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Post by kaybli on Apr 18, 2023 11:12:41 GMT -5
Inger was tired. He was tired of fighting windmills and chasing the ghosts of his past, but he had one more place to search in the two bit Mexican town known as Media de la Nada. Walking all day, he was hungry, thirsty and dead tired. After this next place, he thought he would check into the flea bag motel he had seen earlier and break out the Mister Bubble for a long soothing bath. His feet were raw, his translucent skin was scorched and his head was throbbing, but the latter may have been from Pete Reisering too many outfield walls when he was once the worlds fastest center fielder. The next place was the last joint on the southern end of town. The sign read "Cabeza de Loro de Jimmy Buffet". "Great. I'm starved and could go for all you can eat eggless omelets and diet cream sodas", he mumbled to no one. He entered the darkened saloon and quickly realized he needed to take off his Steve McQueen Ray Bans before he could see anything. In time, his eyes adjusted and saw that all eyes of the bar patrons were on him like he as a side dish they hadn't ordered. All except the lone woman who sat at the end of the bar. She was giving Inger the "glad eye". In an earlier life, he would have given the woman the "glad eye" back, but he had his beloved Ruthie back in Colorado and if he came home smelling like cheap perfume and Pall Malls she would whomp him up side the head with her #4 frying pan. He took off his sombrero and set it on the bar. Just then, a man slowly appeared out of the back room. At first, Inger was startled because the man's eyes looked like he had eaten a bowl of mushrooms and finished them off with a dozen Mountain Dews. The Ojos del Diablo was Inger's first reaction. "The Eyes of the Devil". A sudden movement to the right of the man's head caught Inger's attention. It quickly dawned on him there was parrot sitting on the man's shoulder. The parrot and Inger eyes locked for what seemed like eternity and then the parrot broke the awkward silence. "Senor Inger, what took you so long? We've been waiting for you" Inger knew at that moment, "This must be the place". 
Well done Matt! You and rizz shoulder write a book together on the Adventures of Senor Inger.
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Post by inger on Apr 18, 2023 12:03:01 GMT -5
Inger was tired. He was tired of fighting windmills and chasing the ghosts of his past, but he had one more place to search in the two bit Mexican town known as Media de la Nada. Walking all day, he was hungry, thirsty and dead tired. After this next place, he thought he would check into the flea bag motel he had seen earlier and break out the Mister Bubble for a long soothing bath. His feet were raw, his translucent skin was scorched and his head was throbbing, but the latter may have been from Pete Reisering too many outfield walls when he was once the worlds fastest center fielder. The next place was the last joint on the southern end of town. The sign read "Cabeza de Loro de Jimmy Buffet". "Great. I'm starved and could go for all you can eat eggless omelets and diet cream sodas", he mumbled to no one. He entered the darkened saloon and quickly realized he needed to take off his Steve McQueen Ray Bans before he could see anything. In time, his eyes adjusted and saw that all eyes of the bar patrons were on him like he as a side dish they hadn't ordered. All except the lone woman who sat at the end of the bar. She was giving Inger the "glad eye". In an earlier life, he would have given the woman the "glad eye" back, but he had his beloved Ruthie back in Colorado and if he came home smelling like cheap perfume and Pall Malls she would whomp him up side the head with her #4 frying pan. He took off his sombrero and set it on the bar. Just then, a man slowly appeared out of the back room. At first, Inger was startled because the man's eyes looked like he had eaten a bowl of mushrooms and finished them off with a dozen Mountain Dews. The Ojos del Diablo was Inger's first reaction. "The Eyes of the Devil". A sudden movement to the right of the man's head caught Inger's attention. It quickly dawned on him there was parrot sitting on the man's shoulder. The parrot and Inger eyes locked for what seemed like eternity and then the parrot broke the awkward silence. "Senor Inger, what took you so long? We've been waiting for you" Inger knew at that moment, "This must be the place". DomeWorld. The stuff of dreams. All dreams, good and maleficent. Was this man under the parrot truly man, or was he El Diablo himself. Lucifer. Satan. The devil himself? When seńor Inger tried to ask the locals many of them reacted with fear and trepidation, turning away. One lady brought him a sandwich, which was due to an issue with the language barrier. He had to admit that it wasn’t bad for a goat salad sandwich. She had used just right mix of mayo and mustard. I occurred to seńor inger that his last resource was the parrot, the famed Tequila. When she was certain it was me (I had to show her multiple documents, some of which caused me no small amount of discomfort and consternation) she relented and began to tell me of all of Dome’s exploits since she had come into his life. He had been born in Louisiana in a family of lawyers. His father and his other three siblings had followed the path in a lucrative ambulance chaser family business, but Dome had