Back South Again with More Projects

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A lot of driving. I have forgotten how much driving is involved when on the farm. Everything is far. But I also had to drive up and back twice to Syracuse to pickup/drop off Angie at the airport and a business meeting for Wisdomino in Albany. Yeah it was a lot of driving for me. All and all it was about 4000 miles in three weeks. Early in the morning I decided to check out some auctions (dangerous). I ended up being high bidder on a 2015 New Holland Boomer 33 ( "hours unknown, does not run, may have problems, no key, no battery" ) from the State of Tennessee. I figured I could swing by Nashville and pick it up on the way to Georgia. And indeed I did. It was only a couple of hours extra, maybe 4. But, it was more efficient than going to Georgia and then back and forth to Nashville. Nashville is about 4 hours from Duluth. So I was looking at a 4 hour savings. After I go through it and getting if working I will tow it up to the farm in NY. I wasn't prepared for a trac...

I find some weird stuff out there on the web. I would call this style "relentless_unknown_dream_beat".

www.mywebpages.comcast.net/dragineez/OddShorts.HTML

I really get a kick out of people. The good stuff is on the web, served up for your amusement if you have the ability to concentrate on the question, not the answer. How long will it take? Maybe forever.

O Wondrous Llama

Much is made of the llama, that frisky little critter who is frequently glimpsed chewing on large distended sacks of filth over by the side of the highways and byways of this great land. But how much do we really know about this rakish knave, this whimsical creeper in the twilight world of the underbrush? What are his habits, his dreams, his preoccupations, his intimate hygienic problems, his credit card numbers?

At home, the llama is a savage brute, fond of rubbing ferns on his bottom and playing the kazoo. He beats his children daily with hardened balls of inexplicably furry mucus. And yet, there is a softer side. He is an accomplished cinematographer, and occasionally poses for modelling shots that would make any upstanding citizen cringe in fear. On weekends, and during periods of heavy downpours, he will go from door to door collecting newspapers, which he then laboriously molds into tiny blowfish.

We are left, after examining the evidence, feeling that we have never really gotten to the soul of this dashing charlatan of the woods. He remains, as ever, an enigma, aloof, forbidding, and perpetually infected. Perhaps man was never meant to know the dark secrets of this peripatetic "Mime of the Deep". We can only peek at his towering form behind the safety of our custom blast shielding and wait for him to get out of the driveway, all the while silently marveling at the crimes of Mother Nature.

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