Well, two weeks of not having to hammer the Moronic Inferno of “don’t spend MY tax money on New Orleans” has helped since Betts and I have been way too busy getting the final details on getting the house and cottages running. I would like to state that my mind, my four-letter vocabulary and my soul has NOT rested during this period however.
From the bustling hot-spot of mental giants (?) called Fremont, NE comes this little gem from the Sports Section of the Fremont Tribune. (No, one can’t leave comments there, but go figure… how many up that way could make an intelligent response (or want to) for this kind of tripe?
As it is past 5 AM and as the witchy Night Owl my existence has bequeathed , I must repair to my bed in order to escape the deadly rays of the Sun. I’ll “get on my diatribe” later in the day.
Check out this view of the area, and though they may be 1,023 feet above sea-level, the dump is still on the flood-plain, and therefore the river is right at their feet. Flat-landers = “Flat-liners”.) You know I’m going to whack them very hard… the Corps and the Bureau of Reclamation had much to do with river control up that way so it may be informative for the folks of the Mid-Lands to have an understanding about what they may have to face in time.