a mind of his own. He pictured a beautiful life in the Baja, surrounded by local beauties. He was going to be sexually fluid, free to love all he met. He had heard the Baja was a paradise and he knew if he opened a compound there he’d be in on the ground floor of a remarkable financial stake that would see his valley explode with tourism and hedonism. That was before he met Margarita the seńorita. He hadn’t planned to marry her, but love found its way into his heart. From that point on he would desire only her. He would dote on her every whim, clean their house for her, cook for her, and save every bit of his sexual energy for her. They make love now once every three months. But what was Dome to tell the folks back home? The guys on the forum? He didn’t want it to be known that he was in a boring routine, yet as happy as humanly possible. You see, the entire story said Tequila was legend. Most of it was taken from dreams that he had that were fitful reminiscences of his original hopes dreams, plans. The Baja is an unforgiving and inhospitable place with summer temperatures approaching 130 degrees. That’s as close to hell as Dome will ever get. He’s a solid citizen that uses his wealth to help others and feed Tequila and her female bird housemate (at least one of them got to love their planned alternative lifestyle). Being a bird, she said she never quite understood where the money came from. She’s just glad he has it. She gets the best seeds and nuts anyone could ask for, and is the only other indulgence of Dome’s life with the exception of Margarita. So now seńor inger knew that he was right all along. There is no Heaven nor is there a Hell. Without a Hell there is no need for El Diablo. Lucifer. Satan. The Devil himself. Dome was human… |
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Post by kaybli on Apr 18, 2023 12:14:51 GMT -5
Inger was tired. He was tired of fighting windmills and chasing the ghosts of his past, but he had one more place to search in the two bit Mexican town known as Media de la Nada. Walking all day, he was hungry, thirsty and dead tired. After this next place, he thought he would check into the flea bag motel he had seen earlier and break out the Mister Bubble for a long soothing bath. His feet were raw, his translucent skin was scorched and his head was throbbing, but the latter may have been from Pete Reisering too many outfield walls when he was once the worlds fastest center fielder. The next place was the last joint on the southern end of town. The sign read "Cabeza de Loro de Jimmy Buffet". "Great. I'm starved and could go for all you can eat eggless omelets and diet cream sodas", he mumbled to no one. He entered the darkened saloon and quickly realized he needed to take off his Steve McQueen Ray Bans before he could see anything. In time, his eyes adjusted and saw that all eyes of the bar patrons were on him like he as a side dish they hadn't ordered. All except the lone woman who sat at the end of the bar. She was giving Inger the "glad eye". In an earlier life, he would have given the woman the "glad eye" back, but he had his beloved Ruthie back in Colorado and if he came home smelling like cheap perfume and Pall Malls she would whomp him up side the head with her #4 frying pan. He took off his sombrero and set it on the bar. Just then, a man slowly appeared out of the back room. At first, Inger was startled because the man's eyes looked like he had eaten a bowl of mushrooms and finished them off with a dozen Mountain Dews. The Ojos del Diablo was Inger's first reaction. "The Eyes of the Devil". A sudden movement to the right of the man's head caught Inger's attention. It quickly dawned on him there was parrot sitting on the man's shoulder. The parrot and Inger eyes locked for what seemed like eternity and then the parrot broke the awkward silence. "Senor Inger, what took you so long? We've been waiting for you" Inger knew at that moment, "This must be the place". DomeWorld. The stuff of dreams. All dreams, good and maleficent. Was this man under the parrot truly man, or was he El Diablo himself. Lucifer. Satan. The devil himself? When seńor Inger tried to ask the locals many of them reacted with fear and trepidation, turning away. One lady brought him a sandwich, which was due to an issue with the language barrier. He had to admit that it wasn’t bad for a goat salad sandwich. She had used just right mix of mayo and mustard. I occurred to seńor inger that his last resource was the parrot, the famed Tequila. When she was certain it was me (I had to show her multiple documents, some of which caused me no small amount of discomfort and consternation) she relented and began to tell me of all of Dome’s exploits since she had come into his life. He had been born in Louisiana in a family of lawyers. His father and his other three siblings had followed the path in a lucrative ambulance chaser family business, but Dome had a mind of his own. He pictured a beautiful life in the Baja, surrounded by local beauties. He was going to be sexually fluid, free to love all he met. He had heard the Baja was a paradise and he knew if he opened a compound there he’d be in on the ground floor of a remarkable financial stake that would see his valley explode with tourism and hedonism. That was before he met Margarita the seńorita. He hadn’t planned to marry her, but love found its way into his heart. From that point on he would desire only her. He would dote