Beer For My Huskies

It doesn’t get much better then this. It is a lovely evening and I am out on the patio typing with a Four Peaks Kiltlifter in hand. Looks like the laptop has lashed up to the wireless network, even way out here in the back 40 (40” in my case, the yard ain’t that big). I am not sure if it is my network or the network belonging to the neighbor who apparently threw the book away before reading the part on security settings. Might as well surf porn on her nickel and have J. Edgar Bush’s top secret phone police knocking on her door. They’ll want to know why she likes looking at hooters, but then, who doesn’t like ot look at hooters?? Hooters make the world go ‘round if you think about it. Boy wants hooters, boy gets job, boy makes money, boy gets hooters, boy doesn’t make enough money, boy loses hooters and throws self out into traffic – the circle of life my friend, the circle of life. Why do I go to work in the morning? So there’ll be hooters waiting when I come home.

Damn that Kiltie’s is good – had to throw that in for my brother. I do have some ribs I could toss on the coals right now, but figure I will save those for tomorrow night. If you live in Arizona and you aren’t drinking a Kiltlifters right at this very moment, or haven’t tried a Kiltlifters, grab the nearest blunt object, smash yourself in the head, then kill your entire family and leave the bodies in a duffle bag down by the railroad tracks. That’s punishment for being an idiot.

Actually I am just kidding about the killing the family thing. We had a DJ out here go on a rant about how you should steal snacks from the gas station because they are stealing from you, noting the obscene profits Exxon made last year and now our sheriff has him under investigation for promoting crime. I am sure he was just lampooning Exxon and did go a bit over the top – you’d think with all the heinous crap going on in Phoenix the sheriff would have enough on his hands without stressing over a big mouth trying to get into young teen girl’s pants by being Joe radical DJ (not bad work if you can get it), but our sheriff, as good a sheriff as he is (like him or not he does an excellent job) loves the bright lights and goes catatonic if he isn’t on the news at least three times a week. Whatever floats his boat, but I want him to know I was maing a jest and not advocating familycide.

Now the sad part, the weekend is coming to a close. Tomorrow is nasty ol’ Mr. Monday ready to plant his pointy shoe right square up your ass. I work on computers, which have been running full tilt all weekend and aren’t getting any younger – that’s like going for a Red Sea cruise on an Arab Ferry – there’s going to be some frantic treading of water involved, or something we in this part of the country we like to call a Missouri Boat Ride. Ah, en’shallah, eh?

Well, time to hit the fridge again. Until next time kids, be sure to drink your Ovaltine and stay off any boats that haven’t seen maintenance since 1972.