Can’t Decide on Coffee or Hot Chocolate? Have Both!

This morning is gray, blustery, and depressing. It is the perfect sort of day to crawl back under the covers and contemplate suicide. I contemplated suicide for awhile, then realized that the family budget would cover neither burial nor cremation. Our family budget would only cover tossing my body out on the pasture for the buzzards to eat. Ewwwww. Perhaps I should contemplate murder instead.

As I was drearily stumbling around in the cloudy dark at 9 a.m. here in the sunshine state, I thought about what would cheer me up. Well. Nuking Washington D.C. would cheer me up, but I don’t even know anybody with their own personal nuclear weapon and, if they had one, they probably wouldn’t let me “borrow” it anyway. I’m really the kind of person that does live captures of assorted insects that make their way into the house and then releases them outside so, even if I did have a borrowed nuke, I wouldn’t set it off. Maybe. It IS Washington D.C., after all.

Maybe I just needed some caffeine and should make a pot of coffee. Or maybe I needed the dark chocolate in hot chocolate. Chocolate is supposed to make people happy. “But why” I asked myself “should I have to choose?” Well. Why, indeed? Why NOT have both?

So, I put on a pot of coffee and looked at the back of my Hershey’s cocoa for the single serving microwave directions for hot chocolate. The directions said to use 2 heaping teaspoons of sugar and 1 heaping teaspoon of cocoa…. WHAT? Have they lost their freakin’ minds? This is NOT a day for weak-ass chocolate. NO. This clearly called for a TABLESPOON (heaping!) of cocoa, and 2 heaping tablespoons of sugar. Wait. Make that THREE heaping tablespoons of sugar. I know it may be a bit extreme, but the people of Washington D.C. should be grateful because, well, you know what alternative would make me happy. I stirred it together with a little milk until it was nice and smooth, poured my Maxwell House coffee into it, stirred it well, then topped it off with whipped cream. Hmmmmm. Okay, 2 tablespoons of sugar would have been sufficient, but we’re talking lives here, people.

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I’m SO Ready for Robin Hood.

I sullenly trudged to the post office this morning to mail our tax return. It was pouring down rain, which was fitting. Having to go pay even more of our income to a parasitical bureaucracy in Washington, D.C. that just spent $5 million on cow eradication on trumped-up charges for the financial benefit of the Reid clan does not make me happy. It therefore seems fitting that today is a shitty day.

Did I mention that the working folk still have to work until April 21 until they reach Tax Freedom Day?

The post office was fairly empty this morning. I handed over my envelope to have it sent certified. “Would you like a return receipt on that, Miz Swampie?” asked the lady at the counter, a long-time acquaintance.

“What I REALLY wanted was to scrawl hate messages all over the envelope. The kindest one would say something like ‘I hope you all DIE IN A FIRE!’” The people in the post office, mostly retirees, looked at me.

“If you did, you’d probably have a visit really quickly from people in uniforms!” said my acquaintance. “Not to mention if a fire really did break out in an IRS office somewhere!” another lady added. Yep. I’m sure a SWAT team would be involved in my questioning then.

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Harry Reid Says This (Bundy Ranch Incident) Isn’t Over

Sources from within the BLM are reportedly warning that a raid is being planned on the Bundy household. I would not be at all surprised.

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Harry Reid Trying to Have Bundy Family Killed?

The BLM (Bureau of Looters and Muggers) just happens to be run by Harry Reid’s former senior advisor. How…cozy. Seems Harry and the Chinese think that would be just a ducky place to put a (worthless) solar farm if not for that inconvenient ranch. Of course, one of Harry Reid’s shady sons is involved.

And journalist Marcus Stern with Reuters also reported that Sen. Reid was heavily involved in the deal as well.

“[Reid] and his oldest son, Rory, are both involved in an effort by a Chinese energy giant, ENN Energy Group, to build a $5 billion solar farm and panel manufacturing plant in the southern Nevada desert,” he wrote. “Reid has been one of the project’s most prominent advocates, helping recruit the company during a 2011 trip to China and applying his political muscle on behalf of the project in Nevada.”

“His son, a lawyer with a prominent Las Vegas firm that is representing ENN, helped it locate a 9,000-acre (3,600-hectare) desert site that it is buying well below appraised value from Clark County, where Rory Reid formerly chaired the county commission.”

Although these reports are in plain view, the mainstream media has so far ignored this link.

The BLM’s official reason for encircling the Bundy family with sniper teams and helicopters was to protect the endangered desert tortoise, which the agency has previously been killing in mass due to “budget constraints.”

“A tortoise isn’t the reason why BLM is harassing a 67 year-old rancher; they want his land,” journalist Dana Loesch wrote. “The tortoise wasn’t of concern when [U.S. Senator] Harry Reid worked with BLM to literally change the boundaries of the tortoise’s habitat to accommodate the development of his top donor, Harvey Whittemore.”

“Reid is accused of using the new BLM chief as a puppet to control Nevada land (already over 84% of which is owned by the federal government) and pay back special interests,” she added. “BLM has proven that they’ve a situational concern for the desert tortoise as they’ve had no problem waiving their rules concerning wind or solar power development. Clearly these developments have vastly affected a tortoise habitat more than a century-old, quasi-homesteading grazing area.”

