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RDCanecutter

Certifiably Surly
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Everything posted by RDCanecutter

  1. Somewhere next to a lake is a bait shop with a drunk guy selling worms, and that guy was supposed to be a senator, except somebody crossed the streams and Tuberville got the job instead.
  2. Well, when you put it that way, keep the sticky dirty public away, and let's eat some oysters.
  3. Give em hell, Dad.
  4. It occurs to me that for a proper Gold Bug thread, we don't have nearly enough whackadoodle subject matter, so instead of cursing the darkness, I will step up and light an eccentric candle. Silver's high. Gold's way high. I don't really want to sell, and I definitely don't want to buy. But I had an idea: I am repricing new art that I sell to take in inflation. Plus, I am odd. So why not have fun, and peg the price of original art to gold and silver? Drawings priced to silver, paintings to gold. (Photoprints are outside of this because I price them based on what the printer charges.) I sell lots of quick drawings for 15 each. That's my 1/2oz silver. If it goes up to 40/oz, make em 20. For paintings, it's a matter of fiddle-faddle to set some rates. I figured out what percentage of $1800 I used to charge, basically up that 50% per painting size category. Old stuff stays on sale, clean it out. I will probably lag in price changes-- no need to change a ton of price tags. Anyway, it's a gold-silver bimetallic standard for a micro-economy. We'll see what happens.
  5. After months without Keytruda, and taking half-doses of Lenvima, got scans. Good Clean Boring Scans. Meanwhile the Let's-See-How-Much-Water-Weight-We-Can-Load-Onto-RD science project is winding down. A week ago I sorta went Bolshevik and told them what I wanted to happen, and dang if they didn't add some drugs that work. Legs are at maybe 75% strength instead of 50, each day a little more of the Swollen Horrors become a memory. Just in time. Two art shows this weekend and I'm gonna find out how low my low gear will go when heaving boxes and tables. Upper body strength is a study in atrophy, but with my freakish pre-cancer-unknown lizardlike powers of regeneration, I expect to harden the fuck up Australia. Plus Mrs. Canecutter has agreed to sacrifice her free time and will be there to keep selling art, should I collapse and start thrashing on the pavement. And it's warm again. Fuck all the bullshit, prepare to counterattack.
  6. At that age my friends and I had all made up fake countries and would do battle Risk-style on a map. A few of us designed coats-of-arms, play money (I tried to spend mine at the mini-mart on a dare,) and who knows what else. Totally would have designed some imaginary ID papers if I were 10 right now. 50% chance would pretend to speak an imaginary language when questioned.
  7. I am holding out for "moral turpitude," pronounced by a judge with an 1835 accent preserved in amber.
  8. Way to get on the wrong side of the Baron's men-at-arms.
  9. It's SW-transplant always-online drunken mumble, slightly emphasizing unvoiced final stops as he attempts to control one testicle intermittently firing off traces of testosterone. tldr/I remember my first beer
  10. Hell, do all that except leave out the family. Just me preaching, with various guests whose job is the STFU and just nod.
  11. Not just that, but I let the dog lick the plate. A dog!
  12. With my Bama tribe, it's always been like that engineering problem where you have to choose two good things and one bad thing. Myself included for the others. On the up side, hardly ever boring, and people at least do what they say they'll do. As far as cutting out people, officially did that once, when a well-educated cousin morphed into a holy-roller horse-paster and was making plans to go visit and breathe all over my elderly mother mid-pandemic. (There is also an aunt and her brood who have taken it upon themselves to be shits to a cousin who came out, but choosing not to talk to them anymore is something I'd do whether we had Trump, Harris, or King Charles.) Winner of the Out-There Award is an elderly cousin who is convinced that any violence at the Edmund Pettus Bridge is due to those people not getting a proper parade permit. When she winds up for a rant, her husband kinda pats her knee and she settles down. Family in Texas went more typically cosplay-cowboy MAGA. Throw in some dubious disability checks, crushing debt from monster trucks, never a peep of thanks for us kicking in on back taxes SO THEY WOULDN'T LOSE THE FUCKING HOUSE, and yeah, we don't build our schedule around get-togethers. There were some really cool ones, but they're mostly dead.
  13. About to eat two eggs over easy, thanks to contacts with Hippies and Sicilians. Maybe I'll just sensuously smear them all over my nekkit body.
  14. The consequences of de-Rednecking the party for 50 years.
  15. RDCanecutter

    LBGTQ

    Can't imagine how you do it, @troph Here's wishing you as much strength and resilience as you need to outlast the bastards. I have been remembering lately the slime in the air when George Wallace was at his worst in the 60s, and as a kid I watched people who seemed normal doing mental backflips to support the caste system. You won't find many people now willing to admit that they backed that. A few years back @Bama Chick rightfully pointed out that School-House-Door-Wallace support didn't drop to a tiny percentage (in Alabama, believe it or not) because suddenly people just treated it as a normal option. It took shunning, and some economic losses as drooling axe-handle types in Georgia pretended to be moderate. Anyway, lots of words to lead up to how I've started to treat Trumpkins this past week. Just like I would a non-senile segregationist. They have come back by playing the hits from 1925 (1825?) "If yew don't like it here why don't yew bla bla bla" except they are smart enough to use current acronyms. "I dunno, I like it here. How bout you drag your ass to Idaho. Take snacks." It is usually a comical old-man squabble. Funny thing though-- there are a shit-load of possible Trump voters who don't want to be that Wallace fan. They lay low, don't support their buddy. A fair number of people I thought were Trumpy based on assumptions, they come out of the woodwork and just needed an ally to say otherwise. tldr/BustEmUp.
  16. Lock it in. In a year that might be half price.
  17. Drank "raw milk," hmm? Maybe. But it kinda looks like "Shh, Daddy's got a headache" to me.
  18. Son if you weren't all ate up with the DEI Woke Mind Virus, you'd know to say "With all due respect."
  19. I dunno, planted an oak tree in front of our old house when I was 5, watched it grow and always felt a connection to it. Tornados wrecked it a few years ago but before that, sometimes I'd swing down that street just to see how big it was. Then park, sit there, and watch the house while saying "tick, tock, tick, tock," no idea why it just felt right.
  20. Me llaman el desaparecido.
  21. How did my kids find me?
  22. Probably I felt the opposite because during one of my few Matamoros visits, I strolled alongside the river for who knows how long. When I get to NL, I truck due south onto the high ground. Maybe it's all about how much river you get close to. I did get a taxi ride in NL with a dude with a great mullet, excuse me, Los Bukis haircut. "I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride" came on and he said it was his favorite song. I said "well if it's your favorite song, turn it up and let's sing it!" Windows down, we howled out "I'm WAWWWWNTED (wanted) DEAD OR ALIVE."
  23. In NL you briefly get the toilet stank right as you cross the river, then it's all dried fruit, AC blowing out of shoe stores, and motor oil from whatever that armored car is that has the big machine gun pointed south into town.
  24. So what do you do? Just slowly walk around with the shotgun?
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