Red Light Camera Removal

An Exercise In Pure Speculation

As many of you know, I'm an unpublished (so far) author, and in a calculated C.Y.A. move, I'm letting you know I'm working on a novel about some really bad, evil misanthropes with ethnic-sounding names with an excess of consonants that choose to disrupt our wonderful, peaceful society for nefarious purposes... and here's one of the major plot points from the novel. Yeah, you heard me, it's just a work of fiction... No conspiracy plans here, just move along, Mr. Asst. District Attorney with a lackluster conviction rate and fading political aspirations...

Now, I'm not advocating that anyone actually deface, damage, destroy, fold, spindle or mutilate one of The Man's spiffy new red light cameras, but after giving it some thought, here's how a successful camera-killer in this work of fiction might choose to go about it...

Be advised, just reading this might classify you as a domestic terrorist... You might want to hit the Eject Button!

For the brave souls that remain...

This is the model I see popping up all over town:



It's cylindrical, mounted on a single pole bracket, and there's usually one on each stoplight bar, so all directions of traffic are covered.

There's a single wire going into the rear of the camera. An aluminum shield covers the whole shebang.



When I saw the metal shield covering the camera, I was initially worried that it would require too much gun to penetrate the metal, making the bullet-launching device too loud to easily suppress. The risk would be that too light a bullet might get deflected in directions that could cause unwanted collateral damage.

As it turns out, the guard is designed more for rain & sun shielding than as a barrier against high-speed objects! The camera body is probably aluminum as well, judging by the construction and anodized coating.

I have no idea what the depth of focus is on these cameras, so potting the lens from 200 yards out in a down-the-throat shot is probably a no-no. It seems the easiest angle that keeps you an Eeevil terrorist out of the traffic lanes is an oblique shot from a nearby parking lot, a la DC sniper Lee Malvo. Pulling the back seat out of a sedan and shooting through a hole in the trunk seems to be an unnecessary PITA, when you an Eeevil terrorist can pick up an old panel van or serial-killer van for very little money. This also eliminates the need for an accomplice. I've got a few (very few...) friends I'd trust with my life & liberty, but it's my experience that 95% of the human race would sell their mother to the Esquimaux as walrus bait in order to get out of a felony beef. So, it's probably best to work alone.

My the Eeevil terrorist's initial choice for a camera-popper would probably be a suppressed AR platform in .300 Whisper. It's a subsonic round, and gives you an Eeevil terrorist sufficient bullet mass & velocity to effect a through & through hit on the camera body & weather shield. Naturally, backstopping is an issue. Ideally, you an Eeevil terrorist can work out an angle that puts the stoplight mounting pole or a utility pole directly behind your aiming point. Barring that, the Eeevil terrorists should look for the nearest water tower. (snerk!)

To get a hard kill, here's your the Eeevil terrorist's aiming point:



You The Eeevil terrorist should be able to take out the camera body, the connector and the connector socket with one solid hit. A hit anywhere to the camera tube will kill the camera, but I'd An Eeevil terrorist would recommend screwing up the ability to refurb the camera while you're they were at it. Adding insult to injury, as it were.

As an alternative, there might be a controller box mounted in a visible location that controls all 4 cameras. This is what one model looks like, your mileage may vary.



For those Eeevil terrorists interested in doing some monkeywrenching, but who are not wanting to break the felony barrier & wish to remain safely in misdemeanor-ville, I suppose those pansy milksop nancy-boy terrorists could always go for the lenses using a paintball gun and a Nixon mask!

Happy Hunting!

No Content, Just Filler!

I Got Nothin' At All Today...

Two extremely thought-provoking and relevant posts collided this morning, leaving me with only the shattered remnants of a blogworthy post. Sorry. You get filler material instead!

My brain should be back online tomorrow.

Update: "Name In Lights" feature permanently disabled due to being a completely annoying noisemaker.
I got my name in lights with notcelebrity.co.uk

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm You're probably in the final stages of a Ph.D. or otherwise finding a way to make your living out of reading. You are one of the literati. Other people's grammatical mistakes make you insane.
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Literate Good Citizen
Book Snob
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What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Bad Breakfast Food

At This Stage In Life You'd Think I'd Know Better...

OK, so I'm in the convenience store this morning picking up my daily ration of Coke Zero, when I see this little sign advertising a deep discount on a sleeve of Little Tiny Donuts when purchased in conjunction with a 20 oz bottle of soda.

I look down at the three bottles of Coke I'm carrying, and a little light goes off. Hey, I need breakfast. Donuts are breakfast food! Buy donuts!

I've tried to wean myself off the donuts in recent years. They just aren't healthy at all, and now that both the local Krispy Kreme stores have gone belly-up, all we have left are Shipley's and the small Mom & Pop donuterias. They're mostly not worth bothering with. As I've said before, I long for a Tim Horton's or a Winchells. I'll even settle for Dunkin Donuts...

Back in high school, a buddy of mine called donuts "the circular power source of the universe" and he wasn't too far off the mark. I wonder how much committee-generated foolishness over the years has been fueled by bad percolator coffee and glazed donuts?

Anyway, to cut to the chase, I selected a sleeve of the crumb-encrusted donuts, since I didn't want powdered sugar wafting all over my clothes, or that waxy pseudo-chocolate coating all over my fingers.

Ewwww.... Bad choice...

Since when do donuts leave a Crisco-like film inside your mouth? I had to take a big slurp of Coke and swish it around in my mouth until my gums started burning just to cut through the grease layer. Nasty nasty nasty! Bad Cap! No Donut!

I tried kolaches, but you need to make three times my wage to afford breakfasts at the Kolache Factory. Man, they're proud of their pastry. There's a place called Anna's Donuts that sells the most delicious buttery croissants stuffed with ham & cheese, but they're kinda spendy, too.