“If only Cliven Bundy were a big Reid donor.”

Read more at Drudge Report, Dana Loesch, Allen West, and Free Republic. I really believe that they’re going to attempt to kill this family and steal their land and livelihood. Pass the word, do what you can to help this family because next time Harry might want your property.

Here’s more:

B Hunt wrote:

I live in SW Utah. I grew up on a ranch less than 100 miles from the Bundy’s ranch. My father knows Cliven Bundy. I know Cliven’s son Ryan. This is not a hoax, it is an action of force by the BLM.

The BLM was going to sell the cattle at one of the smallest cattle markets in Utah. No cattle markets in Nevada would take the cattle without a properly signed brand inspection (which the BLM cannot obtain without Cliven Bundy’s signature). The BLM paid the owner of the Utah cattle market $300,000 to do the sale (‘R’ Livestock Connection in Monroe, Utah, owned by one Scott G. Robbins, according to the Utah Business Entity Search). Utah Governor Herbert stepped in and forbid them from bringing the cattle into Utah without the legally required health and brand inspections (which again, require Bundy’s signature) and that no feral cattle are allowed to be imported at all (per Utah statute). Because Bundy claims ownership over maybe 350-500 head of branded cattle, the other 500-700 estimated head of cattle would all be considered feral. BLM officially backed off, but we suspect they are still secretly shipping them through Utah without any permission to do so, to “private” buyers in Colorado. The contract cowboys that the BLM hired to do the roundup are from Sampson Livestock in Meadow, Utah (traitors one and all).

From what I understand, Cliven Bundy owns both the Water Rights and Grazing Rights to all of the land where his cattle run. If Bundy failed to use them, the Grazing Rights would revert to the BLM and would be retired, while the Water Rights would revert to the State of Nevada, likely to be sold to the highest bidder (which would probably be a bidding war between mineral companies that are behind this action with the BLM and the City of Las Vegas which is thirsty for water and has had multiple attempts to buy water–through eminent domain from Utah farmers and ranchers–from Utah, which were all blocked by the Utah Legislature and Utah Governor Herbert). Chances are, the BLM has already filed a claim on the water rights so that they can sell to the highest bidder (instead of the state) and are trying to get the cattle off to show that Bundy cannot use the water beneficially (much like what the US Forest Service and BLM both tried to do to Wayne Hage).

Now, for Cliven Bundy, he’s not fighting this for his cattle or his own livelihood. He recognizes that he will probably die before this fight is over. He has said multiple times that he is fighting this to wake people up about the tyranny of the Federal Government and also to help wake up the western states about getting the rights to their own land back from the federal government, which has repeatedly shut down ranchers and closed off land. (MO = 1st, get all the ranchers, farmers, Native Americans, and foresters that use the land for positive, sustainable production off of the land; 2nd, grab up all the resources; 3rd, close off the lands to public access including camping, hiking, horseback riding, hunting, fishing, boating, shooting, etc; 4th, sell off the resources to the highest bidder regardless of what that will do to the land, the local environment, or the economy; 5th, collect royalties on the resources in perpetuity; 6th, reduce and eliminate all SLS and PILT payments to the states, impoverishing them beyond belief.)

Anyway, thanks for posting about this. It is important for us to be able to raise the appropriate resistance.

Read the rest here.

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…I Thought I Was Fat Back Then

Me, Jenny, Josh…Little did I know that even more fat cells were accumulating in a fat account in the Menopausal Universal Bank where they’d be automatically deposited right under my skin one night when I wasn’t paying attention.

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Non-Profit May Not Mean What You Think It Means

“Hey, baby!” SwampMan greeted me as I walked in from Walmart with shopping bags on both arms. For $85.00 worth, I would have liked to have a few more, but noooooo. “Remember how you wanted to experiment with hydroponics and fish, but ultimately decided that it would be too expensive to play with?”

“Unh hunh”, I answered absently as I put away groceries. I don’t know that I ever said it exactly like that. I remember something along the lines of “Why should I diversify into feeding plants with fish shit when I’m up to my eyeballs in rabbit shit, duck shit, chicken shit and sheep shit?” I’m also getting more lbs. of meat/year with my ducks, etc., than I would from the fish. The eggs are better, too. I just can’t do scrambled fish eggs for breakfast.

“Well, some ministry dedicated to helping people feed themselves is teaching people how to set up hydroponic operations, and I think it would be nice if you could take the class.”

“I seriously doubt I could afford it. When does it begin?”

“Next week. Didn’t you hear me? It is a non-profit organization supported by donations and fees. The classes must be free.”

“Hmmmmmph. Non-profit does NOT mean free. It means that it will be supported by the fees for the class, which we will not be able to afford.”

“When did you get so cynical? What about the cost of that class that you were lookin’ at through an agricultural supply company? That was what, $1,000.00? This one has to be waaaaaay less expensive.”