on her every whim, clean their house for her, cook for her, and save every bit of his sexual energy for her. They make love now once every three months. But what was Dome to tell the folks back home? The guys on the forum? He didn’t want it to be known that he was in a boring routine, yet as happy as humanly possible. You see, the entire story said Tequila was legend. Most of it was taken from dreams that he had that were fitful reminiscences of his original hopes dreams, plans. The Baja is an unforgiving and inhospitable place with summer temperatures approaching 130 degrees. That’s as close to hell as Dome will ever get. He’s a solid citizen that uses his wealth to help others and feed Tequila and her female bird housemate (at least one of them got to love their planned alternative lifestyle). Being a bird, she said she never quite understood where the money came from. She’s just glad he has it. She gets the best seeds and nuts anyone could ask for, and is the only other indulgence of Dome’s life with the exception of Margarita. So now seńor inger knew that he was right all along. There is no Heaven nor is there a Hell. Without a Hell there is no need for El Diablo. Lucifer. Satan. The Devil himself. Dome was human…  We should just continue this story post by post. |
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Post by inger on Apr 18, 2023 12:35:39 GMT -5
DomeWorld. The stuff of dreams. All dreams, good and maleficent. Was this man under the parrot truly man, or was he El Diablo himself. Lucifer. Satan. The devil himself? When seńor Inger tried to ask the locals many of them reacted with fear and trepidation, turning away. One lady brought him a sandwich, which was due to an issue with the language barrier. He had to admit that it wasn’t bad for a goat salad sandwich. She had used just right mix of mayo and mustard. I occurred to seńor inger that his last resource was the parrot, the famed Tequila. When she was certain it was me (I had to show her multiple documents, some of which caused me no small amount of discomfort and consternation) she relented and began to tell me of all of Dome’s exploits since she had come into his life. He had been born in Louisiana in a family of lawyers. His father and his other three siblings had followed the path in a lucrative ambulance chaser family business, but Dome had a mind of his own. He pictured a beautiful life in the Baja, surrounded by local beauties. He was going to be sexually fluid, free to love all he met. He had heard the Baja was a paradise and he knew if he opened a compound there he’d be in on the ground floor of a remarkable financial stake that would see his valley explode with tourism and hedonism. That was before he met Margarita the seńorita. He hadn’t planned to marry her, but love found its way into his heart. From that point on he would desire only her. He would dote on her every whim, clean their house for her, cook for her, and save every bit of his sexual energy for her. They make love now once every three months. But what was Dome to tell the folks back home? The guys on the forum? He didn’t want it to be known that he was in a boring routine, yet as happy as humanly possible. You see, the entire story said Tequila was legend. Most of it was taken from dreams that he had that were fitful reminiscences of his original hopes dreams, plans. The Baja is an unforgiving and inhospitable place with summer temperatures approaching 130 degrees. That’s as close to hell as Dome will ever get. He’s a solid citizen that uses his wealth to help others and feed Tequila and her female bird housemate (at least one of them got to love their planned alternative lifestyle). Being a bird, she said she never quite understood where the money came from. She’s just glad he has it. She gets the best seeds and nuts anyone could ask for, and is the only other indulgence of Dome’s life with the exception of Margarita. So now seńor inger knew that he was right all along. There is no Heaven nor is there a Hell. Without a Hell there is no need for El Diablo. Lucifer. Satan. The Devil himself. Dome was human… We should just continue this story post by post. Be careful what you wish for. Dome may add a few chapters of his own… 🤓 |
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Post by pippsheadache on Apr 18, 2023 13:54:55 GMT -5
We should just continue this story post by post. This is beginning to sound like the infamous 1969 literary hoax "Naked Came The Stranger" by Penelope Ashe. Some of the older heads might recall it -- something like 24 different reporters wrote random salacious chapters to poke fun at American trash novel reading habits, and it turned out they had a best-seller on their hands. Maybe it's an idea whose time has come again. |
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Post by inger on Apr 18, 2023 14:06:56 GMT -5
This is beginning to sound like the infamous 1969 literary hoax "Naked Came The Stranger" by Penelope Ashe. Some of the older heads might recall it -- something like 24 different reporters wrote random salacious chapters to poke fun at American trash novel reading habits, and it turned out they had a best-seller on their hands. Maybe it's an idea whose time has come again. Naked came Dome. Hmmm. Probably truth in that title… |
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Post by inger on Apr 18, 2023 14:15:55 GMT -5
Adrian Beltre is next on the list with 93.5 WAR and no MVPs.
