Mother mother fuck. Mother mother fuck fuck. Mother fuck mother fuck noise noise noise.
Smokin bombs, smokin bombs, doin DU, drinkin blood
Drinkin blood blood blood.
Smokin fatties, smokin blunts. Who smokes the blunts? We smoke the blunts.
Mostly I was just excited to keep the last lines verbatim.
(Wikipedia says the sign translates as “Poppies are the crop of death. Grow wheat instead so children can eat and live.” But, really, re: Syria, this is some Cry Havoc Let Slip etc shit. When this AM’s NYT was all “ohhh there’s gonna be an offensive on Aleppo,” I thought- “they’re gonna Benghazi it.” They’re, um, going to Benghazi it.)
tiny beer, big beer
a family that walks together
in her magical playground
reverse rainbowthe mountain
I hope nobody else (besides the Big Island and Qinghai) had any unpleasant omens today. I had to collect and bag three dead house finches Mira found on the side of the house.
(No, that is not one of them. Just a different adorable idiot who needed a personal escort out of our feeder a couple weeks ago.)
I hear my dad had an exploding tire this afternoon. Here’s a palette cleansing river in case anyone else ran afoul of the universe today:
Last weekend we checked out low tide and saw some pretty awesome sea creatures.
It’s Saturday and I am catching up on all the house things I have felt behind on lately, including family blogging. Yesterday we were lucky enough to be in our old neighborhood for about 5 seconds, so I took some pictures of rocks + plants that we could pull ideas from for our yard now.
1. Intern with county government for years.
2. Take “natural step” to build skills learned there and work in industry.
3. Be surrounded by / working with drill rigs constantly.
4. Quit industry.
5. Drill rig housing destroys bridge half mile from county building.
I can’t quite read these chicken entrails but it sure is an entertaining ride.
Doesn’t it feel like you’ve always been waiting for it??
Yeah I should probably register that microscope software.