Good morning, bankers. That's what we - those of us stuck in the 21st century on Earth Prime - call a modified Rebel Yell.
@Rebels57 has a pair sitting there all ripe. I can feel them down in my plums, getting a nice bluish hue, getting ready to take them down to the farmers market.
Let the boy watch.
Then BiggE, Starberry, and then a hop, skip and a jump to
@DancingPanther. So let's get rolling. That's what that douche chef [REDACTED] says on "The Great Food Truck Race." I redacted his name, even though I would never pick him. There's only one pick in the category for me, obviously. I like it when miscreants like
@wankstifier join us in here, but I don't like the naming of names. So everyone who sees this, please just be careful with that, and otherwise knock yourself out with banter except for that which is addressed and prohibited in the large bolded letters of the OP.
Speaking of letting the boy watch, last night out in the barn Woof was sitting there watching as a raccoon ate his food from the bowl. When I opened the door the raccoon slowly walked away toward the back of the building, and presumably slinked its fat ass under the door somehow to go outside temporarily until I got out of his way. It's not a surprise that he neither attacked me nor ran quickly away. For one thing, they are always too fat to reach cruising speed, but more importantly, raccoons and I have always had an understanding. It started as a child, when I radiated constant love toward them, which I am sure they felt in their trash cans and trailer parks both nearby and as far away as Sunnyvale.
The relationship was really cemented permanently when one of them came up to the back door of a vacation house we were staying in down in Florida in 1995. I intuited that he was hungry, because like me they are always hungry, so I gave him a tomato sandwich. It took every singly last ounce of restraint I possessed not to feed it to him directly - I can say with complete honesty that I have never wanted to do something more - but I threw it out on the patio and closed the door. He wolfed it down, and every night after that I threw him tomatoes. I'm sure that reached the raccoon grapevine, so we can all assume that for the rest of our days on this gross garbage planet, we are cool.
So that's the story of me and trash pandas. And Woof.