His 3,000th H, a double off Wade Miley, was on 30-Jul-2017. The only other Dominican with 3,000 is Albert Pujols who reached that mark in 2018.
I’ve mentioned this before but Beltre belted 200 hits in 2004 with zero triples. He’s still the only player in NL history to… er… non-accomplish that non feat?…
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Post by pippsheadache on Apr 18, 2023 14:37:02 GMT -5
Mel Ott once said, “Every time I sign a ball, I am glad my name is not Coveleski, Wambsganss or Peckinpaugh.” Ott, with 110.8 has the highest career war for a player who never win an MVP award. He held the NL home run record until Willie Mays hit #512 on May 4, 1966 in LA versus Claude Ostern. Vin Scully spread the joyous news to all would listen… Great line from Master Melvin -- eventually the unrelated Ed Ott beat him in the short name game. There are some amazing Mel Ott stats out there. One of the best is that he became the all-time NL home run leader at the age of 28 in 1937, and he held that title until, as you point out, Willie Mays passed him 29 years later. When he retired, Ott was 211 home runs ahead of the second-place Chuck Klein, whose record Mel beat. He not only led the Giants in home runs for 18 straight seasons, he finished in the top five in the NL in 15 seasons. He was in the first generation of players to play their entire careers in the live ball era. John McGraw brought him up to the majors at age 17, and Ott became a regular by age 19. McGraw was perceptive as always, and wanted to make sure that no minor league coach tinkered with Ott's unorthodox swing. At the time of his retirement, Ott was either one or two in NL history for home runs, RBIs, runs scored and walks. Another Ott oddity -- in three consecutive seasons, 1939-1941, he had exactly 100 walks. It is true that the lefty-hitting Ott's HR totals were helped immensely by the 257-foot RF fence at the Polo Grounds. He hit 323 HRs at home and 188 on the road. But to give that some context, even if Ott had hit the same number of home runs at home as on the road, he still would have retired as the all-time NL HR king and would have been 76 home runs ahead of the second-place Klein. Who was himself helped tremendously by small parks in Philly and Chicago. Plus Ott did have to deal with the roughly 500-foot center field at the Polo Grounds -- he must have had his share of 480-foot flyouts. Another Ott anomaly -- although he was selected to the All Star team for 12 consecutive seasons once it began during his age 24 season, he not only never won an MVP, he never even finished second and was only in the top five three times. It has been speculated that the emphasis on batting average in his day -- his career .304 mark was dwarfed by the high-average hitters of that time -- led to his poor results. Far in the future stats like OBP, where he finished at .414, and OPS+, where he was at 155, were obviously not factors in the voting. Apparently leading the league in HRs six times didn't help either. Mel Ott was one of the most popular players of his era, known as a good sportsman and a gentleman. Like Lou Gehrig at the start of Ott's career and Stan Musial at the end of it, he was cheered enthusiastically by opposition fans. And of course our very own Rizzuto knew his cousin, who if memory serves was the Catholic Bishop of New Orleans. I found this short interesting evaluation of Mel's unusual batting stance. Definitely worth five minutes of your time for the handful of us on here who care about these things. www.youtube.com/watch?v=_b6QwXMIQOE&t=28s |
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Post by pippsheadache on Apr 18, 2023 14:55:58 GMT -5
At 91 years, 176 days Don Leppert had passed from this world, relinquishing 28th place on the oldest living players list to Whitey Lockman, who is 16 days younger. Another baseball card guy from the woeful Washington Senators of the 60’s… I always liked big cats so, I always thought he had a cool last name. In fact, many people actually sound like they’re saying Leppert when they say leopard… www.baseball-reference.com/players/l/leppedo02.shtmlAnother Don Leppert played in 1955 for Baltimore and batted .114. Eight for seventy. Ouch. He died at 90 in 2021… Reflecting our age difference, I recall Leppert as a baseball card guy for the Pirates, although I do remember his time with the Senators. I also remember him as the first base coach on the Pirates 1971 championship squad. He backed up Smokey Burgess for the Pirates. How in the name of Joe Charbonneau was Don Leppert an All Star for Washington in 1963? He only played in 73 games and was the backup to the even more obscure Ken Retzer. I realize each team had to have a representative, but that was really scraping. In his final year of 1964, Leppert backed up Mike Brumley for the Senators. You are completely excused if you do not remember this individual. I see that Leppert died in Delaware, Ohio, which as we all know was the birthplace of Rutherford B. Hayes. Yes I have been there and yes I have visited his home in nearby Fremont. So sue me. Inger, according to baseballref, Whitey Lockman died on March 17 2009. Very solid player best known as the first baseman on the Giants 1954 championship team. |
