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TSCLT 4.0: Bitchy Malevolent Baby Ducks

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Happy Wednesday before Turkey Day. I guess the opoor birds can stop shitting themselves with fear. The ones to be et ahve already most likely had their tiny avian souls sent to birdie heaven, or wherever they go when they snuff it.


I wonder what Allah knows about turkey anyway? Probably not much, since I don't theink they're indigenous to the sand box where Allah hangs out.


Tits, cars, bikes, early morning blasphemy - what more could a body desire?


Oh, of course, coffee . . . .


http://cdn.barrett-jackson.com/staging/carlist/items/Fullsize/Cars/138932/138932_Side_Profile_Web.jpg


http://cdn-1.psndealer.com/e2/dealersite/images/newvehicles/2015/2015_5_431315_mysteriousredsungloblackenedcayennesunglo.jpg


http://78.media.tumblr.com/8bb1f0beb1cf275bb18edd1a24dff3d0/tumblr_nlkf8nFUjx1r9x3w6o1_1280.jpg
 
Wat_Tyler said:
Happy Wednesday before Turkey Day. I guess the opoor birds can stop shitting themselves with fear. The ones to be et ahve already most likely had their tiny avian souls sent to birdie heaven, or wherever they go when they snuff it.


I wonder what Allah knows about turkey anyway? Probably not much, since I don't theink they're indigenous to the sand box where Allah hangs out.


Tits, cars, bikes, early morning blasphemy - what more could a body desire?


Oh, of course, coffee . . . .


http://cdn.barrett-jackson.com/staging/carlist/items/Fullsize/Cars/138932/138932_Side_Profile_Web.jpg


http://78.media.tumblr.com/8bb1f0beb1cf275bb18edd1a24dff3d0/tumblr_nlkf8nFUjx1r9x3w6o1_1280.jpg
Click to expand...

I approve of the color!
 
Did you see the wee tag on the hood that says "HEMI?"


That's a long fucking drive. I made exactly one stop until I pulled into the grocery store up the road from the house. It took me quite a few steps to get loosened up to walk.


I knew we were out of ice cream, and I wanted some. I have some now . . . .


Those kittens make too much mess. I'll round them up and find a home for them somewhere.


http://78.media.tumblr.com/99a10a6c5b1db413efaf6de2a6ef6a6d/tumblr_nlxou7bFgx1r9x3w6o1_500.jpg
 
Hemi usta mean something.

Now it just means we carved out some bowls so we can call it a hemi.

The point to a Hemi was to get more cubes that you could then stuff with some forced induction. A hemi without a roots blower stickin' outa the hood is like a virginal librarian.
 
dontbackdown said:
It was the weight that killed the hemi.
Click to expand...

Ditto the FE block for Fomoco.

I blame NASCAR though for killing the 427 cammer and setting back American automotive engineering a generation. Can you imagine a 1969 396 SS Camaro with overhead cams winding out to 8000 RPM?

Although, I'm not too sure about my metallurgical timeline. Did we have valve springs snappy enough at that time?
 
As a Honda fan I should probably be a little more open-minded about the old saw about there being no replacement for displacement, since an engine is nothing more than a pump for the fuel-air mixture and if you make it turn faster you can pump more air.

"292 Hemi" sounds all knds of wrong.
 
Que said:
Ditto the FE block for Fomoco.

I blame NASCAR though for killing the 427 cammer and setting back American automotive engineering a generation. Can you imagine a 1969 396 SS Camaro with overhead cams winding out to 8000 RPM?

Although, I'm not too sure about my metallurgical timeline. Did we have valve springs snappy enough at that time?
Click to expand...

The engineering has always been way ahead of material capability. One of the virtues of the hemi is that it was built like a brick shit house. Hence the weight.

As material science advanced that over design wasn't a virtue anymore.

Quite frankly NASCAR pushed that envelope. More rpm, more torque, less weight.

I had a few 'super cars' back in the day. Two Hurst Olds 442's and an Avanti R2, Regardless of their respective 'legendary' status none of them can hold a candle to today's 'super cars.'

The fastest car I've ever owned was a Jag. 'S' model. It would do an honest 180 mph unmodified. The quickest I've ever owned was a toss up between one of the Olds (I put a 412 posi rear end in it) and the Avanti R2. The Avanti would still hit 140 without a problem, the Olds topped out at 115, but it got there in a heart beat.

The best 'road' car of the two was the Avanti. It had a 53/47% weight distribution front to rear and with a center mounted fuel tank how much gas you were packing didn't make all that much difference in the cornering ability.

