Timestepper

Ditto... times two.

I dunno', seems a little passe' to me... ;)   (On the other hand, if someone came out of the dark with a sword, charging and yelling at me, I'd probably passe' a corvette! :rofl: )

Funny how life works - I was high & tight in my teens through mid-30's, but started letting it grow when I started doing a bunch of living history. I still keep it swept back out of my eyes and wear a head band on the rare occasion when I'm not wearing a hat.

Naw, I can do it on my own just fine without some Hindi messing around up there!  :rofl: 

Looking forward to your report. In the mean time and in the interest of solidarity, I'll continue to grow mine out. Lest you think I'm being a smart ass, let me explain:   For many years in Western Kansas in my spare time I portrayed the part of a civilian scout/Western mountain man attached variously to Fort Hays, Fort Larned, Fort Dodge and Fort Wallace, Ks. And for many years I let my hair grow long because it fit the part. Three years ago I finally had it cut and donated a 17inch, fairly thick braid to Locks of Love. I kept my hair short for a year then started growing it out again two years ago. My hair is thick and grows fast and already reaches nearly to my shoulder blades. I figure in another two years or so I'll have another 17 inch (or longer) braid to once again donate to Locks of Love.   I'll never shave my head - hell, I don't even like shaving my face - but if I can donate some extra to help a little girl who has none or a young lady who simply doesn't want to wear a skull cap to her Senior prom, then maybe I'm helping a little, too.   Kudos to you, Sir, and best of the best to your Co-worker.   :hat:   ...TS...

Ummm... I think mine was confiscated and sold to pay for Obamacare...  :surrender:

With more than 2 1/2 million miles behind me (and more to come) driving all 48 plus Canada and a little bit of Mexico all I can really say is, Welcome to the club.   I learned a long time ago that driving is kinda' like sex: Pretty much everyone who's ever tried it thinks they're really good at it when the fact remains that most don't know what the hell they're doing. Because of this they rely upon those of us who do know what we're doing to get them through to a successful conclusion.   I heard a joke years ago in which, after coitus, a woman had told a man, "You've got to be the worst lay in the world!" To which the man responded, "No, that would be too much of a coincidence..." That joke really became funny after I witnessed an accident involving a big truck and a passenger car and stopped to help. At one point,the driver of the car told the trucker (with a trooper present) "You've got to be the worst trucker on the interstate!" I swear the trucker replied, "No Sir, that would be too much of a coincidence!"   Sorry for your woes, but welcome to the club. It gets worse every year and all we can do is try to get a little better for the sake of those who don't care enough about what they're doing to want to do it well.   :shake:

Nor Mr. Ford's first trip to the theater in a Lincoln... :hiding:

My, how time flies - seems like only yesterday they were first being indoctrinated - ah, they blow up so fast...    :sadwave:

Excuse  me, but that's MISTER Snowflake!     :hat:

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes... :stick:

One of my wife's friends reported this morning that the Athletics Director at USC is her new BFF... :pleased:

Heck I see reminders all over Knoxville of how UT fans feel about him. Seems like he's even getting blamed for parking shortages around town because I'm always seeing signs that say: NO PARKING! FIRE LANE!   On a serious note (kinda'), if my left hind leg worked like it's 'sposed to, I'd do a little happy dance over USCs decision.   :sadwave:

Ummm... maybe you're not using a big enough ziplock?   Just remember - Practice makes perfect!   Practice, practice, PRACTICE!!! Practice every chance you get! Heading for an outdoor event or tailgating (no pun intended) on the weekend? Forego and eschew the porta-potties! Just whip out your butt-sized ziplock and let it roar! If someone asks what the hell you're doing, reply in your very best Elmer Fudd voice, "SHHH!!! We have to ve-wy, ve-wy quiet! I'm pwacticing for hunting season!"   Oh, and don't worry about color coding, I'm sure that smell coding would be far more effective in the dark, anyway...       Little Debbie oatmeal pies, huh? I love that they have Little Debbie's face on the box, but it took me many years to figure out why they only show her from the neck up... That's because from the neck down she's BIG Debbie (from eatin' all them oatmeal pies!) Black coffee? Only thing I can say about black coffee is that I took some on my last hunting trip with my best friend up in western Kansas and he allowed as to how he liked his coffee the way he liked his women... Took me three days to get over the shock of discovering that my best friend likes blonde, slutty coffee with low self-esteem!!!   Good suggestions in this thread. Think I'll stick with my jerky, hardtack & water. (Not because I'm a purist or don't like what others take, but because I'm broke and haven't been able to find any butt-sized ziplocks.)   :hat:   ...TS...