So, it's back to the Jack in the Box or Sonic breakfast burritos, on those mornings when I feel like eating.

Phollowup To Phictitious Phun

You're Reading Blogs, So I *Know* You Can Spare 10 Minutes...

The story I'm writing with Phoenix has the next two chapters posted. Go have a look, or we'll sic the ROUS's on you.

Chapters 1 & 2

Chapters 3 & 4

Plagued By the Pig

Recipes and Other Silliness

There's a recipe email chain-letter sort of thing circulating. They'll trade you 30 recipes for one of yours. Seems like a good deal, since we're not actually using real postage stamps. If you haven't gotten it yet, wait a day or so. The Blowneyeds are an incestuous bunch, and we feed on our own contact lists...

I managed to stop myself before sending a ham recipe to Elisson. I was feeling all cocky and righteous until I got the email from Erica saying "Hey! Whatsamotta U wit' dis ham nonsense? We're Joooish up here!!" Actually, she thought it was funny, but I was still mortified.

Then, Sonic goes and gives me bacon burritos this morning. WTF? You cannot replace sausage with bacon in a breakfast burrito. Does. Not. Compute.

I'm still wondering about a question I asked at the BBQ blogmeet, about whether a pot-bellied pig field-dresses out like a feral hog. I know, they're both swine, but what's in that big pot belly? Lard? Chitlins? Marzipan?

People are all the time advertising on Craigslist seeking new owners for their pot-bellied pigs. Apparently they're really cute when they are babies and weigh 12 lbs. When they're full-grown adults, weigh 250 lbs and have eaten your cat? Not so much...

I can't help thinking you could offer to adopt the piggie, then whisk him off to a quick trip to the sausage grinder. I mean, you've got a $50 "adoption fee" versus 120+ pounds of pork loin, spareribs, and sausage! Sounds like a win-win scenario to me.

Anyway, if you got a recipe from me, enjoy and be glad I didn't pull it out of this recipe book!

3 Years Of Baboon Pirates!!

Where The F#*% Is My Pulitzer Prize??

Wow. Another year goes by.

I've met a few more bloggers, scribbled another few reams of dross, and managed to yet again resist the urge to move this whole shebang over to baboonpirates.com...

Thanks for dropping in on a semi-regular basis. I keep telling myself I'd do this even if no one read it, but who the heck am I kidding? Half the fun is knowing people are enjoying it.

Special thanks to all the bloggers who provide moral support, even though they might not be aware of it.

Below are a few of my favorite posts from the previous year. Enjoy!

See y'all at the next blogmeet!

2006-2007 "Best Of Baboon Pirates"

Tricks, No Treats

Fear & Loathing In The Litter Box

Roast Possum, Apples & Sweet 'Taters

Confessions Of A Woobie Addict

Joe Camel & The Surrealistic Bunny

2000 Lbs Of Angry Pot Roast

Poultry Digits Doused In Mole Sauce

The $118 Tip

Boot Camp

The Great Ape Heist Of 1983

Viacom Sucks Donkey Balls

The Great Houston Cat Scramble

Why I Don't Have Kids

Full Up On Crazy

Last Stand At The O.K. Corral

Jessica's Heading West...

To Tell The Truth

Cops Get The Best Dope

More Tales Of Misspent Youth

The Leopard Frog

Of Babies & BILs...

A Fine Finish To A Saturday

Following the BBQ run to Lockhart, I drove over to my sister's place outside of San Marcos for a visit.

My sister and I had a long & pleasant chat at the kitchen table, and I got to play with Baby Grace and watch her burble and drool. She's a remarkably calm baby, and is quite cute in spite of a jowly disapproving look.

Sammy and my BIL were outside working on something while we were talking. Eventually Sammy wandered in and changed out of some wet clothes and into his Halloween costume. He's going as a monkey this year, which is somewhat appropriate. Sammy then insisted I come outside and see what he & his dad had been working on.

As it turns out, Sammy was concerned that there was mud on my truck, so he & my BIL washed my truck! They even got the scrobbly gunk off my front rims where it dribbles off the brake shoes. I was of course dumbstruck, since to my knowledge that dried layer of mud was all that held the fenders to the frame. They also vacuumed out the cab, Armor-All'ed the interior and even steam-cleaned the carpet and seats.

So, now I am in debt to the BIL, which is not terribly onerous, but does prevent me from griping about his quirks until I can do him a solid and re-achieve parity.

Here's Grace & Sammy:

BBQ Lunch In Lockhart

I Can Feel My Arteries Occluding...

The minimeet in Lockhart was a success, mostly. We didn't get the numbers we'd hoped for, but if you can judge an afternoon solely by the quality of BBQ eaten, and the hours of great conversation, we had a winner for sure!

You can tell you're getting to Lockhart in the fall by the enormous amounts of cotton scrap on the sides of the roads. The trailers hauling raw cotton to the local gin leak quite a bit. Someone with an outdoor vacuum and a bunch of fabric could make a mint stuffing throw pillows.



Kreuz Market turned out to be a great meeting place on a Saturday. There was quite a bit of business, but never so much that anyone turned an eye to our occupying a table for two hours before we bought some food, and for two hours afterwards.
We could have had twice the crowd and been all right.



We missed out on the jalapeno/cheese sausage, since some greedy bint bought every single hot link they had before we ordered. We tried the regular sausage, but no one was impressed. I thought the ribs were quite good, and the brisket outstanding. No sauce, no forks, just dig in like a caveman and make grunting noises as you devour it!



I think we'll try again when Okie/Hoosier hybrid Jerry comes back down to Houston early next year. It's pretty easy for everyone to get to, and the barn-like interior will be more comfortable when the temperatures drop another 20 degrees.

Wish all y'all could have made it! Next time for sure!

Phictitious Phridays

I'm Not An Author, But I Play One On This Blog...

