Posts by Airhead

    JP-5 is close to diesel. It's difficult to tell the difference just by look and feel. (I know, I mopped up a quart off the wing of a bizjet while working thru my college days)


    It would burn as well in a radial a/c engine as diesel would in a Camry.

    What?? JP-5 is highly flammable. Diesel, not so much.

    Do another hit- that's what the Dems would do.

    I thought a boiler maker was when you dropped the shot in to the beer and pounded it down.

    It is. There was an old bar in San Francisco I'd go to to watch football on Sundays... the whiskey they served was so rot gut you'd have to drop it in your beer to drink it. They also had hot dogs in a big pot, with mustard the only condiment- the hot digs were free. It was a cool place- you'd be hammered after four or five boiler makers.

    My great grandfather told me that back in the olden days in San Francisco most bars offered a free lunch. that's cool.

    I think she meant that we still have time to cook the babies in a crock pot... it's not dire enough we have to fry em up quick.

    Nah... I want to jello wrestle Molly. Gina would be too easy- I want a challenge. Anyway it was kinda funny when you see a kid go from extreme confidence to extreme getting their ass kicked and my nephews knew how it was going to end up that way because they'd been there before, but I was kinda scared because the kid was so big but- yeah man, you get a guy in there and you see panic in his eyes and that's all good- I've been outclassed before, once by a 67 year old man and we still laugh about it today but- there's always somebody better than you.

    But jello wrestling? I've never done that but c'mon Molly, let's get it on. Whoever wins gets Finger- we need a FW Jello Wrestling champion. Bring it girl.

    It was about 20, 25 years ago- we lived in Citrus Heights. Two of my nephews were pro bull riders and a friend of theirs was a bull dogger, which is a guy who wrestles bulls to the ground. Of course they weren't making any money and the reason they had a three inch lift on their truck was so they could sleep underneath it, and they had a rodeo in Lincoln (Molly knows where that is) and afterwards they showed up at my place for BBQ and Beers and of course the subject got around to boxing, and my nephews were actually pretty good- I'd boxed them for years, since they were kids- and their friend started bragging about how he was a boxer and my nephews were kinda laughing at him about it and this was a big kid- he went a good 220, so he was stout.

    As the evening went on he kept looking at me sideways and kept talking about how he was a good boxer and we had a 16 square foot deck that was perfect for boxing, and my nephews had been on it many times and he started dissing me- like- old man kinda shit- ha ha ha, and pretty soon Chris, one of my nephews, asked me if I still had 12 oz Everlasts and- yeah, I did and still do. Why? Well- Cowboy Kid wanted to box.

    This was a big kid with cowboy boots and hat and I didn't want to go there but my nephews were calling me out so- this kid was confident, like I was old and weak or something, but have any of you ever stepped up before? Hawker has- Lazs has, too- the adrenaline is flowing, man- so... we laced them up.

    It was cool man- the kid had no skills at all. Had I known that I would have carried him so he didn't look so bad in front of his friends but I was intimidated by his size so the fight lasted for less than a minute before he quit- I mean, I didn't cut him or anything, so it was all OK but I did lump him up and I came out strong, just- left left right left and he was pretty much over it. He was pretty well marked.

    I'm bringing a wading pool to Doran's place and a whole bunch of jell-o because I'm too old for boxing but jell-o wrestling might be my future... but no, not against Janice because she fights dirty but- I'd like to jell-o wrestle against Molly.

    I fought the law and the law won.

    But there was a beauty in diving- it was dark until you got to the bottom and the sand illuminated it all and then you could see. The reflection lit it up man- you'd be chill. You'd be relaxed and on point bro- you were twenty feet down and you had such a clarity it was better than getting high. You could look up and you saw kelp and darkness but on the bottom it was lit up and- the only thing that made you leave was the lack of air. I loved it and I miss it and I'm too old now for it and- I don't know man, I get up in the morning and it's a tough decision- put on my bathrobe or tie the tie around my neck and hang myself on the door knob.

    My grand kids keep me going but I see my 90 year old uncle desperately clinging to life and crying at every surgery about how this one is The End and I'm all fuck that- your shelf life has expired, as it will for all of us. In 50 years the only one of us alive will be Jeros, and the only reason he'll be alive will be because he gave his trousers to a Muslim immigrant at knife point.


    Me? I no longer care actually- I should have died long ago. I could die tomorrow- I'm all good. I don't fear death but I don't embrace life. If it happens I'll be the guy who jumps off the bridge backwards- I'm just letting you guys know, none of us is gonna get out of here alive and you can go kicking and crying about it or you can go out thinking I had a great run, it's all good. Me" I've had a great run, it's all good. Now it's all on borrowed time.

    Nah Dan, it wasn't so PC back in The Days. But your example is a good one- Walking on Queer Street is basically getting fucked up and knowing your survival is knowing you must survive... we were sport diving at Fort Ross and we had to get into and out of the water on a vertical facing and I was the last one out and a series of sleeper waves got me when we were done diving... the first wave smacked me pretty good, and almost KO'd me, and opened up my face pretty good and I was bleeding and I knew it was bad when everyone else was freaking out- they were out of the water- and they could see it.

