Why the maybe week?
Well, if you get this on Thursday or Friday like you are supposed to, then it won’t really be a maybe week, if you don’t get it until Saturday, I’ll try to warn you ahead of time (although me telling you that here, where you won’t get it until afterwards is kind of useless, but this is me talking to myself as much as it is talking to you). And if you don’t get it at all, that will really tell you why.
But, even if the proverbial hen hits the fan right now, I will still hit send and you will at least get something telling you that “Impish has left the building” and that it might be a bit before I return…just so you know.
So, today is Monday, I worked all day, but it is the only night that I have off.
Tuesday I have meetings ALL DAY LONG. Then Izzy has her first driving instruction/evaluation (!!!!!!!!). I have a ministry meeting at 1630, a class at 1800.
Wednesday I have Grief Group at noon and Jail at 1800.
Thursday I have a meeting after work for work and I start FBI for three hours.
In-between all this is stuff going on behind the scenes that I can’t talk about but you might find out about if things fall apart that way.
But right now, something has just come up that I CAN’T IGNORE!!!!
This absolute entitled moronic witch wrote on twitter Terrorism and hate against Tesla owners must end!
This disgusting guy peed on my car while I’m literally paying $60 to park it in a safe garage in SF!!!
Terrorism!? TERRORISM!?!?
TERRORISM???????!!!!!!!
No! Terrorism is when your wife is raped and then murdered in front of you, while it’s being live streamed on her facebook account in front of her whole family.
Terrorism is blowing up a bus full of school children.
Terrorism is flying two airplanes into skyscrapers.
That’s terrorism.
Not somebody peeing on your electric car that probably enslaved children to get made, you entitled, snot-nosed brat.
This is why I can’t be on Twitter or X or whatever it’s called. I went back in my own post and removed her name, and the fact that she’s a Saudi princess or something and should know better (oops).
Okay, so now I’m mad and Izzy is going to have to stop sharing stuff like that with me, but we really need to get to the laughter, so there’s something to laugh at in case the cow pies come home to roost.
I’m so jealous of people who just know how to shut up…..
I shut up and subtitles come out on my face
Getting old sucks.
I used to wake up feeling like a million bucks…Now I feel more like a bounced check
It’s looking more like this isn’t going to go out until Saturday. Today is Thursday and I’m still so very far behind. I’m sorry. I’ll post a quick message…
Another of my baby pictures
If lying was a Job, I know some people Would be Billionaires
Well, it’s not Facebook, but you get the idea!
To a point. We need to have some rules. Civilians are out, even if they are hiding behind civilians. Now, if you warn them ahead of time, like Israel is doing and the civilians still won’t get out of the way of Hamas or CAN’T get out of the way, well then there are going to be civilian casualties. But the key is, you don’t TARGET civilians and children like THEY do. You don’t bomb bus loads of kids. You don’t rape women and live stream it in front of their families. Those rules of engagement are necessary…well, they are unnecessary because (for the most part) I don’t believe that we would do those sorts of things. I know… I KNOW that we have bad apples in our bunch just like everybody else does, but they are the EXCEPTION rather than the RULE. And it’s certainly NOT policy, like it is for THEM.
I’ll stop this right here before it becomes a full blown rant and I start screaming internally!
Fred Gibbs was in his early 60s, retired, and had started a second career in catering. However, he just couldn’t seem to get to work on time. Every day he was 2, 3, or 5 minutes late. Despite this, he was a good worker, really clever, so the owner was in a quandary about how to deal with it. Finally, one day he called Fred into the office for a talk.
“Fred, I have to tell you, I like your work ethic. You do a top-class job, but your being late so often is quite a worry.”
“Yes, I realize that, sir, and I am working on it,” replied Fred.
“I’m pleased to hear that. You are a team player. It’s odd, though, that you’re coming in late. I know you’re retired from the Royal Navy. What did they say if you came in late there?”
“They said, ‘Good morning, Admiral.'”