If you're one of the fans of Fiction Fridays usually hosted by Her Feistiness, I ought to advise you that a renegade duo of former participants has split off and formed a splinter group dedicated to maintaining the purity and ideology of the written word. None shall be spared from our indoctrination onto the True Path...

Currently there's a schism amongst the Party Vanguard, as "Pink Octobrists" keeps getting offered up as a group name, and I'm really more of a Forest Green type of guy. However, Green October sounds like what happens to a kid's face after he eats too much Halloween candy.

OK, I made that last part up... Sorry...

The story's posted over at Villains Vanquished. I kicked it off with Chapter One, and Phoenix most ably returned the serve with Chapter Two. We'll volley back & forth until we reach a conclusion, or have a literary trainwreck, whichever comes first!

Go have a read!

HP Printers Kinda Suck...

Less Than 2 Years Old And Off To The Scrapheap

This is the 2nd HP inkjet to go belly-up inside of 4 years. Any suggestions for something that lasts a bit longer??

Mini BlogMeet!

Helen, Schmelen... We've Got A Walrilla!

OK, sports fans, here's the scoop...

This weekend, if you'd like to eat some righteous BBQ and hang out with some bloggers, join us in Lockhart, Texas!

So far, there's 5 folks who've indicated they can make it, and I'm sure a few more will drop in.

WHERE:
Kreuz Market
619 N. Colorado St.
Lockhart, Texas 78644

1 block S of Hwy 183 & 672, across from City Park

Map Link: http://tinyurl.com/yojza9

(Lockhart is about 12 miles east of San Marcos, and 20 miles south of Austin on Hwy 183)

WHEN:
This coming Saturday, October 20th, 2007
11 am - early evening

If we get tossed out for balancing brisket on our noses, there's a city park across the street, and I'm sure there's some sort of watering hole or ice house nearby should cigars get set aflame. We'll just sort of play it by ear. It might not be a bad idea to carry along some sort of sitting device and a cooler of soft drinks should we end up over in the park.

If you're not sure how you'll find us, I'm the XXXL mofo with the balding head & goatee, 'Running Behind' is the really tall dude with the rockstar hair & a goatee, and Walrilla's the bald goateed dude in a wheelchair. LC Beth does NOT have a goatee, but she's welcome to attempt one by Saturday! ;-)

Hope y'all can make it!

All We Are Saying Is Give Peas A Chance!

Visualize Whirled Peas!

I haven't posted a recipe in a long, long time! Time to correct that oversight.

I'm a huge fan of the English Pea. Otherwise known as the green pea, the shell pea or the common garden pea, I could probably eat a bucketful if properly motivated.

Fresh peas are best, of course, but frozen will do just as well. I'm not a big fan of canned peas, but given a choice between mushy canned peas and eating lima beans or chickpeas, I'll gladly go with the pea.

You can get 'em dried, too, but there's not much you can do other than turn 'em into split-pea soup. That's not a bad way to treat a pea, especially if you have a big ol' hambone or some chunks of salt pork to cook with the soup.

I usually buy large bags of frozen peas, and use them in just about everything. A double handful tossed in the boiling pot really jazzes up an otherwise dreary bowl of ramen. I've been known to munch on 'em frozen, they have a sweet taste and an amusing crunch. Occasionally, I'll thaw out a pint of peas, then add diced ham & cheese, then mix in some ranch or green goddess salad dressing for a quick & easy pea salad.

Peas also mix nicely into chicken salad or egg salad, and you can't go wrong tossing a handful into a chicken or tuna casserole.

My favorite way to eat them is to take a cup or so in a microwaveable dish, toss a knob of butter on top, then nuke 'em until they steam. Then a quick dash of garlic salt and I'm in pea heaven.

Today's recipea is something out of the ordinary, a fancy pea salad suitable for royalpea or pea-ons.

El Capitan's Whirled Peas

FOOD INGREDIENTS:

4 cups fresh or frozen English peas

2 cups fresh cut sweet corn (or canned Niblet corn)

1 small sweet onion (TX 1015, Vidalia), diced

1 cup cheese (whatever variety you prefer), small dice or shredded
Adjust volume accordingly! With a hard, stinky cheese, a little goes a long way!

2 hard boiled eggs, diced (more, less or none is OK, depending on your egg tolerance)

1-3 cups salad dressing - I like fresh-made buttermilk ranch dressing, but you can use just about any salad dressing you like, even Miracle Whip or mayo if that's what spins your knobs. I find that Italian and Bleu Cheese dressings can be a bit pungent and drown out the vegetable flavors.

kosher salt, fresh ground pepper to taste

Optional, but tasty!
1 cup diced jicama. It adds crunch without being intrusive.
If you live in a jicama-free zone, a firm sweet apple will substitute
Chopped green salad olives with pimento
grape tomatos
cayenne pepper

EQUIPMENT:

Large bowl with tight-fitting lid.

HERE'S HOW TO DO IT:

Throw everything into the bowl except the salad dressing & salt & pepper. Put the lid on tight, and whirl that bad boy around until you feel at one with the universe, or the ingredients are well mixed, whichever comes first.

Open it up, and slowly mix in the salad dressing until it's all thoroughly coated. I like a nice thick coat, but it's up to you. Give it a test-taste, and add salt & pepper if needed.

Put the lid back on, and let chill for a few hours to let the flavors mix.

Try not to eat it all at one sitting!

Mucho Gusto!

The Leopard Frog

A Cautionary Tale of Rana and Karma

I ran over a frog tonight. Squooshed him flat. I suppose I ought to feel a higher degree of remorse about it than I currently do, but it was almost exactly like a game of Frogger!

I was heading west on Memorial Drive just past the first turnoff into Memorial Park, and I caught a flash of white leaving the median and landing in the traffic lanes, moving a regular distance across the road each time it touched the ground.