Always could. Just drop it in the water and you're screwed!   On the other hand, the one thing that keeps me from buying a so-called "smart" phone is the old Casio GZone flip phone (Yes, boys & girls, I'm an outdated, uncool square) I bought 4 years ago in July: Waterproof (I've carried it while wade fishing where it remained underwater and/or soaked for 5 hours straight and dropped it into water deep enough that I had to dive for it and it never so much as fogged the screen.), shockproof (lost count of how many times I've dropped it from considerable heights with nothing worse than a few scratches), dustproof... just can't tear the darn thing up! Verizon keeps telling me that I'm eligible for an upgrade and I keep telling them I'd be a damn fool to trade something I can't destroy for something I can't afford to replace.   Oh, and I loved the look on the fancy app possessing, iphone using fisherman's face a while back when I pulled out my trusty ol' GZone, opened it and dunked it in the Clinch, looked at the screen and told him that the water temp. was 46 degrees. (Thought he was gonna' sh*t himself.) :pleased:     ...TS...

You're a lucky man! My best friend has a .22/.410 and a 24F - T (.223/12). My favorite remains the 24V (.357mag/20) and for nearly thirty years I've been lucky enough to own the only one I've ever seen close up.   Again, congrats!

Silly Freshmen! Thumbtacks are paper pokers, not pooper pokers!   Now, stay after school and write "I will not poke poopers with paper pokers!" 5,515 times (on paper, not the walls). And then afterwards, you may assume the position so that all those whom you poked may return the favor!   (That's the way my old Highschool Principal would have handled it... And the only way the cops would've known anything about it is if they read the school paper.)   :shake:

Let's see, what's the old riddle? Oh yeah - What do tornados and redneck divorces have in common?   (Somebody's gonna' lose a trailerhouse!)   :leaving:

Me neither.   But back in the early '80s when crew-cab pickps were relatively rare in Western Kansas, I worked for an outfit that owned one. One day I took it down to an auto parts store to pick up a few things and parked on the far side of the parkinglot, facing away from the store. You guessed it - when I came back out, I opened the door and climbed right into the back seat! After I got over the shock of missing the stearing wheel and realized what I'd done, I covered myself by reaching down on the floorboard and grabbing a paper sack that was sitting there, looking into it and nodding to myself like I'd found what I was looking for. Then I set the bag on the front seat, opened the back door, got out and climbed into the front seat and got the hell outta' there.   A week later I was back at the same parts store and the guy at the counter told me, "Man, until you found that sack of stuff you were looking for I was busting a gut because I was just sure that you'd gotten into the back seat by accident!!!"   :whistle:

LOL!   Along those lines... Last year I was talking to our Safety Director about some critter problems we'd been having with our chickens when our Head Dispatcher and Salesman (a black gentleman) came back into the office just in time to hear me say, "Yeah, them damn thievin' 'coons from across the branch are at it again - just can't seem to leave our chickens alone, no matter how unwelcome I make 'em feel!" The dispatcher gave me a withering scowl that left me wondering who'd whizzed in his Wheaties and I headed on out to the truck. Twenty minutes later the Safety Director called me and he was laughing so hard he could barely get his breath. Evidently our dispatcher had sat there and fumed for several minutes and then blurted out, "You know of all the guys we have here, I never would've expected Don to turn out to be such a flaming racist!!!"   It took the S.D. 5 minutes to quit laughing long enough to tell him that I'd been talking about raccoons and that when the lady who lives across the branch and feeds the darn things forgets to leave food out they invariably head for our chicken run. The next day the dispatcher told me, "I guess I owe you an apology." I said, "No you don't - I needed a good laugh, I'm just sorry that it was at your expense!" To this day he asks about our chickens at least twice a week. :rofl:

