Brutal Heat Wave Afflicts Republic of Tejas Capitol

That’s correct. Yesterday the heat soared into the triple digits for the 66th day this year. We’re having a heat wave, a tropical heat wave. Tra-la.

Most everybody with common sense is now rooting for more heat so the old record of 69 days of triple digit heat can be broken. How crazy is that? The many who have declaimed against the terrible heat are now rooting for more heat. Just so, later, those many may cry out, I lived through the year with the most triple digit heat ever, Druid Year 3, or is it 4?

Well. Actually, rooting for more heat, after having suffered so much, for so long, is probably OK or not sinful. You may see or know yourself that this heat has been good for nothing. But a new record could make the terrible, Beelzebubberific heat, good for something, sort of. Besides, the damage is mostly done for this growing season. Only the irrigated and air conditioned prospered. Everything else died, went dormant, or never came to fruition. Mercy!

What else besides the terrible heat is good for nothing? Easy that, dry northers. Yepper. Now we get to look forward to frosty north winds with no rain neither. Mercy!

Yet today, I, Crumby the Ovate shall address the many fire ecologists and Republicans who believe fire is (was) an important component of the central Texas ecosystem(s).

So, fire ecologists. How about all those fires we have had in these parts lately? Yes. Many have burned up or were likely to be burned up except for the handy intervention of foam laden aeroplanes that constantly flew important fire dousing missions so that the many would not burn up, totally. Yeah verily, many were spared from getting the hair singed off their red necks. This is assuming, yeah verily, that any were werkin’ in the sun when the terrible infernos broke out.

Yes. In these times of high temperatures, high fuel loads, and relatively low humidity, we should all be fixing to get burned alive, maybe. Burned alive! Like right here in this example. Any fire ecologist or Republican, espying this picture, shall nod sagely at yet another example of how fire literally just determines almost every facet of nature or human nature in these parts. Just look how fire singed this Bothriochloa-Chloris-Cynodon community is. See how those little trees barely escaped a fiery death? How many chigger eggs were needlessly destroyed in this particular fire? Jeez Louise! What Chloris was that? Leachmannii?

OK. What if an average motorist had been actually driving along in a great vehicle down South Lamar toward Ben White as the fire was raging? Man alive! I am surely glad I was in Puerto Rico when this inferno cut loose. Good Goddess, I might have been so distracted, fixing to drive by this conflagration, that I might have become inattentive and wound up in Del Valle or Waco. The fact is, approaching this particular intersection, fire or no fire, an average distracted motorist could wind up in Del Valle or Waco, anyway. No. Don’t relax for a second at this intersection. Relax for a second. Then, you are fucked.

OK. What plants do great without any water? Yes. These are the plants a xeri-scapist should cream his or her britches over. Look closely at the photo. Do you espy the Solanum eleagnifolium? That’s the one you want for your yard. Don’t settle for anything else. That’s right. The nursery fuckers will try to trick you. They shall try to sell you something besides Solanum eleagnifolium. But fuck those fuckers. Just say, I want Solanum eleagnifolium. If you fuckers don’t have any, I shall take my trade elsewhere.

Crumby Celebrates Water Rationing

It’s true. Yesterday was the last day of the old water rationing methodology. Today is a new day with a new methodology. So yesterday Crumby decided to celebrate the old, painless methodology one last time.

Here’s what Crumby did. Early in the morning Crumby drove off in the great vehicle. Crumby searched and searched, aided only by the great vehicle plus its air conditioning. At last, after a tedious, doubt-filled time of driving about, Crumby located what he wanted, cheap labor.

OK, Crumby explained. This is a really easy job for today only. Today I am celebrating the old water rationing rules. What I am fixing to do is stay out in the backyard all day. But I can’t do that without help. That’s right. I need help to stave off the anticipated terrible heat. So I need one of you guys to constantly fan me. Then, when the fanning is insufficient, I need one of you to squirt me with the water hose. Now look! Constant fanning is much harder work than intermittent garden hose operation. So I expect you twain to switch off. That way one of you won’t get totally worn out fanning me.