I was in the right lane, and by the time I figured out that I was seeing the pale belly of the frog as he stretched out midleap, he was in my lane. He got by the first tire, but those LT305-75R16s take up a lot of real estate, and he didn't dodge the starboard pair. Even at 35 mph, I felt him pop like a ketchup packet under your foot.

I like frogs, though you wouldn't know it the way they tend to expire in my presence. We've got a bumper crop of little green tree frogs this year, and I'm all the time finding them on my truck in the mornings. I suppose they're attracted by all the dew that condenses on the glass and hood. I try to remove them and toss 'em in the bushes prior to leaving for work, but every so often, I'll see one clinging for dear life to the rearview mirror or the windshield wiper before the wind whisks them away to who knows where.

At any rate, that frog tonight reminded me of another frog incident almost 20 years past.

I spent several summers as a Boy Scout camp staffer, and if my blog gives you any clue to my personality, you can probably guess that I had an absolute blast, and the Camp Directors tore their hair out in anger and disgust. You know that phrase "indicted but never convicted"? That pretty much sums up my camp staff employment file.

I haven't really told any of my summer camp tales here on the blog. I'd like to see the collection published some day, and I don't want to use the stories for blog filler whenever I have a Bad Blogpost Day.

This one, though, I think I'll let slip out. If there's some terminology that's not quite clear, the Summer Camp book will have a glossary in the back. You'll just have to buy it when it's released!

(Names changed for obvious reasons, though if you've been to this camp, you'll know exactly where I'm talking about...)

Summer 1990
El Rancho Del Rio Blanco

I'm slouching down Appetite Hill one afternoon, getting ready to go drag the mules across the river for my Mule Train/Miner 49'er overnight trip with a gaggle of Boy Scouts. Sun's almost overhead, it's probably 100 degrees in the shade and not a cloud in the sky. I'm a bit ahead of schedule, so I hang out at the Trading Post to shoot the breeze with the crew and maybe cadge a free Dr Pepper.

I sweettalk some crushed ice and a cup from the Commissary, and I'm kicked back on the porch slurping on my Dr Pepper snowcone, desperately hoping for a cool breeze to pull some sweat off my carcass when I see a bunch of Scouts heading my way. Their body language is unmistakeable. The kid in the middle has something interesting, and the electron cloud of other boys jockeying for position want a look at it.

As they draw near to the Trading Post, I can see there's a couple of kids getting grabby. The ringleader's having more and more trouble hanging on to whatever he's got. It's just too darned hot to break up a fight, so I get up and head over towards the group.

"So, whatcha got there?" I ask. I'm geared up in my Living History buckskinner/prospector getup, including the cap & ball sixgun and the skinning knife as long as your thigh, so the kids snap to attention pretty quick.

I'm kind of a jack of all trades around camp. I've pinch-hit for other merit badge counselors teaching everything from Geology to Indian Lore, minoring in Nature, Archery and Pioneering, so I'm intrigued by what the Scout might be carrying. It might be a prime snail fossil, maybe an old flint arrowhead, or just another creepy insect.

"I caught me a frog!" says the ringleader. "We're gonna throw him in the bonfire tomorrow night!" The other kids nod in agreement, though one of 'em is dead set on flinging the wee beastie up in the air on the skeet range.

Sigh. You spend years teaching the Scout Oath & Law to these kids, and all it takes is one frog and we're back to Lord of the Flies. I'd better intervene before this frog ends up in the ice chipper.

"Well, better let me take a look at him. It might be one of the endangered Rio Blanco Stump-toed frogs. Hate for y'all to get a $500 fine." Now, there's no such thing as a Rio Blanco Stump-toed frog, but they don't know that, and it saves me having to chase 'em down and wrestle the frog away.

The kid hands me the frog, and it's a big 'un. It's a leopard frog, looks kinda like this one:



He's a handsome fellow, as frogs go. He feels like he could use some moisture on his hide, though. It's apparent that he's been out of the water for a while.

I pull one of his legs outward and point to the shortest toe. "See here, guys? That toe oughta be at least an inch longer. Yup, y'all got a Stump-toed frog, all right. We've got to turn him loose."

A chorus of "Awwwww!" and "Oh, mannnn!!!" is the reply from the Scouts, soon replaced by urgent whispering behind me as I walk towards the Rio Blanco. Hell, I was their age once, and I know they're plotting to grab the frog again once I chuck it in the water. These Scouts will leap in after him, and still get their Frog-B-Q tomorrow night unless I can figure out how to get him off scot-free.

I can't go upstream. If I throw it in near the Aquatics area during the Free Swim period, I'll have 10 times the number of kids chasing the frog. It's just too damn hot to walk all the way downstream to the dam...

The bridge? Well, why not?

El Rancho Del Rio Blanco is unique in Texas Scout camps in that it has a suspension foot bridge across the river. In periods where we've gotten heavy rain and it's unsafe to cross the dam, it's literally the only access to the 6 campsites on the far side of the river. Many times when the Rio Blanco is in flood stage, we've had a parade of Scouts carrying all their belongings over the bridge at the end of camp, since we couldn't get the trucks across to haul their gear out.

From the middle of the bridge, it's about a 10 foot drop from the deck to the water, depending on how high the river's running that month. Mr. Frog's gonna have time for a triple gainer and a half tuck before he splashes down.

The sun over the bridge is casting a heavy band of shadow across the river. I aim the frog towards the center of the band, figuring that the darker water will give him a little extra edge.

Half the Scouts are lined up on one bank, hoping the frog will swim their way, most of the rest are pounding across the bridge, heading for the other bank. Three have stayed to watch the toss.

I look Mr. Frog in the eye, and say "Good luck, dude!", then heave him over the side.

