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Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Labor, we don't need no stinking Labor!

Fshyeeeewww! Must a got a bad batch of feed here lately. Cuz the last two eggs smelt a sulfur. We frickens here at the coop strive to lay nothing but quality, grade A blarghs that leave the customer with a pleasantly full feeling in their tummy and something hopefully to chew on for a little while. And when we're really on our bandbox, maybe a chuckle as it goes down the gullet. Life's too short, in my humble and often misled opinion to read depressing blarghs.

So with that thought firmly fixed in our knobby nugget we slog forward into the murky future!
And slap face first right into fall! Ahh yes! There is no finer time of year here in Pennslobovia, my friends. The glorious weekend that recongizes the fact that weekends are at least one day too short has ended and the lows are dropping down into temperatures that just beg for a fan in the window. It has been the rare weekend that included an event of note on every thrice blessed day.

Friday was buffalo wings (extra hot) with Nanna, Nonno and my very own grandmama who i haven't seen in a Rascal's age. By that i mean we had to reintroduce her to her great-grandpunks. Grandmama, this is Happ Hazzard and the little guy there is Rascal. Perhaps i should go visiting more often.

Satiddy, we went down to the river to be laughed at by fish and tourist alike as we fed chicken livers and rubber worms to the manitous of the Delaware. i did manage to tie into a bridge but i didn't set the hook and it got away. But it was huge! No really!

That evening we spent in our Satiddy ritual of hangin over at Shultzschloss reminding ourselves why it is so akin to pulling your heart out through your navel, throwing it onto the floor and grinding it into the carpet, then picking it up, dusting it off and swallowing it while suppressing the gag reflex for next game to be Philadelphia sports fan.

All healed up for Sunday and the little family get together down at the church. After which, which i have a strong desire to write as one word...afterwich. Can't decide if that sounds like a sandwich you eat after your main course or a town in northern England. After said weekly reunion of the children of the Almighty a bunch of us frickens got together for food, family and flingin. There was a little flingin of eqine footwear which there often is here at the coop but there was also the flingin of taters. The infamous tatermortar was back and the ducks down in carcass basin know it...and tremble. Muhahahahaha! Ah, who knew PVC pipe could be so useful?

Course, it just now occurred to me that i should have filmed it. Feel free to thump me in the thinker next time i'm within reach.

Finally on the day of laborless labor itself, we suited up for the first time this year and got back down to the very serious business of playing war. And that may deserve it's own posting.

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