“That one included three nights of hotels and meals, and the entire price could be put toward a low-cost hydroponic system. Businesses can afford to do that because they’ll have repeat customers that will buy their supplies far into the future where they will eventually make a profit. Non-profits will not have a future income stream. They have to get everything possible at registration.”

SwampMan read through the rest of the article looking for the price of the class. It wasn’t there. “Aha!” I said. “If it were free or low cost, that would be in the article.”

“That don’t mean nothing!” SwampMan insisted. “I’ll go to the website and check.”

I continued putting things away. After a few minutes, SwampMan said “Oh. The class is over $500.00. Per person.”

“Figured it would be pretty pricy!” I agreed.

“Well, much as I would love for you to be able to take it, what with taxes bein’ due and all, looks like we won’t be able to pay it.”

So there you go. A promising career in hydroponically-grown produce and fish has been tragically destroyed before starting.

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Had to Skip That Beachside Restaurant Today

Today was going to be a calm, peaceful day with SwampMan back at work. I’d tackle Mt. Laundry, vacuum, sweep, clean up some dishes, feed some livestock, then off to the beach I would go. It would be so peaceful. Just me, the raucous call of seagulls, and all the tourists in shorts with pale legs, black socks and sandals. It didn’t quite go as I planned.

I’d been feeling some right anterior knee pain since jumping from the back of the truck Friday. I was limping through the vacuuming, trying to decide if the pain was severe enough to stay home. Nah. If I had any difficulties, a mojito or two should take care of it. Then I got to the dining room.

Daughter had tried to disassemble a donated Play and Pack for my house/use that she had assembled. She couldn’t get it to fold back up. “Don’t worry about it!” I told her. “I’ll work on it when you go home.” She gave me a sceptical look because she KNOWS that I have this ADD problem in that I will work on it for about 45 seconds before moving on, and I rarely read directions. That was about a week ago. Or maybe it was two weeks ago? Regardless, I’d had other things on my mind, like fetchin’ and carryin’ for SwampMan. So there it still lay on the dining room floor, a big old obstacle to be avoided. It didn’t really bother us that much because SwampMan had been eating in his lazy chair.

I tried several times to fold that dang Play and Pack up, failing each time, as daughter had previously. Aw, crap. I was going to have to *sigh* read the directions.

I completely assembled it, then started the step by step disassembly. I got to the same step in the process where daughter had been unable to continue and, big surprise, I couldn’t continue either. One side just would not fold. I cursed at it helpfully to try to motivate it, but nothin’ doing. That sucker was not moving. Perhaps if I stepped over it and tried it from the other side. Unfortunately, it was upside down at the time, and my heel came down on the wheel locking mechanism which was pointed up instead of down from that angle.

I said a few more curse words, then tossed that sucker into the office. I was going to have quite a bruise on my heel from the feel of it. Then I went outside to take out the trash and hang some laundry on the line to see if I could get it to dry before the thunderstorms came in. I came inside to find that I must have dribbled some tomato sauce on the floor from the trash bag because there were red splotches on the kitchen floor and continuing across the carpet. DAMNIT! I was NEVER going to get to the beach at the rate I was going. I grabbed a rag and some carpet spot remover and crawled around the carpeting cleaning spots, then went for the vacuum. Coming back, I noticed more red splotches. How did that…..then I raised my foot and actually looked at my heel. Blood was dripping from a nasty-looking cut. Ewwwwwwwww. I’d been blocking out the pain of the supposed bruise but seeing it actually all bleedy made me acutely aware of the throbbing. Dang. But thanks to SwampMan’s knee surgery, we have some really big bandaids! I felt MUCH better when I couldn’t actually see it bleeding anymore.

I needed to go ahead and get the chickens in the pasture pens fed and watered before I left. It was supposed to turn stormy with thunderstorms and possible tornadic activity in the evening. Call me crazy, but I’d rather be inside than outside in that sort of weather. I was walking alongside one pen when a small rooster came running up squawking in terror behind me, lept over my foot, and bounced off the wire on the side of the pen. I was staring at it thinking “Whuuuuuut?” when WHAM! I found out whuuuut. The big rooster that had been chasing the smallish rooster flew at him with his spurs, but the little rooster, not being a big fat dumbass like me, was not there. My right ankle was. SonuvaBITCH! I didn’t even have the satisfaction of kicking his tail because he realized immediately that he had done screwed up and spurred the chicken reaper. He ran off in the opposite direction as fast as he could go.

I finally got my chores done, but decided against going to the beach. I didn’t think my right leg could take any more trauma today. I didn’t want it hit by lightning, stung by jellyfish, or tasted by a shark.

SwampMan came home from his first day back at work about an hour late. He walked in with a smile on his face. “You look like you had a good day today!” I exclaimed. “No pain?”

“Not at all! My students and former students came by to see if I was okay today. Several of them remarked how much better I am this time! How was your day? Did you make it to the beach?”

“Well, my day was about the same as usual. And no, I didn’t make it to the beach.” I told him about my day.

“It sounds like somebody needs to be taken out for dinner! Are you ready?”

“Yes. Yes, I am!”

And the best part? With my ankle and heel throbbing, I don’t even feel the knee pain.

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