The frog hit hard, and floated motionless for a couple of seconds. I was a little concerned that the fall had stunned him, and I was not looking forward to following him in using a BSA-approved rescue dive, then using a BSA-approved lifesaving tow into shore, and the ensuing Red Cross-approved frog-to-mouth resuscitation.

About the time I was reaching to unbuckle my gunbelt, Mr. Frog commenced to kicking up a storm. He was kicking so hard he started to throw a bow wake I could see from 16 feet up.

"Huh..." sez I. "Wonder why he's in such a hurr...."

That's as far as that thought got. In the blink of an eye, a cavernous mouth emerged from underneath the murky water. There must have been 6 or 8 inches of clearance on either side of that outstretched amphibian to the lips on that catfish. Damn thing looked like a washbucket coming up from the deep.

A gulp, a splash, a slap of a thick tail, and that frog was GONE! Damn catfish looked like the Loch Ness Monster as it doubled back on itself and headed back to its lair.

I must've stood there gripping the rail in silence for the better part of a minute. Sure didn't see THAT coming... I was vaguely aware of the Scouts walking back across the bridge, and I heard (though I wasn't intended to, I'm sure) a muffled "Smooth move, Ex-Lax!" and "Guess they're even more endangered now..."

I suppose I should have remembered that fish love to hang out in the shade, and that anything hitting the middle of the river might as well be backlit to any critters underneath the water. I was so intent on keeping Mr. Frog free from humanity's clutches, that I completely forgot about the perils of Nature, red in tooth & claw.

So, if you want a moral to the story, all I can say is this...

All actions carry unforeseen consequences, and always toss your frogs in the shrubbery!

Rejoice! The CCB Is Back!

(For A Limited Time Only, Methinks...)

I'm wandering home last night trying to decide if I want to stop at the local illegal alien-infested Hamburguesa Rey for a "Doble-Carne Juapper y papas fritas" when I see the sign from the Almighty...

Passing by the Taco Bell, I barely glimpsed it. In fact, it took traveling another 50 yards down the road before the window sign penetrated my consciousness. 'Chili Nachos Bell Grande!!'

"Hmmmm..." thinks I. "Putting chili on nachos. Not a bad..."

Suddenly the full import of what I had witnessed sunk into my brain.
THEY HAVE CHILI COOKING AT TACO BELL!!!

My truck, almost of its own volition, slowed, swerved left and then crawled over the median on Mangum Rd. near 18th & Dacoma to point back towards the Bell, and I leadfooted it back to the parking lot.

See, if they've got chili, they can probably be talked into making one of my all-time favorite fast food addictions.

Yes, the Taco Bell Chili Cheese Burrito!

This culinary masterpiece used to be called the Chilito, until someone pointed out that's what many of our Hispanic neighbors called a tiny penis.

The CCB starts with a large tortilla. It gets a big ladleful of chili, then a handful of shredded cheese, and then a sprinkling of chopped white onion. It's placed in the steamer to flash-melt the cheese and soften the tortilla, then folded up and served.

By the time you unwrap it, the chili and cheese and onions have melded into a wonderful gooey mess surrounded by warm tortilla. To eat it properly, you must master the CCB slurp-bite, or you'll get goo all over your shirt. To do this right, you must slurp out the filling before biting down on the burrito.

For some unknown reason, Taco Bell pulled the CCB off their menus several years ago. There was an online movement to bring back the CCB, and I wrote several letters to Taco Bell & Yum! Brands trying to sway their decision.

Last night, the kind folks at Taco Bell didn't have to be bribed! They knew exactly how to make a CCB, and it was even programmed into the register! Alas, they couldn't say how long the promotion would continue, or if it would become a regular menu item again. I sure hope so!

So, make a run for the border, and get yourself a couple of Chili Cheese Burritos while you still can!!!

Bad Cop, Worse Lawyer

Q: Why Do Lawyers Wear Neckties?
A: It Keeps The Foreskins From Sliding Up Over Their Faces

Just a bit of a warning, I'm probably going to break into some foul language momentarily. Rarely am I so incensed by a news article that I blog about it. This one, though... Grrrrrrr.....

Check out this Shining Example of Humanity:

Florida cop, hurt during drowning call, sues toddler's family

Associated Press

CASSELBERRY, Fla. — A police officer who slipped and injured a knee responding to a toddler's near-drowning has sued the family of the 1-year-old boy, who suffered brain damage and can no longer walk, talk or swallow.

Casselberry Sgt. Andrea Eichhorn alleges Joey Cosmillo's family left a puddle of water on the floor, causing her fall during the rescue efforts. She broke her knee and missed two months of work.

So the family brings their nearly-dead child inside after fishing him out of the pool, and the kid drips some water along the way. This twat decides to sue for negligence? YOU'RE A COP! ACCIDENTS HAPPEN! SUCK IT UP, YOU WHINY BITCH!!!

Think that's bad? Check out *this* asshole...

Eichhorn's attorney, David Heil, said she has persistent knee pain and will likely develop arthritis. He said city benefits paid by workers' compensation and some disability checks helped with medical bills, but it wasn't enough.

The lawsuit seeks unspecified damages.

"It's a situation where the Cosmillos have caused these problems, brought them on themselves, then tried to play the victim," Heil said.

WTF!??!?!?!?!!!!????

I was literally shaking with anger after reading that. I'm glad this shitheel Heil lives halfway across the country, 'cause I'm tempted to pin him to a hot section of asphalt pavement with a bridge spike through his tongue.

Heil, I hope your Beemer gets run off the road and into a bridge abutment by some good citizen of Casselberry, and you end up trapped in the wreckage and slowly cook in a gasoline fire, you worthless piece of shit. Then, I want you to survive just long enough to feel your skin peel off in crispy yet oddly tender chunks as the EMTs pull you out, so your flayed nerve endings inflict as much pain as humanly possible before you slowly choke to death in your own bodily fluids as your lungs cease to function.

Rot in hell, you evil scumbag.