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Post by inger on Apr 18, 2023 14:58:32 GMT -5
Mel Ott once said, “Every time I sign a ball, I am glad my name is not Coveleski, Wambsganss or Peckinpaugh.” Ott, with 110.8 has the highest career war for a player who never win an MVP award. He held the NL home run record until Willie Mays hit #512 on May 4, 1966 in LA versus Claude Ostern. Vin Scully spread the joyous news to all would listen… Great line from Master Melvin -- eventually the unrelated Ed Ott beat him in the short name game. There are some amazing Mel Ott stats out there. One of the best is that he became the all-time NL home run leader at the age of 28 in 1937, and he held that title until, as you point out, Willie Mays passed him 39 years later. When he retired, Ott was 211 home runs ahead of the second-place Chuck Klein, whose record Mel beat. He not only led the Giants in home runs for 18 straight seasons, he finished in the top five in the NL in 15 seasons. He was in the first generation of players to play their entire careers in the live ball era. John McGraw brought him up to the majors at age 17, and Ott became a regular by age 19. McGraw was perceptive as always, and wanted to make sure that no minor league coach tinkered with Ott's unorthodox swing. At the time of his retirement, Ott was either one or two in NL history for home runs, RBIs, runs scored and walks. Another Ott oddity -- in three consecutive seasons, 1939-1941, he had exactly 100 walks. It is true that the lefty-hitting Ott's HR totals were helped immensely by the 257-foot RF fence at the Polo Grounds. He hit 323 HRs at home and 188 on the road. But to give that some context, even if Ott had hit the same number of home runs at home as on the road, he still would have retired as the all-time NL HR king and would have been 76 home runs ahead of the second-place Klein. Who was himself helped tremendously by small parks in Philly and Chicago. Plus Ott did have to deal with the roughly 500-foot center field at the Polo Grounds -- he must have had his share of 480-foot flyouts. Another Ott anomaly -- although he was selected to the All Star team for 12 consecutive seasons once it began during his age 24 season, he not only never won an MVP, he never even finished second and was only in the top five three times. It has been speculated that the emphasis on batting average in his day -- his career .304 mark was dwarfed by the high-average hitters of that time -- led to his poor results. Far in the future stats like OBP, where he finished at .414, and OPS+, where he was at 155, were obviously not factors in the voting. Apparently leading the league in HRs six times didn't help either. Mel Ott was one of the most popular players of his era, known as a good sportsman and a gentleman. Like Lou Gehrig at the start of Ott's career and Stan Musial at the end of it, he was cheered enthusiastically by opposition fans. And of course our very own Rizzuto knew his cousin, who if memory serves was the Catholic Bishop of New Orleans. I found this short interesting evaluation of Mel's unusual batting stance. Definitely worth five minutes of your time for the handful of us on here who care about these things. www.youtube.com/watch?v=_b6QwXMIQOE&t=28sExcellent, Mr. Pipps!… |
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Post by inger on Apr 18, 2023 15:04:14 GMT -5
At 91 years, 176 days Don Leppert had passed from this world, relinquishing 28th place on the oldest living players list to Whitey Lockman, who is 16 days younger. Another baseball card guy from the woeful Washington Senators of the 60’s… I always liked big cats so, I always thought he had a cool last name. In fact, many people actually sound like they’re saying Leppert when they say leopard… www.baseball-reference.com/players/l/leppedo02.shtmlAnother Don Leppert played in 1955 for Baltimore and batted .114. Eight for seventy. Ouch. He died at 90 in 2021… Reflecting our age difference, I recall Leppert as a baseball card guy for the Pirates, although I do remember his time with the Senators. I also remember him as the first base coach on the Pirates 1971 championship squad. He backed up Smokey Burgess for the Pirates. How in the name of Joe Charbonneau was Don Leppert an All Star for Washington in 1963? He only played in 73 games and was the