Sure enough. The heat yesterday was terrible. The official heat was 105, another new Austink record for the date. Plus yesterday was the 63rd day of triple digit heat everyone has enjoyed in these parts this summer. Yet Crumby, despite staying outside all day, remained cool, calm and collected.

As fickle Ogma set at last, Crumby paid off the twain cheap labor. You did a good job today, men. Here’s a little something extra. And remember, there’s more to biology than breeding.

Fairly refreshed from the constant fanning and intermittent hosing, Crumby decided to stay outside even longer. I shall stay outside into the stygian darkness, vowed Crumby. I shall accomplish some average amateur astronomy now that fierce Ogma has departed, sparing me his baleful glare.

Crumby remembered something. O h yepper! A test of seeing is how many stars an average amateur astronomer may espy within the great square or body of the celestial horse, Pegasus. Hmm.

Jeez Louise, Crumby ascertained. I can’t espy any. Boo-hoo-hoo. But hey. At least I can espy the square. That ought to count for something.

However, Crumby did espy something new to Crumby last night. Yes. Crumby espied another lifer planetary nebula (PN). The new PN is NGC 7027 in Cygnus. It is a fairly easy one to locate thanks to its brightness and a bluish cast evident even at low power. At about 200x, the disc seems to elongate. Both OIII and Ultrablock help with this one. It’s a blinker.

Which mean, now Crumby needs to update the famous Planetary Nebulae Visible in the Polluted Skies over Austink.

The Central Texas Climate is Totally Fucked

Well. The Druids have long predicted that the Republicans were doing all the right stuff for transforming central Texas into a desert. Now, today, the Republicans are on the verge of success. Plus, we are all, locked in socked, no way out. That’s right. Central Texas, with the highest per capita energy use on the globe, and the highest per capita ownership of great vehicles and the highest per capita AC BTU whatever, and plenty of concrete and asphault is fixing to turn into a desert, thanks to its dumbass citizenry following Republican example and leadership. Yepper. We get what we deserve. We reap what we sow.

Meantime, all the land owners that were tardy unloading their properties to developers need to do that as hastily as possible. Like they need to start courting investors from Arabia. Those Arabs like deserts and won’t mind speculating on a burnt up piece of shit ranch or two, yet. See. There’s always hope. But landowners, you need to act now. You need to pray to Jesus, now. Yes. Ask Jesus for adequate financing so you can unload your property on to an unsuspecting Arab.

Meantime, Crumby’s bank just went belly up. Yikes! What’s happening to the adequate financing? Mercy! Praise the Goddess, some Spaniards stepped in and bought Crumby’s bank, possibly helping to secure the bank’s assets, a miserable portion of which are also Crumby’s assets. Crumby hopes his miserable assets are safe. Boo-hoo-hoo. Crumby needs those assets. Those assets represent Crumby’s last hope for eventual migration out of here. Mercy!

Consider the fort. The walls of that particular fort are like 15 feet thick. So a cowardly Spaniard huddled behind that wall, pissing himself, would be fairly safe or unlikely to get hit by a cannon ball. Consider also though the lookout or sentry posts which are those little turrets or whatever on the corners of the walls. How about those? Would a brave or round-chested Spaniard be safe from a cannonball while situated in one of those? I, Crumby, stood in one of those. I can now disclose to everyone that a Dutch or English cannonball scoring a direct hit on one of those structures would totally kill any occupant or sentry therein. Those lookout posts are not safe. The one Crumby was actually in was, apart from oil rigs, the most dangerous spot Crumby has ever been in or on except maybe the roof or a helicopter. Luckily for Crumby, the Dutch didn’t attack while Crumby was occupied, taking pictures out of the gun slit of that ominous turret. Mercy!

Pounding the Pavement of Old San Juan

Damnation! Right now here in Austink the temperature is like 103. But it feels like 106. Hotter than Puerto Rico. That means Beelzebub is more in control here than in Puerto Rico. Mercy!

The first day I went to visit Old San Juan, entirely against my will, the Puerto Ricans were having a demonstration. The demonstration tied up the traffic making progress slow. However, eventually, slow progress took me to a parking garage just a couple of blocks south of Castillo de San Cristobal. After stowing the rental car, progress on foot was way faster and slightly less miserable.

The anabasis was, parking garage to San Cristobal, San Cristobal to Castillo San Felipe del Morro, partly by bus, then from Morro back to parking garage. By the end of that anabasis, Crumby was very hot, very tired and very grumpy. Crumby, you may see, had reasoned that a bus would pick Crumby up after he toured Morro. But that bus never turned up. So Crumby had to walk.

Crumby liked the twain castles or forts OK, or well enough to take a few pictures. Like this one.

The Bananaquit

There are plenty of Bananaquits in Puerto Rico. The fact is, those Bananaquits are apparent everywhere I went. Maybe all Bananaquits require minimally is a palm tree or two and a row of shrubs between the hotel and the ocean. Yep. Just that for habitat and away those Banaquits go, fornicating to high heaven.

This Bananaquit stays behind the Hotel Candada or Pendecho and Casino which is actually a pretty good place to bird watch. Taking into account the beach front and lagoon front in the vicinity of the hotel, here’s what birds may be espied if an average ornithologist can drag itself away from the Mariachi Madness slot machine.

Magnificent Frigatebird, Brown Pelican, Least Tern, Royal Tern, Common Tern, Rock Dove, White-winged Dove, Zenaida Dove, Common Ground-Dove, Canary-winged Parakeet, hummingbird- big -either Green Mango or Green-Throated Carib, Gray Kingbird, Red-Legged Thrush, Caribbean Martin, Shiny Cowbird, Greater Antillean Grackle, Stripe-headed Tanager, Black-faced Grassquit and House Sparrow.

This Bananquit is stealing nectar, Quanica.

Water, Water, Everywhere

Yikes! This morning, following up on Saturday’s mandatory water rationing story, the local newspaper fearlessly identified the highest consumption residential water users in Austink, again. Yet all the exposed homeowners that actually talked to the reporter had good excuses for dosing their yards with plenty of cool water. One example:

The water was for my pet hippos. Hippos require plenty of water. Especially in this hot weather, a hippo may easily die of thirst or maybe dehydration. Look. Either I water my hippos or those hippos shall die a lingering horrible death out in the backyard. What then? What about those dead hippos? What shall everyone say when your newspaper reports that I have abused my hippos to death?

Yes. All the homeowners had great excuses for the seemingly amazingly huge rates of water consumption. Another example:

I can’t help myself. I miss the spy or spook game. But now I am retired. Boo-hoo-hoo. But oh Lordy I do miss the work. Oh God! How I miss the work! The snorting and choking. Yes. It is an addiction. An awful addiction. My God, I know it’s out of control. But I can’t help myself. Huh-huh. So I do a little water boarding. Just as a hobby. You know?

So. Now that Austink has declared super triple secret mandatory water rationing with fines, and begun hiring enforcement officers, surely water use by these reckless residents shall be curtailed at last. Well. Maybe, maybe not. See. If I need to water my hippos only one day a week between 10 PM and 7 AM, I just need to figure out how to get like a month’s supply of water to my hippos every week during that limited time. So what I need is like really efficient hoses and what not. That’s right. I need reliable high volume watering equipment. With that equipment, which might include an underground pipe system extending to a deep hole in Town (Lady Bird) Lake, I shall have no trouble watering my hippos.

Tees and Greens, Every Other Day

With water levels in the reservoirs dropping daily, the City of Austink has decided to limit water use on the golf courses. That’s right, the golf course responsible parties are fixing to get to water the tees and greens only every other day. Only every other day. Meanwhile, the rules for many are far more strict. Once a week, certain hours on that lone day, fines.

How shall the illegal water use perps be identified? Easy that, Austink is hiring. That’s right. Some "temporary" workers are fixing to get hired. The job is, drive around Austink, search for illegal water use perps. Once the noveau water cops find a perp, that perp may get fined $400.

Meantime, big users like TU and Lady Bird’s wildflower outfit are totally exempt. She-it! Crumby’s flora must die so that others flora may live. Pretty soon, only the grounds of public buildings and shopping malls shall be green. Yes. Anon, the citizenry shall depart for the malls not to shop, but to espy the green grass.

Hark! Droughts are temporary events. This paucity of rain and great heat is not temporary, but the emerging annual norm. Yet many may continue to cry drought, just as many cry, war. The fact is, Austink and vicinity are waxing hotter and drier, considered climatically. Similarly, the imperialist occupation of miserable Iraq is permanent. Call these drought and war. Fine.

OK. How many millions of migrants can be settled in the Colorado River watershed if we all give up some water so that the millions of newcomers may share the cool water? Well, first of all we need to make sure that only people plus our most important environmental resources, golf tees and greens, get all the water. This is called, conservation. A really efficient conservation program may assure that all the tiny bugs now stealing the human water, get no water at all. Yes. There is plenty of water out there for people if we can conserve that water so the bugs don’t get it. After we figure out how much of our water the bugs and alien Mexican plants are stealing, and plug that leak with a conservation measure, we shall then know about how much water we have to share with the thirsty migrants.

OK. How can I, Crumby, seriously conserve? OK. I figure if I convert my one plus acre to pea gravel, the water I save shall allow hundreds of migrant children at Sunset Valley Elementary to flush the commodes thousands of times. And that’s just my contribution? Think about the savings if everybody converted their yards to pea gravel or maybe Astroturf. Goodness gracious! At least a tousand or maybe two tousand flushes per converted yard.

Locked in, socked in, no way out.

Oh my goodness! Crumby almost forgot. When is the last time the LCRA dredged out one of the lakes? How deep are those lakes, really?

Ovation or Reading the Signs

There sat Crumby eagerly anticipating a delicious supper. Yum. Crumby was fixing to get a fish and shellfish medley over noodles. Crumby gulped at his watery Medallion Light reflecting on just how wimpy beer could be and still be beer. The Medallion Light just made it into the near-beer category. But hey. The waves crashed nearby and for a wonder, Crumby could actually espy a star through the pollution, possibly Spica.

Suddenly a big Rattus scampered across the dining area floor, heading from the direction of the kitchen to the beach. There that ratty boy went. Naturally, since there was no sign, no prompting, Achtung Dumbkopfs, Wildlife Viewing Area, nobody but a Druid would notice a big rat in the restaurant. Nobody did.

Uh-oh, thought Crumby. This restaurant features rats. Rats are generally a bad omen for a restaurant. After awhile, the same rat or one of its kin, scampered from the beach back toward the kitchen. Hmm, thought Crumby. This reminds me of the cook at the Stallion restaurant who slew rats with his trusty skillet. Uh-oh.

But alas, once the pretty and efficient waitress finally delivered Crumby his seafood medley over noodles, Crumby forgot all about the warning signs. Yes. Crumby ate his supper all up. Crumby slurped down every last noodle. Waste not want not.

Then about 2AM, back in his little bed at the hotel, Crumby suddenly remembered the rat(s). Mercy! That’s right. For the next several hours Crumby proceeded to waste the delicious seafood medley plus all those nice noodles. And the rats cried out, Crumby, we tried to warn you. But ye desisted not. No Crumby, you ignored all the dire warnings and signs that we rattys attempted to communicate. So Crumby, you get what you deserve.

This is the Worst Trip, Tra-la.

Crumby was ever on. At least since Crumby was an adult. Oh well. Puerto Rico (PR)
is a beautiful island. The people are friendly. The food is fairly tolerable. They have good rum and one good beer, a very nice pale ale. There is plenty of rain. Yet PR is afflicted with far too many automobiles. Plus, Puerto Ricans, eventually transported hither and yon by automobile, once loose in the woods, are way too noisy.

The roadways within and at least 50 miles around San Juan are seriously congested. For example, Hwy. 52 turns into a parking lot daily during rush hours. And Hwy. 52 is a very expensive toll road, to and from Ponce. The congestion caused Crumby, problems. The congestion made Crumby, grumpy. Pretty soon Crumby decided to drive on the sidewalks and across the islands. Otherwise, Crumby might still be in PR.

You may know that in the Republic of Tejas and even in many parts of the US, off and on ramps for the major roads are frequent and often signed. Not so in PR. The fact is, in PR, ramps are infrequent and carefully hidden along with any potential related signs. Plus, the names of all the roads and streets, if identified at all, change every few kilometers, maybe, if the motorist is lucky enough to espy those signs behind a tree or bush.

Then the maps are also interesting. Crumby purchased two maps of PR and acquired several free maps. The maps, considered collectively, exhibited general disagreement upon many of the fine details of PR thoroughfare infrastructure. Eventually, Crumby learned, prior to setting out, to study really hard and memorize a collective image of the maps. That way, Crumby had a fair chance of proceeding directly to his destination via a combination of Druid Magic and gestalt. The best map is probably the one that features a picture of Roberto Clemente, a nice likeness of the former Pirate great.

The hassle of going anywhere by automobile in PR eventually wore Crumby down. Just getting out of the parking garage was a hassle. Whenever Crumby wanted to leave, he had to get his ticket approved. Then he had to stick his ticket into the ticket receptacle before the gate would open to let Crumby out. And the ticket was only good for opening the gate if Crumby used it within ten minutes of getting it approved. But that fact didn’t matter because the ticket receptacle device only worked twice by itself over the course of a week. The rest of the time, Crumby had to be let out manually. Yes. Crumby’s hotel had, besides the automated parking equipment, six human workers constantly on duty to supplement the automated system. Mercy!

So! Here’s some free advice from the Druids if you are headed to PR. Either hire someone to drive you around or go somewhere else. And remember, Puerto Ricans go to New York City for the public transportation

I-C-A-B

This morning my bosom companion, Ray, was looking out the window. Then Ray says, ICAB. Didje know that’s a complete sentence made entirely of mere letters of the alphabet.

For good measure, Ray says, ICAB over and over until everyone yells, Shut Up, Ray! We get it, Ray!

Ray only does shit like ICAB for fun. But what about people who visit talk forums and ask questions like, How many underwear should I take to Puerto Rico?

Well maybe not underwear, but, Like which dopey camera or lens should I buy/take on my vacation? Crumby can scarcely believe anyone is so dumb they have to ask stupid questions like that on an internet talk forum. But hey, that’s what those forums are for.

Seriously though, How many underwear should I take to Puerto Rico? In the old days, before incontinence lowered its boom, Crumby could easily calculate the number of underwear for an upcoming trip. That number would correspond to the number of nights spent out in the wilderness. Like for example, four nights spent in the wilderness meant Crumby required four underwear, plus the underwear he already had on.

OK. Here’s what I think. On vacation, the food may be strange. Restrooms may be both strange and unsanitary, if you can find one at all. So given all that, probably the number of underwear recommended would be twice the nights out. Like for example, if you were to spend four nights out, you would need eight underwear. Is that correct? Eight! Yes. That is correct.

Go Outside at 5:30AM. Then look to the east.

That’s right. If you can find a spot where the neighbor’s security lights are not glaring in your eyes, you can see some great naked celestial splendors. The three constellations are, top to bottom, Auriga, Taurus and Orion. Right there are a great many of the brightest stars visible from Planet Earth. And there are two planets, Mars and Venus. For my money, Mars is a twin of the Bulls Eye Star, Aldebaran. Then also you may be able to just make out the bosoms on Venus. But you’ll need a telescope for that.


Here’s a mediocre photograph of a young Stagmomantis, possibly carolina. Ray needs to see how it looks at 100%. We are from France!

An Average Amateur Astronomical First

A while back the primary mirror on the GRT got mighty dirty. Then Crumby espied that it was dirty. So Crumby took the mirror out of the GRT and gave it a bath. After that, once Crumby, had the GRT reassembled, Crumby had to collimate the GRT from scratch. The GRT is not easy to collimate from scratch.

Meantime, Crumby acquired a third 2" to 1.25" adapter for the GRT. This third one actually fits. There is no slop in it. A no slop adapter makes collimating easier or possible, whichever. Anyhow, the GRT was well-collimated.

This morning as Moon was fixing to set, Crumby sashayed forth to test out the well-collimated GRT. First stop, M31. Crumby still could not espy M110 even knowing its precise location. Too much light pollution for M110. Nor could Crumby espy M33. Same deal.

However, Crumby did espy the always reliable M77.

After that Crumby wandered around. Here’s a double star. There’s an open cluster. There’s Mars. There’s Venus.

Hold it. What’s that on Venus. Hark! For the first time ever, Crumby was barely able to espy the bosoms on Venus, an average amateur astronomical first.

Paper Wasps are Food Chain Buddies

That's right. Everybody enjoys eating a delicious paper wasp. They have signs on them, eat me, I'm a paper wasp. Good for spiders and predaceous flies.

At the CB we have at least three species of paper wasp. The three known ones are Polistes carolinus, Polistes exclamans and this one, which may be Polistes apachus, maybe.

Paper Wasps are Food Chain Buddies

Lucilia

Besides Sarcophaga, see below, the other nasty fly that is on the bananas at this very nonce is Lucilia. Lucilia is the famous green-back fly celebrated in song or minstrelry. As in, green-back fly got your tail shakin, sittin' on my slab of bacon, Scots.

X - Rated for Cussing

One thing an average amateur writer like Crumby is tormented by is cussing. Most of the time, while writing, Crumby feels the need to cuss. So Crumby cusses. But then later, Crumby may go back to a particularly cussy-tongued missal and then, reviewing that particular missal, surmise, man, this is terrible cussing. Crumby, you need to take out this cussing. That way you wouldn’t need this venue to be X- rated for cussing.

But then Crumby considers how much cussing has already gone down and how much trouble it would be to edit out all that cussing. It’s way too much work.

Then Crumby merely vows to stop cussing. Once Crumby vows to stop cussing he begins to consider all the mean spirited references he has made to retards and maybe midgets. Not to mention Republicans, wetbacks, demons, whores of Babylon, fatties, Christians, etc. In other words, besides the cussing, this blog is chock full of derogatory commentary.

The fact is, this blog contains fairly negative commentary on the human condition in general. Yet Crumby has recently shown a bunch of restraint when it comes to the ascendancy of the other capitalist-imperialist political party, the Democratic Party. That’s right. The US has two capitalist-imperialist parties, not merely the Republican Party.

Why is that? Why does the US need two capitalist-imperialist parties? Well, we need two so each can take a turn propping up our venal monopolistic ruling class that totally ran out of ideas back in the 60s. Yes. Monopolies disguised as deregulation was their last great idea.

But why has Crumby shown restraint when it comes to President Obama and Associates. Well, Crumby voted for Obama. Course then, Crumby is loath to carp about the same old same old, when Crumby actually voted for it. Mercy!

All righty then. Then too, it’s pretty hard to figure out if Ken Salazar is reaming the environment less than his predecessor. Finding that out would be hard work. Too hard for Crumby. No. Crumby needs to focus on handy bullshit. Like why has this Chevy Van been parked in the Burger Center parking lot for like forever? Reckon its battery is charged?

Anyway, if an average amateur astronomer and writer was to take that tape off its windshield, that Chevy Van would make a superb astronomical equipment transport system. Why shit! Crumby could get all his telescopes in that sucker plus a nice little bed. Then, off Crumby could go, in search of dark skies, anywhere and everywhere, barring confrontations with oceans.

Can a Christian be a Pagan?

How can anyone ask such a dumb question? That's like asking, Duh, Can a Christian be an environmentalist? Duh! Dumb questions and dumb answers really piss average Druids like me, off. Well, if you are especially dumb, stupid and retarded, for the answer to those questions, here's a clue. The answer to those questions is, no. Or, no fuckin' way. Unless you happen to be a retard. If you are retarded, then you can be a Christian, Pagan, Environmentalist, simultaneously, no sweat. Stupido!

It's like I was at the Bloodsuckers fixing to get my blood sucked. So, there I am awaiting my turn. Crumby! Crumby!

The pretty and efficient nurse was calling me. But simultaneously a retard was crying out. But I'm scared. I'm scared.

That's right. The bloodsuckers were fixing to suck blood from a retard. That's right. Somewhere back in one of those little rooms, they had a retard cornered and he was scared. That retard was terrified because he didn't understand what the bloodsuckers were all about. All he understood was, I'm scared.

Fuckin' A. I'm scared. That's exactly why a Christian can't be a Pagan.

What Shoes Should I Wear to Puerto Rico?

Hold it and stroke it gently! The first fact I need to figure out when I am fixing to go off to an island is, Do the motherfuckers have poisonous serpents? Like everyone knows that an island may not have any poisonous serpents. Right. Think Hawaii. Or Ireland. Or, as it turns out, Puerto Rico. None of those islands have poisonous snakes. Correct.

So sensible shoes may not need to up the ante to like, hip boots. Huh-huh. With no poisonous snakes in the vicinity, an average amateur naturalist need not fret over getting bit on the anus or pecker by a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake. Huh-huh. Like regular shoes may suffice the normal average naturalist. Yes. That particular naturalist may go faunching along in the Puerto Rican wilderness, oblivious to getting his ass bit by a poisonous serpent. Praise the Goddess!

So I can just wear some sturdy shoes on the airplane. Those sturdy shoes shall serve for the entire Puerto Rican indoor and outdoor adventure. All righty. One of the great things about vacations is getting to wear one pair of shoes.

Sarcophaga

These are fairly nasty flies. The striped thorax plus red eyes and butt indicate the genus.

185

That’s how many time intervals of the 24 hour variety have passed since Crumby enjoyed a delicious tobacco product. During each of the time intervals Crumby wanted a delicious tobacco product. Sometimes Crumby wanted some delicious tobacco so bad, he was fit to be tied. But Crumby didn’t get any. No. Not a smidgin. Not even a tiny taste, mixed with pocket fuzz, extracted from some jacket pocket. Not a single atom of delicious tobacco crossed Crumby’s lips in all that time.

Obviously, Crumby shall now, never be free of the desire. Perhaps some day, anon, when Crumby is good as dead anyway, on that day, Crumby shall acquire a nice can of Grizzly Fine Cut. Yes. Crumby shall be lying there on his death bed, surrounded by his friends. Go get me some snuff, Ray. Get me the Grizzly Fine Cut in the Red and Black can. If it comes with a free pocket knife, you can keep that particular knife yourself, bosom companion. But don’t use up my snuff. If you want snuff, get your own.

So one way Crumby keeps the demon snuff off is by promising himself some delicious snuff at the very end when nought else matters. Crumby foresees a death bed piled up with delicious tobacco products, giant reefers, whiskey and ammo.

An interesting question is, How many times did Crumby ask the WG, Upup or Jesus to help him fend off the Demon Snuff? Huh-huh. The answer is, none. Crumby knows that the various deities care little about snuff addiction. So getting a deity to help with the Demon Snuff is just weak, or lame. No. You would never see Crumby on his knees, groveling in prayer, whining. Please, please help me. The temptation is killing me. Oh Goddess. Please ease my pain. Waaaaaaaaah!

Disgusting.