O Noes! Mor Lolcatz!!

It Had To Be Done For The Good Of Humanity...

Sometimes you see a good cat pic, and have to jump on it before the rest of the world beats you to it!

Oh, Now This Is So Wrong...

If Your Lawn Was Emo, It Would Cut Itself!

More Tales Of Misspent Youth

A Command Performance For Devoted Fans

OK, a request was made for more tales of my wayward youth, and also for a detailed explanation of this post's mention of rugburned knees and buttcheeks.

As for the first, no problem. The second? Not on your life! A gentleman may kiss & hint, but he'll never flat-out kiss & tell! Unless you ply me with many drams of aged bourbon at a future blogmeet. Then, maybe...

OK, the tale of wayward youth gone astray:

The Great Bathroom Tunnel Caper

Three things must ye know about 14 & 15 year old boys...

A) They're horny as a longhorned hornytoad that's just humped a hornbeam tree while humming 'Come Blow My Horn'.

B) They're not getting nearly as much action as they brag about.

c) They'll do almost anything for a glimpse of nekkid female flesh.

With those facts in mind, we'll begin our tale.

I've spoken before of my friend "Rabbit".

Rabbit attended a nearby high school in the same school district. We'd see each other every so often and lie shamelessly compare notes on our amorous encounters.

In Rabbit's defense, he was a good looking guy, and due to a quirk of birthdays, managed to have his driver's license when most of us were still stuck with a learner's permit. This gave him a huge headstart in the girl-chasing arena, since it was a well-known fact that the wimmens preferred to be squired around in a car as opposed to being balanced on your bike's handlebars.

So, armed with a car and a GQ jr. smile, Rabbit was the epitome of a teenage swordsman. When he told us about getting pinned to the hood of his car and ravished by three senior cheerleaders, of course we believed him. His story of nailing a college girl in the old shore battery emplacement on Galveston Island quickly became the stuff of legend.
When he revealed his plan for seeing nekkid wimmen every schoolday, I was awestruck at its audaciousness and simplicity.

Rabbit swore me to secrecy, as he didn't want word getting out about his little Peeping Tom scheme. According to Rabbit, it was possible to... wait... let me back up a bit.

Rabbit and I were both in the marching band at our respective schools. Part of being in band involved daily after-school marching practice. After the last class period during the fall semester, you'd haul ass to the band hall, grab your shorts and T-shirt and change out of your school clothes to better stand 2 hours marching on an asphalt parking lot in late summer Texas heat.

Most often, the bathroom nearest the Band Hall was used for changing, but guys usually just stepped into one of the practice rooms, or just dropped trou back in the instrument room. Girls, on the other hand, virtually always changed in the bathroom.

Rabbit's plan involved hoisting himself up into the drop ceiling over the boy's bathroom, unscrewing the vent off the A/C duct (huge 4' x 4' ducts), crawling along over the intervening maintenance closet, and then re-emerging over the girl's bathroom, whereupon he'd exit the duct, lean out and carefully peek through the light fixtures at the disrobing girls below.

He'd go on in great detail about the mounds of hooters and miles of muff he'd gotten a peek at. He was scornful of our Porky's-inspired suggestion that he dangle his dick from a hole in the ceiling and see who noticed. "Why ruin a semester's entertainment for one quick handjob?" Rabbit asked. Guess he had a point...

Now, I've always been a somewhat observant guy when it comes to what's around me, and I'd known for some time that many of the local schools shared common architecture. It seems there was a boom in school construction in the late 60's and some architectural/construction firm made a mint building the same school all over Texas for various school districts. Ever seen the movie 'Dazed & Confused'? That was filmed at a school in Austin, but it's a carbon copy of both my junior high and high school in Houston.

So, armed with the knowledge of possible similarities in A/C duct & ceiling construction, I took the opportunity during a break in marching practice to tell a few trusted comrades about the possibility of some extracurricular Biology class observational activities.

Surprisingly for teenage boys, we kept the circle of people "in the know" pretty tight. No one wanted half the band trying to wiggle up into the bathroom ceiling tiles. Knowing that most of the guys didn't use the bathroom to change meant we wouldn't have much in the way of random traffic.

So, on the selected day, a small group of boys wrangled their schedules in order to meet in the bathroom right before class let out. The plan was to be up in the ceiling and have the ceiling tile back in place before anyone wandered into either bathroom. We had it planned pretty well. I'd 'borrowed' some tools from Metalshop class to get into the vent, we had a couple of flashlights and a lookout was posted just in case any teacher came by.

The point man was a freshman trombone player named "Brett". He was 'volunteered' to be the first up in the ceiling due to his height and long reach. He was a bit stocky to be climbing into vents, but so was I, now that I think about it...

So, there's 5 of us in the bathroom, one lookout outside, and "Brett" commences to climbing the bathroom stall partitions. He's got the ceiling tiles boosted out of the way, and right away it's evident there's a problem. The A/C vent is maybe 2' x 2', with 12" vent covers, way too small for even a freshman to wiggle into.

That's OK, we're on the job! We'll find a way! "Brett" turns around to see if we can simply crawl along the rafters, such as they are. No dice. The concrete block wall extends up past the drop ceiling. At this moment, the thought occurs to me that Rabbit is completely full of shit, and has been lying his ass off the whole time.

"Brett" thinks there might be a way to climb over the wall, and pulls himself up into the ceiling.

Naturally, that's when the teacher walks into the bathroom.

We got the briefest of warnings. As the door pulled open with its characteristic squeal of poorly maintained hydraulics, we heard the faint holler of "Coming in!", sounding as if it was being yelled by a cowardly lookout as he sprinted in the opposite direction.

There's a privacy wall in the bathroom, fortunately. As you open the door, there's a concrete block wall directly in front of the door with shelves for stashing your textbooks & belongings before you take a leak. You have to walk around one end of the wall before entering the bathroom proper.