backup to the even more obscure Ken Retzer. I realize each team had to have a representative, but that was really scraping. In his final year of 1964, Leppert backed up Mike Brumley for the Senators. You are completely excused if you do not remember this individual. I see that Leppert died in Delaware, Ohio, which as we all know was the birthplace of Rutherford B. Hayes. Yes I have been there and yes I have visited his home in nearby Fremont. So sue me. Inger, according to baseballref, Whitey Lockman died on March 17 2009. Very solid player best known as the first baseman on the Giants 1954 championship team. Gee. How did you quote what I posted on the RIP thread on this thread, Pipps…👹 I certainly buggered this one up a bit. Not 28th on the OLP list, 54th, and Whitey Herzog. I’ve been multi-tasking between the complications from the auto wreck and now… we have little water coming out of the faucet. Sometimes. Hard to get anyone to come and look with all the farmers starting up their irrigation… which might be dropping my water table? Who knows? It’s one thing after another. Never just one complication at a time… |
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Post by pippsheadache on Apr 18, 2023 15:08:34 GMT -5
Au contraire, thank you Inger for your inexhaustible supply of interesting baseball facts. I wish I were able to chime in on all of them, because they are always food for thought and the mark of a true baseball fan as you are.
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Post by pippsheadache on Apr 18, 2023 15:10:29 GMT -5
Reflecting our age difference, I recall Leppert as a baseball card guy for the Pirates, although I do remember his time with the Senators. I also remember him as the first base coach on the Pirates 1971 championship squad. He backed up Smokey Burgess for the Pirates. How in the name of Joe Charbonneau was Don Leppert an All Star for Washington in 1963? He only played in 73 games and was the backup to the even more obscure Ken Retzer. I realize each team had to have a representative, but that was really scraping. In his final year of 1964, Leppert backed up Mike Brumley for the Senators. You are completely excused if you do not remember this individual. I see that Leppert died in Delaware, Ohio, which as we all know was the birthplace of Rutherford B. Hayes. Yes I have been there and yes I have visited his home in nearby Fremont. So sue me. Inger, according to baseballref, Whitey Lockman died on March 17 2009. Very solid player best known as the first baseman on the Giants 1954 championship team. Gee. How did you quote what I posted on the RIP thread on this thread, Pipps…👹 I certainly buggered this one up a bit. Not 28th on the OLP list, 54th, and Whitey Herzog. I’ve been multi-tasking between the complications from the auto wreck and now… we have little water coming out of the faucet. Sometimes. Hard to get anyone to come and look with all the farmers starting up their irrigation… which might be dropping my water table? Who knows? It’s one thing after another. Never just one complication at a time… Yikes, I didn't realize I had done that. Guess I get a wrong thread walk of shame. Anyway, thanks for clarifying. Hard to believe the White Rat is that old. I do recall having his baseball card as an outfielder for the Senators. |
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Post by pippsheadache on Apr 18, 2023 15:12:47 GMT -5
And sorry about your plumbing issue. We just had to have a plumber out a few days ago when I noticed water spraying all over our storage area kind of like in one of those Three Stooges films. No water pouring out of light bulbs though. Good luck with the water! Life gets more difficult without it, for sure.
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Post by kaybli on Apr 18, 2023 15:14:16 GMT -5
Gee. How did you quote what I posted on the RIP thread on this thread, Pipps…👹 I certainly buggered this one up a bit. Not 28th on the OLP list, 54th, and Whitey Herzog. I’ve been multi-tasking between the complications from the auto wreck and now… we have little water coming out of the faucet. Sometimes. Hard to get anyone to come and look with all the farmers starting up their irrigation… which might be dropping my water table? Who knows? It’s one thing after another. Never just one complication at a time… Yikes, I didn't realize I had done that. Guess I get a wrong thread walk of shame. Anyway, thanks for clarifying. Hard to believe the White Rat is that old. I do recall having his baseball card as an outfielder for the Senators. Misc BS can technically be anything so I'll spare pipps the wrong thread sirens.
Keep up the excellent posts you two!  |
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We should just continue this story post by post. 
