick some more since we are going away this weekend.
My third mistake was being in a hurry to do the picking. There I was standing in a nice patch of poison ivy with shorts on. I was in such a hurry tonight I failed to pay attention to the additional ground cover.
That is when I made my first mistake, I noticed that the black raspberries were ready and because of all the rain it is a banner crop.
The second mistake was when I told my wife. Well now we have over 50 quarts of black raspberries and she wants me to pick some more since we are going away this weekend.
My third mistake was being in a hurry to do the picking. There I was standing in a nice patch of poison ivy with shorts on. I was in such a hurry tonight I failed to pay attention to the additional ground cover.
The Dirt wrote:Poison ivy.
Second only to groundhogs.
I HATE POISON IVY !!!
I was working a wooded area once when I got it on my arms and hands.
Then I wiped the sweat off my face with my hands and it was all over my face!
The killer was when I took a leak and yep it went from my hands to my johnson!
Yep, I hate (Toxicodendron radicans syn. Rhus radicans) poison ivy !!!
GP
She comes on like a rose but everybody knows
She'll get you in Dutch
You can look but you better not touch
Poison iv-y-y-y-y, poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin' poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound
She's pretty as a daisy but look out man she's crazy
She'll really do you in
If you let her under your skin
Poison iv-y-y-y-y, poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin' poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound
Measles make you bumpy
And mumps'll make you lumpy
And chicken pox'll make you jump and twitch
A common cold'll fool ya
And whooping cough can cool ya
But poison ivy, Lord'll make you itch!!
You're gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion
You'll be scratchin' like a hound
The minute you start to mess around
Poison iv-y-y-y-y, poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin' poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound
Measles make you bumpy
And mumps'll make you lumpy
And chicken pox'll make you jump and twitch
A common cold'll fool ya
And whooping cough can cool ya
But poison ivy, Lord'll make you itch!!
You're gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion
You'll be scratchin' like a hound
The minute you start to mess around
Poison iv-y-y-y-y, poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin' poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound
la da la da la da
la da la da la da
la da la da la da
la da la da la da
San
Renovo PRR wrote:There I was standing in a nice patch of poison ivy with shorts on.
Owww! (Or is that iiiiitch?)
What is good about poison ivy?
1) I gives you a good laugh when someone else touches it.
2) It absorbs CO2, reducing global warming.
From: Earth Island Journal | Date: January 1, 2007
Gonna take a rising ocean of calamine lotion.
According to a six-year study conducted by Jacqueline E. Mohan of the Marine Biological Laboratory (Woods Hole, MA), poison ivy thrives on carbon dioxide (CO2) and increases its toxicity when synthesizing extra CO2. With climate change and increasing CO2 levels, the nasty effects of poison ivy's rash-producing oil, urushiol, may get even nastier.
We have poison ivy in Arizona, but, not in the desert.
Here's what happens when you attack poison ivy with a weed whacker while wearing shorts:
----Wayne----
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Finally he reached the scowling nurse behind the admittance window. She reminded him of a particularly mean gym teacher he’d had in the third grade.
“Wha’s wrong?” she said.
“Huh?” His fever was increasing.
“We’re prioritizing tonight because we’re so busy. Look around you.”
“I’ve got a rash.”
“A rash? That’s all?”
“Well . . . it’s kinda bad.”
“Where is it?”
“Below.”
“Below what?” Her scowl darkened.
“It’s all over my legs, my ***, and my dick.” His hands had begun to itch too, bumpy ridges forming so he was forced to keep this fingers fanned out like a woman with drying fingernail polish.
“Penis?” said the nurse.
“Yeah.” In the last half hour it had begun itching the worst.
“Come with me,” she said. “Sally, take over here for a minute, will you?”
He followed the snapping steps, her massive bulk, to an empty room. “In here.” She elbowed the door shut, peered at him through her wire rim glasses as if he were an impostor at a royal banquet. “Let me see,” she said. He hesitated. “Come on, hurry up, let’s see this rash.”
He pulled down his pants and underwear in one angry motion, jolting with the pain. What used to be a penis flopped into the bright light, itching madly, looking like a bumpy, bludgeoned, hammerhead shark.
“Holy shit!” she said, and whistled. Her eyes moved to his face. “Are you homosexual?”
“No, why?”
“Thank God.” Her whole manner had changed. At least the damn thing was good for something. “What happened to you anyway?” she said.
Suddenly he knew: “Someone rubbed poison oak on it.”
She shuddered. “A guy?”