I wasn't aware of it at the time, but I now know it's possible for four guys to unzip their Wranglers and jam pelvises up against the urinals in the time it takes someone to walk the 4 steps around that wall.

We might have gotten away clean if there were 5 urinals. With all the pissers taken, though, the teacher had no choice but to go into one of the stalls. Naturally, it was the one that "Brett" was directly above. As soon as the teacher entered the stall, we started hitting the flush levers and making our way towards the door. I mean, my pockets are full of screwdrivers and wrenches, and there's some big honkin' flashlights poking out of other pockets. No use getting caught up in the fallout.

I suppose the teacher had a habit of looking up before he commenced his business, 'cause he had barely gotten into the stall when we heard "Hey! What are you doing up there?? Get down from there!!"

Those of us that had escaped entrapment were slinking towards the bandhall in what we hoped was a nonchalant slinking manner when the teacher hauls open the door and pulls "Brett" along by his collar as they head towards the main office. I've seen some forlorn looks on people's faces before, but "Brett's" was in the top 10.

To his credit, he took the heat and didn't rat us out. His story to the screws was that he hoped to scare some of the upperclassmen in return for their constant low-level hazing perpetrated on the freshmen guys. It still earned him an early morning detention, but today I'm sure a similar stunt would make him a convicted felon.

We never did get our peepshow, and it's probably for the best. Within the year, most of us had girlfriends who were generally amenable to a little bit of peek-a-boo activities!

Oh, and if any of you have daughters at Houston-area high schools, best let 'em know to keep an eye on the ceiling. Rabbit might have been telling the truth...

The Slow Sound Of Sour Suckage

My Fate Is To Be Eaten By My Own Pets

Damn. You'd think I could catch a f#(%!ng break once in a while.

It's not like I'm asking to win the Lotto, or score with a supermodel. Just a temporary loosening of the monetary thumbscrews would suffice...

Sigh.

I take my truck in for a long-overdue oil change last Saturday. I spend another $20 to have them slap in an air filter. While clambering around on the bumper installing the filter, Jose Feliciano Mechanico discovers that something is rotten in Denmark. Also under my hood.

It seems the unibelt is slightly out of alignment, and has caused one of the tensioning wheels to start shedding bits of itself. The grooved teeth on the wheel are separating from the wheel body. The belt has suffered a bit of wear, but nothing too terrible. It's probably good for several thousand more miles.

Unless, of course, you're planning on driving it 800 miles to the far corner of Tennessee in less than a month. Then, you're going to get ass-raped by fate somewhere in mid-Alabama when the whole shebang lets go and strands you in the middle of BumF#ck, Egypt.

In addition, the radiator hoses appear to be original equipment, now with 120,000 miles of delicious steam pressure and the associated rubber rot and minute cracks. Again, they may run for another 50,000 miles.

Not in my universe, kiddies. Seconds after coasting to the side of the road in BFE, the lack of a fan blade will cause a boilover, and all the hoses will explode simultaneously. Things like this probably very rarely happen to you. However, it happens to me all the fuckin' time.

$400 ought to set things right. Coincidentally, that's about what the trip ought to cost. Bear in mind I've still got to get the turn signals and radiator leak squared away. That'll probably double the ante.

So, it pains me to say this, but no blogmeets east of the Mississippi River this year. No Helen, No Etowah, no dice.

Take lots of pictures, my Blowneyed brethren, and make sure they get posted!

OMG It's Perfect!!!

The Xmas Gift That Keeps On Giving All Year 'Round!!

We gain wisdom as we grow older...

See, once upon a time I labored under the assumption that owning a painting of The King Of Rock & Roll on black velvet (aka the 'Velvet Elvis') was one of the coolest things EVAR!!!

Alas, I was wrong...

See, there are degrees of cool, and I've found something just a bit cooler.

I can't have it for myself, alas... This must go to my friend Rockhauler, for he is a Disciple of the Man From Yorba Linda.

Behold... the Velvet Nixon!!



Only $350 plus shipping from Tijuana. Might be Xmas 2009...

Things I Miss

And Not Always For Good Reason...

Aluminum icetrays with the pull lever

The Texxas Jam concerts

Weed

John Chancellor on NBC Nightly News

Marching Band

Blowing a roll of quarters at the video game arcade

My '74 Dodge Dart with the 318 c.i. V8 engine

Camel Filter cigarettes

$0.89 cents/gallon for unleaded gas

A 7-Eleven within walking distance of my front door

My 10 speed bicycle

Starting by the fireplace, and ending halfway down the hallway with my knees and her buttcheeks completely rugburned.

Speedy Gonzales cartoons

Spy, National Lampoon and Omni magazines

Blog traffic in the 350+ visits per day range

When Rolling Rock and Shiner Bock were unpopular, inexpensive beers

After dark games of Kick-The-Can with every kid on the block

My Crosman CO2 pellet pistol (replica of Remington single-action)

Still having 15 R.A. Heinlein novels I hadn't yet read

Playing spades & smoking ciggies in the dorm hallway at 3 a.m.

Welch's Apple Soda


I'm sure there's more, but this'll do for now.

What do YOU miss?

RIP Minazo The 'Bukkit' Seal

When Internet Memes Die, They Really Die!

Minazo, the elephant seal behind the LOLCat-style meme "I has a bucket" has passed on to the great bucket in the sky.

Popular Enoshima aquarium seal dies after 10 1/2-year run

YOKOHAMA (Kyodo) Minazo, Japan's largest seal, died this week having charmed visitors for 10 1/2 years at Enoshima Aquarium in Fujisawa, Kanagawa Prefecture, aquarium officials said.

The 11-year-old male, 4.5-meters long and weighing about 2 tons, was the largest seal ever raised by a Japanese aquarium. The animal died Tuesday after its appetite began to rapidly weaken the day before, officials said. The cause of death was not immediately known.