But my most 'profitable' car was a 1960 Ford station wagon with a 352. I hauled moonshine every Friday night with that car in Arkansas. The only time I had to 'race' that bitch was when some local competition tried to waylay me with a '58 Chevy, presumably with a 348 engine, I didn't stop to ask. The Ford cornered well with a few hundred pounds of shine in the wheel well and I ran that bastard off the road into a corn field somewhere between Lonoke and Cabot Arkansas. Bet that farmer was pissed.
 
dontbackdown said:
The engineering has always been way ahead of material capability. One of the virtues of the hemi is that it was built like a brick shit house. Hence the weight.

As material science advanced that over design wasn't a virtue anymore.

Quite frankly NASCAR pushed that envelope. More rpm, more torque, less weight.

I had a few 'super cars' back in the day. Two Hurst Olds 442's and an Avanti R2, Regardless of their respective 'legendary' status none of them can hold a candle to today's 'super cars.'

The fastest car I've ever owned was a Jag. 'S' model. It would do an honest 180 mph unmodified. The quickest I've ever owned was a toss up between one of the Olds (I put a 412 posi rear end in it) and the Avanti R2. The Avanti would still hit 140 without a problem, the Olds topped out at 115, but it got there in a heart beat.

The best 'road' car of the two was the Avanti. It had a 53/47% weight distribution front to rear and with a center mounted fuel tank how much gas you were packing didn't make all that much difference in the cornering ability.

But my most 'profitable' car was a 1960 Ford station wagon with a 352. I hauled moonshine every Friday night with that car in Arkansas. The only time I had to 'race' that bitch was when some local competition tried to waylay me with a '58 Chevy, presumably with a 348 engine, I didn't stop to ask. The Ford cornered well with a few hundred pounds of shine in the wheel well and I ran that bastard off the road into a corn field somewhere between Lonoke and Cabot Arkansas. Bet that farmer was pissed.
Click to expand...

Uncle Jesse?!??
 
dontbackdown said:
There are days.

Those old 'dry county, wet county, state liquor stores' made for profitable enterprises, and one hell of a lot of fun and adrenaline rushes.
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I knew a guy that used to smuggle American refrigerators down to Puerto Vallarta. I would never have thought of that but apparently at the time you weren't allowed to import American refrigerators for some reason, and the American expats down their preferred them.
 
Que said:
I knew a guy that used to smuggle American refrigerators down to Puerto Vallarta. I would never have thought of that but apparently at the time you weren't allowed to import American refrigerators for some reason, and the American expats down their preferred them.
Click to expand...

A friend of mine was a professional smuggler. Back in the day he was buying cases of TI 99 calculators at $40 per and smuggling them into Venezuela and selling them for $400 per. Due to national import duties they sold for $700 US at the time. He took the money and flew over to Columbia and bought Emeralds. Fromm there he flew to Spain and sold the Emeralds for twice market price (Spain still had the "New World slave labor laws on the books at the time).

Then he went to Switzerland and made a deposit in his account. Flew back to Miami and had fun. He did that 3 times a year and never had to face a legal sanction more than a slap on the wrist.

What with the international changes in law I wonder how Dave is doing today. Then again he lived modestly so I suspect his retirement fund is still paying interest.
 
Happy Thanksgiving!!! Sorry, I would have stayed awake and conversed about cars-n-smuggling and the like, but my ass wuz whupped and I seemed to require a full complement of sleep.


Chrysler had two big blocks, the b-block and the raised deck b-block. The little one was more block and the so-called "rat" motor, and the big one was more still, and taller. Both weigh in at about 230 pounds - book confirmed that for me awhile back. I brought a 400 block - a short one with the biggest bore ever produced stock by Mopar - and weighed it on my doctor's office balance beam scale. It still had a couple of plugs in it ad the freeze plugs, too, and it hadn't been tanked, and it came in at 231.25 pounds. The Hemi was build on the bigger block. A complete Hemi weighed in the neighborhood of 750 pounds. The new Gen 3 weighs easily 100 pounds less, so I have found out. Aluminum heads and manifolds and water pumps would knock maybe 45 pounds off - I know they will on wedge-heads. Look closer: that fendertag says "392 Hemi", same as the last Chrysler Gen 1 was. I have no weight figures for those. Assume: very heavy.


A man I got to know a bit told a tale of smuggling pot into the US back in the 60s. He took his two boys with him on one trip - no idea where Mama was. VW microbus, air mattress, kids and clothes, the whole smear. The air mattress was full of pot as he was coming to the border checkpoint. He reached around and turn over the diaper pail and yelled at the kids. They started to cry and wail, and the microbus started to stick, so the border poepoe waved them on through without more than a cursory glance. I wager a scheme such as that might still work today.