So, we have a guy at work that everybody calls "'Possum." Great guy, but kind of a pest at times. Do anything in the world for you, but doesn't take critique or even suggestions very well. Kinda' tough to talk to sometimes, even though he's a super nice guy.   I told you that to tell you this:   05:15 Eastern this morning and I'm walking out to the pickup to head for work a little early (still can't drive a big truck, but my company has been gracious enough to allow me 15 - 20 hours a week helping out in the office). Anyway, I happen to glance up at our henhouse just in time to see a 'possum walking past the open henhouse door - starting about this time of year we leave a light burning all night because it seems to settle our Bantam hens more and they produce better - the door of the henhouse is left open because there's a <nearly> critter proof enclosure around the front of the building.   My first thought was "Did I really see what I thought I saw?!!!" and I decided to walk/limp up and check it out. Well, I got up there and got into the henhouse just in time to see a 'possum tail disappearing under an old entertainment center in one corner that we use for both storage and nest boxes. I did a quick "beak count" and all the chickens were accounted for, so I figured he was small enough that he probably couldn't reach the roosts.   After arguing with myself for a minute or so I decided that I couldn't, in good conscience, just leave him in there for my wife to find, especially since there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get the chickens after they left the roost. So I limped back down to the house, grabbed a flashlight and my .22 rifle, went back up, leaned the entertainment center forward and propped it at about 45 degrees, then stepped to the back, hit the flashlight and popped him in the head. Standing the e-center back against the wall, I reached underneath and dragged the 'possum out and, with a glance at my watch, just left him on the floor of the henhouse while I headed in to wash my hands and put the .22 away. Then I jumped in the pickup and got to work with about thirty seconds to spare.   Being the great guy that I am and realizing that, unless I warned her about the dead 'possum, my wife would more than likely soil her bloomers and make a new door when she walked in and saw him lying there, I sent her a text and then talked to her on the phone to give her a "heads up." (For which she expressed great gratitude!)   An hour later my lovely wife called me back to tell me that there were TWO 'possums in the henhouse - one live (which she thought, at first, was the one I was talking about) and one dead - and no, she did not soil her bloomers (much). I told her to let the chickens out of the run, close the door on the henhouse and I'd take care of both of them when I got home about 12:30.   At 10:40 I was down in the shop talking with our mechanic Justin when I glanced at my watch. Seeing what time it was and planning on leaving work at 11:00, I said, "Well, I guess I'd better head back up to the office and shut the computer down, then go see about dealing with a 'possum - much as I hate to do it." Without missing a beat, Justin replied, "Yeah, he's a great guy - do anything for ya' - but damn, I can't stand to talk to him for more than three or four minutes!"   I still haven't quit laughing...   ...TS...     *P.S. - Got home, took care of both henhouse 'possums, found where they'd gotten in and got it patched up so that it won't happen again. ...Probably won't tell the other 'Possum about it Monday morning...*

Simple:   Have gun, will travel. ...but the heater doesn't work in his '89 Tercel, so he has to wear gloves to keep his fingers nimble enough to operate his Glock.   You're welcome.  :hat:     ...TS...

ROTFLOL!!!

  I feel for you. and in that vein, it's injuries that make me feel old.   Except that it wasn't the broken wrist in '72 from falling off my skateboard that made me feel old because I was only 11. And it wasn't the broken nose in Highschool because I was only 17. And it wasn't the torn ligaments in my right ankle serving Uncle Sam at Fort Sill, Ok. because I was only 19. And it wasn't the broken leg a few years later riding broncs in Enid, Ok. because I was still in my early 20's. And it wasn't the surgeries on blown knees in my early 30's or the shattered 3rd & 4th lumbar in my early 40's or the UNT surgery on my left elbow in my mid forties or having my gall bladder yanked in my late forties. It wasn't the broken thumb or the tennis elbow or the dislocated shoulder or having nearly lost my left eye or the dozen or so other less serious sprains, strains, breaks and ruptures that made me feel old...   It's that my family and friends have learned to mark occasions by when a specific injury occurred; "Oh c'mon, you remember! That was the year the brakes went out on Cord's ATV and you went thru the barbed wire fence and over the creek bank!" Or, "You remember Julie - she got married the week your horse blew up and threw you into the cactus patch and you couldn't make the wedding because they were still picking spines out of your legs and back!" The saying "If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself!" is a cute line, but for me it's also a lie because I wouldn't trade any of the pre-injury fun I've had over the years. :pleased:   After this year's debilitaing injury (gsw to left ankle which resulted in ankle/midfoot fusion and a permanent & horrible limp), I think I'm done marking the years with injuries. I'm hoping that when I get my new modified walking shoe in a few days it will help restore my mobility and gait. But I think I'm done with injuries making me feel any older. First because I already feel older than Methusela and second, because I've finally sustained the one injury that won't let me get around well enough to acquire any more injuries.   I could give a rat's rear end about how old the babies from Friends would be now because I was so busy being active that I rarely watched the show when it was on. And I'm glad that Home Alone is a good enough movie to serve as a bench mark for things that are supposed to make us feel old.   But the one single thing that makes me feel old is that I just can't get around well enough to feel young anymore...   But DAMN, it was sure fun getting here!     :hat:     ...TS...

Okay, so going into the 2nd half the song ain't so cute anymore. Seems like right now Coach Jones is probably just grateful that Florida isn't allowed to substitute Marching Band members for injured starting players...   :shake: :shake: :shake: