OregonSalmon
04-24-2007, 12:06 PM
My mind might be lost but I still feel compassion for those less fortunate souls living about Sacramento. For atonment of my growing insanity I will be shipping down razor clams to Kiene's fridge and it will be first come first served. I'm hoping to get a razor clam riot in the fly shop. Hoping it will be worse than Boris Yeltsin pinching the Queens ass.
On the budgie front: the love of my life is a chat pal in Glasgow and her mother has the worst times dispatching the pets. The first was a goldfish who she had decided was in pain so she tossed it on the lawn figuring the sun would put it out of its misery. Didn't work so she buried it alive. Then the budgie looked like it was in pain so once again it was time to meet his maker. The game plan this time: gas. She blew out pilot lights in a gas stove and in went the budgie. Scottish food is bad enough but this was over the top. She and her friend figure the budgie is dead, open up the oven and the bird is still kickin'. The new game plan: drown the budgie. This scheme doesn't work. Gassed, drown and the bird is not going quietly into the night. Then the husband comes home, sees this ongoing tradegy and rings the bird's neck. Finally an ex-budgie.
The moral to the story: don't look ill in Glasgow.
On the budgie front: the love of my life is a chat pal in Glasgow and her mother has the worst times dispatching the pets. The first was a goldfish who she had decided was in pain so she tossed it on the lawn figuring the sun would put it out of its misery. Didn't work so she buried it alive. Then the budgie looked like it was in pain so once again it was time to meet his maker. The game plan this time: gas. She blew out pilot lights in a gas stove and in went the budgie. Scottish food is bad enough but this was over the top. She and her friend figure the budgie is dead, open up the oven and the bird is still kickin'. The new game plan: drown the budgie. This scheme doesn't work. Gassed, drown and the bird is not going quietly into the night. Then the husband comes home, sees this ongoing tradegy and rings the bird's neck. Finally an ex-budgie.
The moral to the story: don't look ill in Glasgow.