TSCLT 8.0: Jesus Hates A Pussy

As long as you're not a pussy, you can easily live here, like most places.

"Like most places" is the operative phrase. I agree. Some places are easier than others.

As a kid I spent the summers in Key West. My buddies and I were out at the break of dawn and not back until supper. We ran the island and when we got hungry we just picked some fruit off of the local trees. It was an island paradise.

I think that one of the worst things that can happen to an area is to become known as a place where the living is "easy." Those places seem to rapidly become overwhelmed with developers, tourists, and bums/criminals. The city "fathers" call it economic progress and they're right. But at what cost?

You'd be hard put to find a fruit tree in Key West anymore. Virtually every square inch is devoted to "economic development." My cousin bought Sloppy Joe's in Key West years ago and even she won't live there anymore. Absentee owner.
 
Happy Monday!!!


Safe back in the hills. Cats. Coffee. May need a new keyboard - this one is getting - crunchy. At least the tab key hasn't fallen out since I last installed it.


Had a nice chat with the landlady. She's getting a lizard - I think I mentioned an aquarium that had mysteriously appeared a couple of weeks ago. Or alreay has it - at the g/f's. I hope someone doesn't decide that it's prey.


This is time/light adjustment week. The short days will get old quickly.


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Yeah, I don't foresee ever requiring a cold-blooded animal to live at my house.


How "cool" is that???


We're short a few weasels today, but we did luck out on the sparkeys. Got the old foreman transferred and got a new guy who seems like he's more of a driver. Just had them spend 50 minutes sorting out a switched outlet mess. They got it. Of course, their boss was here, too.


Wat lives in Interesting Times . . . .


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Because you really know that you really wanted to know:


How the Pontiac Aztek became the Pontiac Aztek


https://assets.hemmings.com/blog/wp-content/uploads//2019/10/Aztek_00-970x509.jpg


https://www.hemmings.com/blog/2019/...aily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=2019-10-25

This story won’t mention Walter White. Nor will it give glory to the pile-on that has declared the Pontiac Aztek the ugliest vehicle ever built. And it certainly won’t try to change anybody’s love/hatred of the Aztek; taste is subjective, after all. It will, however, attempt to explain how the Aztek came to stand out in the automotive marketplace and in subsequent automotive culture, for better or worse.

By the mid-1990s, GM had fallen into a torpor. The Roger Smith era, which ended with his retirement in 1990, left the company inflexible and ill-prepared to handle an increasingly dynamic automotive marketplace. Smith’s successor, Robert Stempel, rose through the ranks of GM from its engineering team and seemed to understand the product side of the business, but not the business side of the business, which left the company in the hands of John G. Smale and Jack Smith, both accomplished businessmen who came from Procter & Gamble and from GM’s planning and operations side, respectively.

Smale and Jack Smith, ready to turn GM around, turned their eye toward product in 1994. “Smale decided to bring the world’s biggest automaker a dose of the give-the-people-what-they-want ethic that had animated Smale’s old company, Procter & Gamble Co.,” Jonathan Weisman wrote for the Washington Post. “And what the people wanted was sexy, edgy and a bit off-key; in short, a head-turner.”

Specifically, as Bloomberg’s David Welch wrote, “GM wanted to prove it could transcend its engineering-dominated culture and design a hip, affordable vehicle for young buyers and move it quickly through a traditionally slow-moving bureaucracy.”

Out at GM’s West Coast Advanced Concept Center in Thousand Oaks, California, Tom Peters, then the director of the ACC, took Smale’s directive to his team, which was already investigating “active outdoor lifestyle” vehicles much like the Pontiac Stinger from a few years prior. As he told TFL, he asked his team, “What if you took a Camaro and a Blazer and put it in a blender?” and called the resulting The North Face jacket-inspired sporty all-wheel-drive people and gear hauler – based on drawings by Brigid O’Kane – the Bear Claw.


And so forth. The Bear Claw. :rolleyes:


Tits:


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good thing I don't live in a time zone shifting State. I don't even know how to set the clock on this executive Seiko desk world clock with push-button multi time zones. Eventually I'll get around to puzzling how to get the time set correctly and then I'll leave it alone.

This thing is probably from the 80s and still has working batteries in it because it's been more or less in sleep mode. The small one somehow woke it up so it makes a beep every so often for indeterminate reasons, lights up, and then goes back to sleep.

From my completely unnecessary at the time, now obsolete, technology collection.

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Cream Cheese, Prosciutto, and Kalamata Olives on a toasted, Onion Bagel.
 
Afternoon gents.

I sorted out my part problem by firing the first group of clowns and going with another vendor. This second one is responsive so far and I saved $$$$ to boot. As much as the delay is a pain in the ass maybe it was worth it in the end.

Tuna steak and Jasmine rice for dinner. Oh, and the mandatory salad.
 
I saw that news blurb earlier in the day and then saw the thread here. To say that some of the comments were poorly thought out is an understatement. Apparently self-defense isn't to be tolerated.
 
I especially love the one about how the family is going to suffer trauma. Being murdered would have saved them all that suffering I suppose.
 
Home invasions are not all that common statistically but they aren't all that rare either and they are increasing in frequency.

The scum that got whacked was found dead in a ditch. Apropos I'd say.
 
I should say, welcome back to correct time. I, for one, am just happy to no longer share even a timezone with crazy Californicators.
 
I think it's a shame Beto dropped out of the race. Perhaps a reporter with balz would ask about the AR15 and what happens to the family if the home invasion occurs the day after the gubmint comes to buy back the rifle.
Lot of arm waving with that answer.

Anyway, in a previous post in this thread I mentioned firing off the .22 pistol with grandsons, ages 8 and 5, and that the 8-year-old had fired three times into a hole they were digging.
Then he announced that he was going to look for the bullets.
"Waste of time," I told him.
Ten seconds later he was holding up something from the hole that's at least a foot deep. What he's holding is metal and definitely man-made. But it's not hot, it's crusted with dirt, and it's a bit too big to be the bullet.
Here's the strange bit. We are 10 miles from town, 40 yards from the dirt road and the nearest power pole which leads to the nearest housing another 10 miles up the road.
In other words, we're in the middle of high desert nowhere.
How in the world did this man-made doo-dad end up buried there?
 
Good morning.

Don't tell anyone what you found, the government will declare it an archeological site and fence it in.
 
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