Minazo was brought to Japan from Uruguay in 1995. The seal soon mastered a variety of comical feats, including a popular stunt in which he held a bucket with one flipper while sticking out his tongue.

In lieu of flowers, send buckets of fish to your local Sea World.

UPDATE: It appears I was schnookered. The damn seal died in 2005, and that's the date on the Japanese news article.

Katie Couric: Reptoid??

This Might Perk Up Her Ratings!

Y'know, people will believe some pretty whacked-out stuff. Whether it's the Apollo Conspiracy nutters, the Flat Earth dipshits, the supporters of Lyndon LaRouche, the believers in the Secret Cabal Controlling World Tofu Prices, or just the ravings of the local Tinfoil Hat Brigade, there's no lack of dumbasses doing their best to perpetuate bad craziness.

One of my favorites is the one concerning the Reptoids. According to the Egg, Scale & Forked Tongue Crowd, there's been a secret society of lizards masquerading as humans since the dawn of time, and they're doing their best to prepare the way for a cold-blooded reptile takeover. As the Reptoid Theory goes, all major political and business figures are really lizards in disguise.

George Bush? Disguised Reptile.
Bill Gates? Disguised Nerdy Reptile.
Queen Elizabeth II? Disguised Frumpy Reptile.

Now, usually I would instantly dismiss this as the creation of those poor souls who've sniffed one too many cans of paint thinner. However...

They might be onto something!

Check this out: Katie Couric could very well be reptilian!

Look!

This standard CBS PR headshot shows the "human skin" stretched just a bit too tightly over her reptilian brow ridges!



Look here... in a moment of stress, Couric's lizardy mouth muscles involuntarily relaxed, revealing a maw that can swallow a football sideways!



Here, Couric was captured in mid-leap as she pounced on a small animal!




In this secretly taken photo, Couric led the American Lizard Society in singing their Repto-anthem "Hiss, Hiss, Growl, Snap, Hiss"!



In this pic, a young Couric learned to open wide to devour whole kittens!



This photo Shows a fully-grown Couric preparing to feed on an invalid. Apparently the bald head goes down the throat easier.



This photo was found tucked into the folds of a shed Couric-Skin outside CBS headquarters... I think it's proof positive!



Just remember, no matter if she's human or reptile, Katie Couric has the utmost respect and love for all of humanity!

Wondering About Ass Gaskets

I Long For A Mundane Existence Sometimes...

So, you know those paper Ass Gaskets in public toilets? The ones you lay on the seat to keep the AIDS virii and pubic lice from crawling up into your buttcrack?

Are those flushable?

I know, you can probably get away with one, 'cause they're thin, but if the hygiene of the toilet requires a thick stack, I'm just wondering what'll happen on the flush.

Anyway, any amateur plumbers out there, feel free to comment.

I'm *SO* Proud!!

If At First You Don't Succeed, Go Swim In The Gutter

I just noticed that I'm the #1 Google search result for:

Chicken Dicks!



I think I'll go have some fried poultry digits for dinner...

I Do This To You Out Of Love

Yeah, Love To See You Cringe!! Bwahahaaa!

OK, this is the final chapter, I promise.

Here's a video compilation of the Furries Vs. Klingon Bowl-Off.

The furries seem to be at a disadvantage... Their paws don't allow the usual three-digit grip.



More videos here, if you dare...

West Houston Smoke & Powder Crawl #11

My Truck Smells Like A Cigar Factory...

Wow. Fun weekend! Those don't happen all that often.

After treating myself to some sushi, gyoza & udon on Friday night, I crashed early so I could get out to the American Shooting Center bright & early on Saturday morning for some gunsmoke and cigar smoke.

There's a crew of local cigar aficionados that get together every year to tour the local tobacconists and gnaw on some seafood following a trip to the gun range. This was the 11th year of the event. I joined them for the 9th, but missed it last year.

I was prepared this year, and had my travel humidor, cigar punch and jet-engine lighter. I'd shoot for a bit, then kick back and savor a Macanudo maduro for a while. I was in no hurry.

As everyone arrived, the organizer Richard handed out goodies. I got a whole pile of interesting cigars, including a "golf cigar" (which could double as a prop on a XXX movie), as well as some assorted cigar paraphernalia.

We did the Cigar Shoot-off, the winner getting an even bigger stack of cigars. Alas, I did not win, place or show. El Capitan was having an off day.

I finally got to see someone shooting the Smith & Wesson .500 Magnum. Boy, that's a beast of a revolver. The owner opened the cylinder, and the diameter was not much smaller than a coke can. That's for only 5 rounds, mind you...
I'm sure it's fun to own, but if you need all that much pistol, and at $5 per shot, y'oughta just get a rifle, IMHO.

After the shoot-off, we headed to Paul's Boat on Hwy 6 for some seafood. Due to the health-nuts whinging about secondhand smoke, we were banished from the usual upstairs hangout, and forced to use the back patio. It was hotter than an oven, and had a delightful view of the dumpster. The piece de resistance was the pair of turkey vultures perched on the dumpster waiting for scraps. Yummy...

Next stop was the Richmond Ave. Cigar store, where I bought a trio of interesting cigars, and settled in the store's "lounge" for an extended puffing session. To go next door to Collector's Firearms would be financial folly on my part, so I tried to avoid it.

The pull of the guns won out, and I finally went over to ooh and aah at their incredible collection. I got to put my mitts all over the Ruger 4" bbl Redhawk, and decided it's just too much pistol to try and carry concealed. You'd have to use a shoulder holster... your pants would fall off your ass if you tried to belt it on.

I called it quits after that, and headed home. It was a fun trip, I've got enough cigars to hold me until the new year, and I might have to go back to Collector's Firearms to pick up something interesting I saw there.