Saw a sign on a bar that read, ‘If your wife drives you to drink, have her drop you off here
I sat down in the cab of my CAT skid steer as I had done hundreds of times before. I fastened my seat belt, lowered the operator armrests, secured the cab door, and deactivated the auto lock, all part of a pre-start up checklist I fly through nearly on autopilot these days. I started the machine and began rumbling out of the barn doors and down the driveway on a mission to bring a new round bale out to all the hungry horses, but this would not be my day…
Unbeknownst to me, hiding in the roof of the skid loader was a three foot long black snake. What wormhole opened up to magically transport him in there is completely beyond my understanding, but there he was.
In blissful ignorance, I rattled down the road looking on with anticipation as I jammed out to one of Taylor Swift’s latest hits. Agitated with the fact that his house suddenly began to move (or perhaps he did not appreciate my eclectic musical preferences) the snake dropped down out of the ceiling and right down the back of my shirt.
Now, I don’t really have a fear of snakes–in fact I feel like they’re pretty cool–but when something large starts slithering down the back of your neck (taking the scenic route to your nether regions) you tend to freak out a little. Or a lot…
In this case… I’m not proud…. Sadly, however, when you want to flip your shit the tiny cab of a skid steer, you aren’t going to get very far, and your new reptilian friend is not going to be particularly impressed with your interpretive dance moves.
The loader bucket in the way of the door opening. The controls were in auto-lock due to having removed myself from the seat to perform a spirited rendition of the Western classic “there’s a f**king snake in my pants,” and the only way to disengage the control lock out was to sit back down in the seat and strap back in (not a particularly appealing option with the snake now almost completely in my pants and making his way between my legs).
I was hopelessly trapped in a level of hell Dante forgot to write about during his book. Calmly panicking as I weighed my options, I noticed the impossibly small emergency escape hatch. Lacking the ability to kill the snake, teleport, or set myself on fire, it seemed to be the only clear choice.
Never before had I taken such great care when unfastening my belt and the top button of my pants and ever so gingerly slide the zipper south. With the snake and I occupying the same underwear, it was my hope that as I exited the skid steer I could kick off my pants and liberate myself from the 10th level of Dante’s hell.
I pulled the red breakaway handle and carefully shoved the glass outward as I began to inch my way on top of the seat, out the window, and out of my snake infested pants. As if suspended by some sort of invisible cable I managed to levitate (ever so gently) out of the cab and over the engine compartment before making what felt like a ten foot leap into the air and hitting the ground running. I managed to kick off both shoes, part ways with my pants, and fish the snake out of my underwear all while moving like a lightning across the gravel driveway.
As I flung the agitated Nope Rope into the grass, the befuddled and somewhat exasperated faces of my equine companions spoke volumes of the silent judgments they were casting on their half nude pet monkey streaking past their gate. Unflinching they stared on as I continued to make my escape down the driveway shouting a newly invented language. Their rhythmic chewing pausing for only a moment wherein I could almost read their thought bubbles “oh, the poor thing has forgotten how pants work again… Sigh, it is the third time this week… We are surely going to hear about this from the neighbors… And this right here is why the house across the street never seems to sell” The cold uncaring gaze from the minis was perhaps the deepest wound to my pride. “retreating from thy foe? ‘Tis only a pasture noodle… Coward!” It was not a proud day in the house of Kemp.
I come from a generation where exhaling too loudly was considered backtalk.
Well, if nothing else, it is ingenious.
An opinion without 3.14 is an onion.
Think about it, you’ll get there.
Got a couple of robot videos coming up. The first one is very straight forward, but the second one that you’ll get to in a little bit is WAY over the top!
Okay, so I just tried to embed the first one and I can’t so you have to go to this website to view it…but it’s worth viewing, so go ahead…go here.
Okay, here’s the second one!
Okay, it’s almost midnight on Thursday and I think I’m going to throw these in, in no particular order, just the first ones I come to and then close this and send it out as an almost complete issue so it goes out on Friday, even though I sent you a heads up saying it wasn’t going out until Saturday. I’m trying to wind down from FBI tonight (WHICH WAS AWESOME!!!!!!) and eating dinner (which I’m almost done with) since I haven’t had a chance to eat at ALL today until now. So, let’s go with that, alright?
And the perfect place to call it an issue. May God Bless you with peace, comfort, joy, and love until we meet again (hopefully) on Monday.
Dragon Laffs 