Ah Ha!

Got a bunch of you turning the grey matter over, and thus was born the point of the thing. :)


I guess I see it differently. This isn't Fluffy or Rex. To someone, it's their livestock. #A24, or #43L. Like cows or pigs. Just a heck of a lot more pretty and graceful, and suitable, eventually, to be pet material.

Would this even be an issue if it was opossum racing? Would we pass a law to outlaw all accountants because some of them screw up the books?

Just something to think about.



Carry on, good citizens! Make your voices heard today!
Go vote yes!
Go vote for Mr. T for President, if you'd like!

Just go do it. :)
- K.

Now, for something completely different

Over the weekend, my father hands me a beer. He doesn't say anything, just smirks a bit in that Old Yankee Farmer kind of way.
I don't ask, Dad has pretty good taste in beer, though he likes his hoppy and I like my spicey.

I take a couple sips, mull it for a bit, and ask, "Well, what is it? It's not bad."
"You won't believe me," he says, eye twinkling.
"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," I say, expecting him to rattle off some odd little mirco-brew made from shrunken heads from outer Hay-Stack-istan.

"Bud."
"What?"
"Bud."
"You're kidding."
"Nope."

We sit and mull over the open fire, gazing at the sun settling down behind the mountians, our breath slowly becoming visable, waiting for the cidar press to finish squeezing for a little while in comfortable silence.
He's still watching me from the corner of his eye.

"It's not bad." I say with a smile, "for Bud."

So that's the word, my friends. Bud "American Ale" doesn't suck.
- K.