“A woman.”
“Why’d you want her to do that?”
“I didn’t know she was doing it. I mean, I knew she was doing it, but not about the poison oak. She must’ve had it on her hands and not realized it.”
“Just look at that poor thing,” she said, shaking her head. “You must be highly allergic or something. I’ve never seen anything like that. Pull your pants up, will you?” She shuddered again. “There’s certainly a reason not to have one.” They headed back to the front desk. “We’ll let a doctor examine you. Here, fill this out and we’ll call you. Good luck.” He’d earned a sympathetic smile.
“Wha’s wrong?” she said.
“Huh?” His fever was increasing.
“We’re prioritizing tonight because we’re so busy. Look around you.”
“I’ve got a rash.”
“A rash? That’s all?”
“Well . . . it’s kinda bad.”
“Where is it?”
“Below.”
“Below what?” Her scowl darkened.
“It’s all over my legs, my ***, and my dick.” His hands had begun to itch too, bumpy ridges forming so he was forced to keep this fingers fanned out like a woman with drying fingernail polish.
“Penis?” said the nurse.
“Yeah.” In the last half hour it had begun itching the worst.
“Come with me,” she said. “Sally, take over here for a minute, will you?”
He followed the snapping steps, her massive bulk, to an empty room. “In here.” She elbowed the door shut, peered at him through her wire rim glasses as if he were an impostor at a royal banquet. “Let me see,” she said. He hesitated. “Come on, hurry up, let’s see this rash.”
He pulled down his pants and underwear in one angry motion, jolting with the pain. What used to be a penis flopped into the bright light, itching madly, looking like a bumpy, bludgeoned, hammerhead shark.
“Holy shit!” she said, and whistled. Her eyes moved to his face. “Are you homosexual?”
“No, why?”
“Thank God.” Her whole manner had changed. At least the damn thing was good for something. “What happened to you anyway?” she said.
Suddenly he knew: “Someone rubbed poison oak on it.”
She shuddered. “A guy?”
“A woman.”
“Why’d you want her to do that?”
“I didn’t know she was doing it. I mean, I knew she was doing it, but not about the poison oak. She must’ve had it on her hands and not realized it.”
“Just look at that poor thing,” she said, shaking her head. “You must be highly allergic or something. I’ve never seen anything like that. Pull your pants up, will you?” She shuddered again. “There’s certainly a reason not to have one.” They headed back to the front desk. “We’ll let a doctor examine you. Here, fill this out and we’ll call you. Good luck.” He’d earned a sympathetic smile.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
When they returned, Neal stood shivering, racked by chills, dripping sweat, dizzy, naked except for his coat. “This is Doctor Weiss,” said the older doctor. A princess navigated around the men and approached him. She glowed in her immaculate white suit and bobbed hair. Even Chandler had never imagined a blonde like this—an angel in a nightmare. She didn’t say a word, or acknowledge his chattering teeth or trembling hands. Instead she pulled on a pair of latex gloves, snapping the rubber slightly as she extended her fingers into each socket, taking her time, getting the fit just so.
“Sit,” she said. He wanted to explain that it would be painful, but managed to get on the bed, his *** burning cruelly. She began to examine his penis, handling the poisoned barb as if it were the rotting paw of a dead dog. Neal, on the other hand, was transfixed by her cheekbones, her faultless white skin, her twitch of a nose. He reveled in the romance of it all, this their very first meeting. How enchanting. His first blind date and he’d found the perfect woman. He was in love. She met his dilated gaze with her glacial irises. “Could we get a few photographs for a new medical text book?” she said. “Yours is a very abnormal manifestation.”
He shook his head.
“We would be happy to pay you a small remuneration for the trouble.”
Again. Words failed him.
“It won’t take very long. Just a few minutes. I’ve never seen a case as aggravated as yours.”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“You should see my ***. I hear it’s outstanding.” He slipped off the bed, his teeth chattering; she stepped back. He checked—there was blood on the paper. “Are you sure?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I hear it’s a real medical page turner.”
No response, not even a twitch of lost composure.
“When will I be able to get back to work?” he said.
“Work?”
“Booty movies. I suppose you don’t watch them or you woulda recognized me. I’m famous, you know. Greg our director is very talented. The crew was filming at Big Sur on the beach when this happened.”
She reversed another step. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll write you a couple prescriptions.” She sat down at the plastic chair and crossed her legs, white nylons whimpering.
