More random Playhouse fun

House Lion wakes up from her naps with a bit of an appetite. She always comes to me and says “Two-leg, I command you to feed your Queen, because she are pure cuteness”. I speak fluent Awesome Cat — as does Amethyst, who would confirm my translation, I’m sure. Miss Awesome will not check her dish to see if she’s any leftovers from the pre-nap snarfage, but will gladly snarf them after I check for her and tell her that the leftovers are there. I asked her about this, and she said, “Hey, fool, I’m a cat. I don’t speaky de English”. So, naturally, I asked her, “So then how’d you answer my question?”. Her response: “I’m like Jesus, man. You’re making this shit up and blaming me for it. Now shut up and get the brush”.

In case you were wondering about my delusions of interacting with the small mammals I live to serve.

On the non-mammalian side, I found one of these nasty little beasties (or one quite like it) in one of the bathroom basins:

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That’s a striped blister beetle. If you’re not familiar with ’em, they’re aptly named. They secrete a chemical called cantharidin which is a powerful blistering agent, and it’s of particular concern to livestock producers because critters that eat beetle-infested hay will be poisoned and may die from it. I suppose that makes it of particular concern to the critters, too. The first one I ever discovered was for some reason under my pillow, and I found it while I was sleeping. With that spot on my wrist once dedicated to checking the temperature of baby formula. Have I mentioned that they’re aptly named?

If’n ya ever wondered what Spanish Fly is, it’s those fuckers, ground. Marquis de Sade is said to have been a fan, which wouldn’t be surprising because it was popular in France during his lifetime. It’s also said he nearly killed a couple of hookers with it, but was “reprieved on appeal”. The author of whatever it was I once read that in said it, anyway, even if no one before him or her did.

When I told Amethyst about the blister beetle, she said she’d already washed the little beastie down the drain once. I was pretty sure we were rid of the thing because I’d cranked the taps wide open in both basins and let them run for a full minute… The unwelcome bug left via another drain when it later returned to the same basin. 🙂

I seem to be awfully murderous lately for a pacifist.

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Dogs Is Smart

Miss Snoogins The Chihuahua Monster, as I may have mentioned in the past, is litter box trained. We give her a wee small bit o’ dog treat duck jerky when we observe her using the thing — it’s an unnatural act for a dog and forgetfulness is unpleasant for us so we do our part.

Just a moment ago Snoogins got my attention in her “gotta pee” manner, so I walked with her to the litter box where she deposited about four drops. I’m thinkin’ she was just after the treat. I almost gave her two — ya gotta respect a dog with brain enough to know that if the bare minimum is unacceptable then it’s the minimum, not the effort, which is insufficient.

Happy Danger Day… may you successfully avoid salmonella, cholesterol, fools, tomfoolery, and crashing Chinese shit.

Playhouse life, pointless update number who’s counting?

I invited a cute, petite, non-white female with big, beautiful brown eyes to enjoy a midnight snack in the kitchen last weekend, and much to my surprise she accepted my offer. So I broke her delicate neck with a swift blow delivered by a machine designed solely for killing.

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The cat seemed interested in the event but not enough to leave her warm bed. The dog, well… not friend enough to help me dispose of the dead body. She immediately fled and went into hiding under the bed.

We’ve a neighbor who doesn’t understand that other people know things that he doesn’t. Listening to the guy talk is what I imagine it would feel like to be repeatedly stabbed in the amygdala with the jagged plastic ends of a shattered Bic Stic pen barrel. Which it to say that the unpleasantness of it makes it hard to feel sympathy for the guy’s plight of being a 65 year old man whose ego is so battered and fragile that he believes he must resort to glorious lies of his accomplishments to be perceived by others as worthy of their time. He’s said a few times that I should take up my tackle and wander down to the river to fish with him; I would rather he not got too near the river because we already have algae problems due to excessive nitrification — the fish don’t need his bullshit either.

I have not yet seriously considered killing the neighbor with a machine. Perhaps it wasn’t the amygdala after all. Perhaps the frontal lobe? Seems plausible, anyway. My judgment is a mite off lately. I keep going outside without checking first to see if that guy is walking past.

Sometimes “toldja so” is the right thing to say

Never let it be said that I neglected to say “I told you so”. The only problem being that where it was told was a site that no longer hosts my drivel. That it’s likely not you who was the you who was told, well… let’s just call it artistic license. I went to high school with a girl who paid two hundred bucks for an artistic license — she used it to buy alcohol.

The subject at hand: Electronic footprints. I have argued that it wouldn’t be long before the fascist attack mutts started using digital trails to determine who was at or near a crime scene at or near the time of the crime. If you’re within the jurisdiction of the United States of America and are somehow unaware of the many reasons why this should frighten you, ask your mommy to explain it when she’s done reading this to you.

There is, though, some good news: The United States of America will soon collapse and the edifices of its former power will be great places for the formerly powerless to host outstanding parties.

Yay For Snow!

Something very much like winter has finally come to Dinkytown. It’s presently 0°F with several inches of snow on the ground — I’d almost forgot how to work snow and, as predicted, now miss the garage. At this time last year when we wanted to drive somewhere I just shoveled the driveway, backed the truck out, and away we went. Not so any more… gotta shovel and sweep the porch, then shovel a path to the truck, then start the engine before brushing the snow from the front of the roof to the front of the hood and scraping the ice from the glass. I don’t really enjoy the scraping part.

Next year at this time we’ll have a carport and maybe a block heater and be back to shoveling just a bit and going. The block heater will require an exterior outlet we don’t have and I don’t know if we’ve capacity enough to add another branch to the distribution panel — there are empty spaces for circuit breakers but I’ve no idea what’s upstream of them. If there’s capacity enough I’ll soon be doin’ me some wahrin’.

Every year when we get enough snow to make it entertaining I like to visit the ewe’s tube to look at moving images of folks in cars being outsmarted by cold water. It makes me glad that I no longer commute twenty miles each way over on the much more densely populated Front Range. That was at times a little more excitement than I really needed. Dinkytown is one of those wide spot in the road towns with signs on the highway at both ends saying “Speed Limit 25MPH Unless Otherwise Posted” and the only posting otherwise is on the state highway where it’s 30MPH.  We’re situated such that every journey of more than a mile is entirely optional, with the lone exception being the pot shop 48 miles distant, but I can get by until the weather clears when I must.

As right now. I ran out of weed just in time for the weather to turn, dammit. I’m not going until Thursday, between storms. If that’s as bad as life’s gonna suck I can deal with it, but it still sucks.

So yay for snow, but fuck being out of pot. 😀