And I'm Allah-damned thankful for four days off.


https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C6iv1gRVsAEyfJx.jpg
 
Today is Mom's birthday, so we'll be doing a more regular supper out. She has requested Italian, and she made the calls to find out who was open, and she made the reservations.


After all of that, the least I can do is to pick up the cheque.


She has declared this a no-turkey day. And she ain't going with my brother to his in-laws.


He announced that they, he and his brood, were going to do something different this year, and his wife said, oh Hell no we're not!!! And I never wonder why I'm single . . . .


 
Wat_Tyler said:
Today is Mom's birthday, so we'll be doing a more regular supper out. She has requested Italian, and she made the calls to find out who was open, and she made the reservations.
Click to expand...
Your mother is quite the non-conformist!

Wat_Tyler said:
After all of that, the least I can do is to pick up the cheque.
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*nods* The least. Indeed.

Wat_Tyler said:
And I never wonder why I'm single . . . .
Click to expand...
I think I can safely speak on behalf of the entire General Board when I say we all never wonder about this either.

Happy Thanksgiving!
 
THE PERFECT HIGH - or - The Quest of Gimmesome Roy
By Shel Silverstein

There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
'Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas -- which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn't quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.

Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly,
But I'll find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits -- and cries -- and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He's grinding his teeth, he's coughing blood, he's aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes -- sits the godlike Baba Fats.

"What's happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz.
I hear you're hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I'm about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here's one more burnt-out soul,
Who's looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won't find it in no dealer's stash, or on no druggist's shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high -- find it in yourself."

"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I've climbed through rain and sleet,
I've lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I've braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot's kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears 'fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn't climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn't crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I'll kill your guru ass!"

"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you're forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzu-Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu-Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don't ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers-by.
And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu-Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu-Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow-blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.

"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it's always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth, It's always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."

If you're not enjoying your Life, you have no one to blame but yourself.


http://78.media.tumblr.com/3f1aec1821d20900a0646f5343650959/tumblr_oovg1d7yvm1r43ttjo1_1280.jpg
 
Wat_Tyler said:
Today is Mom's birthday, so we'll be doing a more regular supper out. She has requested Italian, and she made the calls to find out who was open, and she made the reservations.


After all of that, the least I can do is to pick up the cheque.


She has declared this a no-turkey day. And she ain't going with my brother to his in-laws.


He announced that they, he and his brood, were going to do something different this year, and his wife said, oh Hell no we're not!!! And I never wonder why I'm single . . . .
Click to expand...

Single isn't all that bad, absolute freedom to act is a value. Happy Thanksgiving Wat.
 
Rightguide said:
Single isn't all that bad, absolute freedom to act is a value. Happy Thanksgiving Wat.
Click to expand...


Thank you, kind sir, and a very Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.


Junior called, and we chatted for a bit. That told me without asking that he called his grandmother to extend birthday felicitations. He double-checked with me about her address yesterday, so that told me he's probably sending her flowers, which is as good a choice as anything else.


I know the feeling - if I want one, I've probably already gone out and gotten myself one.


My dadgum texts have been going off all morning . . . .


https://i.pinimg.com/564x/21/17/dd/2117ddc70c996ec9dba545a948a2c8c3.jpg
 
One of the salads at lunch had bacon in it. It was wondemous.


Lunch was expensive, but it was also a festive opportunity for gorging like the 'Murrikans we are. On Italian. Nothing was only half-assed, it was all good.


And the waitstaff was delightful, and she had a really nice ass. Has.


The whole outing was very nice . . . except for needing a nap now . . . .


https://78.media.tumblr.com/4d89e605235839de78962622d1a72e31/tumblr_npqe2jRvbX1teru65o9_400.gif https://78.media.tumblr.com/04ff5def888cf3d70a2e7c9088c11c57/tumblr_npqe2jRvbX1teru65o8_400.gif https://78.media.tumblr.com/09657ab200fbe9a61e09502899bd7e97/tumblr_npqe2jRvbX1teru65o3_400.gif https://78.media.tumblr.com/df7416ca0c6cca21859cfb2c28ff466c/tumblr_npqe2jRvbX1teru65o2_400.gif https://78.media.tumblr.com/d6342276e1bbd3aac4ec94729357a41e/tumblr_npqe2jRvbX1teru65o1_400.gif https://78.media.tumblr.com/583fea10f19752a8edcde302cbd65d28/tumblr_o248hd7dgs1unt9vko1_400.gif
 
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