The male doctors left as she stood and handed him two slips. “This should abate the major symptoms in about a week. The hospital pharmacy will fill these for you. You may get dressed now.” She vanished, leaving only an aura of iridescent white mist.
“Sit,” she said. He wanted to explain that it would be painful, but managed to get on the bed, his *** burning cruelly. She began to examine his penis, handling the poisoned barb as if it were the rotting paw of a dead dog. Neal, on the other hand, was transfixed by her cheekbones, her faultless white skin, her twitch of a nose. He reveled in the romance of it all, this their very first meeting. How enchanting. His first blind date and he’d found the perfect woman. He was in love. She met his dilated gaze with her glacial irises. “Could we get a few photographs for a new medical text book?” she said. “Yours is a very abnormal manifestation.”
He shook his head.
“We would be happy to pay you a small remuneration for the trouble.”
Again. Words failed him.
“It won’t take very long. Just a few minutes. I’ve never seen a case as aggravated as yours.”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“You should see my ***. I hear it’s outstanding.” He slipped off the bed, his teeth chattering; she stepped back. He checked—there was blood on the paper. “Are you sure?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I hear it’s a real medical page turner.”
No response, not even a twitch of lost composure.
“When will I be able to get back to work?” he said.
“Work?”
“Booty movies. I suppose you don’t watch them or you woulda recognized me. I’m famous, you know. Greg our director is very talented. The crew was filming at Big Sur on the beach when this happened.”
She reversed another step. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll write you a couple prescriptions.” She sat down at the plastic chair and crossed her legs, white nylons whimpering.
The male doctors left as she stood and handed him two slips. “This should abate the major symptoms in about a week. The hospital pharmacy will fill these for you. You may get dressed now.” She vanished, leaving only an aura of iridescent white mist.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
This could also help with the cure, by HANK JR.
Naked women and beer.
Check it out....
http://www.truveo.com/Naked-Women-and-B ... 1436610709
laz57
Naked women and beer.
Check it out....
http://www.truveo.com/Naked-Women-and-B ... 1436610709
laz57
Sorry Wayne, Tramp wins the gross out contest.
Back in the day (I am that old), poison ivy was a euphemism for a young lady of availability who had a social disease. I learned the term in the early 1960s in the Club Senegal area of 8th Street between Western and Vermont in Los Angeles. I was hoofing it to the Standard Brands paint store to deal with the interior of my Aunt Helen's crumbling Victorian and rather clueless about how one would get a social disease. It was a time after Raymond Chandler's gritty L.A. and before the Watts riots and the hippies. The muscular, melanin enhanced bouncer at the actual Club Senegal owed a few markers to my probation officer Aunt Helen, and would walk with me once I turned the corner at Normandie onto 8th and head to the store. At the time, I didn't know this was arranged. As a rather naive "Venice Boy", I had a lot of questions, but the usual answer was "keep walking with me, son." It was much later in life that I realized the pain of the depth of his responses and what he had to stood up for to do that. Much more was communicated by movement and attitude than in words.
San
Back in the day (I am that old), poison ivy was a euphemism for a young lady of availability who had a social disease. I learned the term in the early 1960s in the Club Senegal area of 8th Street between Western and Vermont in Los Angeles. I was hoofing it to the Standard Brands paint store to deal with the interior of my Aunt Helen's crumbling Victorian and rather clueless about how one would get a social disease. It was a time after Raymond Chandler's gritty L.A. and before the Watts riots and the hippies. The muscular, melanin enhanced bouncer at the actual Club Senegal owed a few markers to my probation officer Aunt Helen, and would walk with me once I turned the corner at Normandie onto 8th and head to the store. At the time, I didn't know this was arranged. As a rather naive "Venice Boy", I had a lot of questions, but the usual answer was "keep walking with me, son." It was much later in life that I realized the pain of the depth of his responses and what he had to stood up for to do that. Much more was communicated by movement and attitude than in words.
San
"San and the boys, too, spinning in their orbits. They are the Virtues, the Graces, the Beauties of the hurried mangled craziness of Monterey and the cosmic Monterey where men in fear and hunger destroy their stomachs in the fight to secure certain food, where men hungering for love destroy everything lovable about them. San and the boys are the beauties, the Virtues, the Graces. In the world ruled by tigers with ulcers, rutted by strictured bulls, scavenged by blind jackals, San and the boys dine delicately with the tigers, fondle the frantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea gulls of Cannery Row. What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate, and bifocals? San and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, blots-on-the-town, thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and San and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature."
(apol to JS)
(apol to JS)
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