Wyoming and Idaho

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We are back from a quick vacation. I managed to score three (actually several more) bucket list items in 4 days. 1.) Long Snowmobile Trip. 2.) Yellowstone Park and 3.) Wyoming. I reached my 50th State --Wyoming! And we took a 90 mile snowmobile trip in Yellowstone National Park. We went to the "Craters of the Moon--National Monument and Preserve" in Idaho and also stopped at Idaho National Laboratory (INL) where I got to see (with my own eyes) the very cool nuclear powered twin turbojet engine. It was a successful experiment in the 1950s and 1960s. https://whatisnuclear.com/safety-minutes/htre-3-meltdown.html Of course, I had my Radiacode scintillation detector with me and yes, the apparatus is "Hot". The screenshot of the readings from my three walk-arounds the artifact. I swear you could smell the radiation. There was a very un-natural burnt smell something reminiscent of burned bakelite. Although, I am quite certain the emitted radition was not the source...

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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