The Nissan Leaf Gets a New Rear Axle

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Well, I finally have a salvage title for the 2013 Nissan LEAF (Actually I dont have the title yet, but I think they mail it to me. We are far from settled with the insurance company for sure. It has been six months since Angie was rear ended. The following chart shows a very sad and disturbing trend. Insurance companies aren't paying out. It should be criminal. I went shopping for a new rear axle so I can get the car driving again. The rear ended axle was so bent, the car couldn't move. The new one with no connecting bits was over a thousand dollars. The cheapest used ones I could find on ebay were over 500 dollars. I finally scored at a local used parts place for 95 dollars (removed) and with associated bits such as bearings, bushings, parts of the brakes. It took me a concentrated day with cancelled and moved meetings to get the axle replaced and the car running again. The accomplishment felt good. I am now configuring the car with tractor tires and other modifications t...

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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