    I tried to cushion myself against the second wave but it still fucked me up and I lost my fins, mask, snorkel and I was out of it but I dropped my weight belt and it rubbed my face on the rocks and I was on Queer Street- those waves mashed me against the rocks. LOL, even tore holes in my wet suit.


    The waves went back to normal and I was all good- bleeding profusely but it was OK- but what saved me? I didn't panic man. They told me I was smiling when I climbed out, but yeah, I was on Queer Street.

    LOL. I like that expression... on queer street. HAHAH. I'm the same way with joking with doctors. I've said things to shrinks - obvious one liner's, like "I blame my mom" ( well, we've come a long way from just blaming people's mothers - lol) and they have no sense of humor. You have to be careful.


    :laughing

    Queer Street is where you go when you've been tagged in boxing- you're damn near out, but not quite, and I've been on queer street before and you're discombobulated but still mentally aware but physically separated. You can also go to Queer Street if you're diving and you lose it- I did that once- twice, actually- and when you know if you don't keep it together you're gonna drown your mind becomes sharper.

    It's relaxing that saves you Gina- panic and you will die. You relax. If you panic and struggle you'll maybe die- if you relax and keep it together you'll maybe live. I've dropped my weight belt a couple of times and lived because of it- you always surface. Take your time, you'll float to the top. Panic when you're under water and you'll drown because your reaction is to fight it, and that's not always the best-

    Don't panic Gina... when you're under water and running out of air that's when you have to keep it together the most. When you're on Queer Street and everything is going black and your legs and your arms aren't working then- you really need to keep your shit together. Panicking and flailing won't help you- relaxing will.


    Catch my drift girlfriend?

    Blueberries make the cheerios. 2% skim milk. Doc told me I'll be a healthy looking corpse if I eat right and exercise. Frankly I'd rather eat pizza and beer for breakfast and if I'm a fat corpse then- so what? I'm still a fucking corpse.

    Fifty years from now every one of us will be dead, except Jeros. He'll live on because he'll have learned to avoid the marauding bands of Muslims. Of course he won't have any pants- he'll have given them up, but if you can call Naked and Afraid living- well-


    Rock on Jeros. You are Gollum.

    Last shit I had at the VA in Ess Eff the knock out guy asked me if I did drugs- I said yeah, every day. I was trying to be funny. Then I asked him why he asked and he said if I was a druggie he'd have to dope me up more and I told him I was kidding, but he didn't believe me and he went WAY over the top and I was out, man- I was on queer street.

    I was in post op for hours, and Steph was concerned- when they finally brought me out I was drooling and giggling. LOL, I was so fucked up- it was great. They had Roto Rootered my dick and I was laughing- I didn't care.

    I've got to go back next month for more shit, and if the knock out guy asks me if I do drugs I'm going to lie- yeah man, in fact I do drugs every morning with my Cheerios. I inject my blueberries with drugs. I do better drugs than you got because they're smuggled in from China and- dope me up bro. I don't want to feel no pain.

    Damn Hawker, if I was closer I'd help out with the tune up. 390s are a bad ass motor- a buddy of mine had one in high school and it'd really scoot. I miss the old school stuff- I miss being able to set points with a feeler gauge, all of it- I'm still looking for a replacement for my 92 F150 that sunk and it's tough because I want something older. All the new ones I've looked at have little shit motors and aluminum pick up beds and I drove a new Chevy 2500 yesterday and- it sucked. No torque.

    Damn Finger... does your caretaker make you wear a bicycle helmet and a harness? I hope so. Just stay the fuck away from my Chalupa, OK? What the fuck else are we going to do man? We're too old to ride the Mad Mouse at the carnival and too young for Bocce Ball at the old folks home so Sluggo is all we got man- he just- brings it.

    Lazs, call Finger up OK? Hell- give me his phone number and I'll call him up. I called Sluggo up one time and he's blocked my number now but if you have Finger's number PM it to me and I'll call him up. I'm like an ambassador here- I can call him in from the darkness.

    Eric says it how he sees it- Doran says it how he sees it. It's all good man- it's all the truth from our perspectives. Eric has a cynicism earned from the experience of cops knocking on his door and giving him traffic tickets at night, and of trying to be a "good citizen" and urging bums to self immolate themselves on the streets of San Francisco and finding out that, no matter what, no matter how straight he plays it, they'll still fuck him.

    Doran tells it how it is and frankly he got away with shit for years and came out smelling like a rose at the end of the day and he was never a "good citizen" but he knows he got lucky and Eric knows he got fucked in spite of being a good citizen but it is what it is.... I love them both, have dined with them both, and the only thing more entertaining than the three of us hanging out for lunch would be if Finger showed up and we put an empty beer can on his head and shot at it with a BB Gun... from the hip, of course, as that's the Cowboy Way.

    Anyway it's all entertaining. I miss seeing Fishy in Ess Eff, and I regret not visiting Lazs in Dixon for far too long now and I especially miss not plunking away at a beer can on Finger's head, and if he wore eye protection it'd be cool.

    His stuff is actually pretty good.