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RDCanecutter

Certifiably Surly
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RDCanecutter last won the day on March 14 2023

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  1. I don't so much party as drag one foot through an alternate universe and just sorta hang out in both. but yeah man any Surlsters that pass through The Ham, gimme at least a day's heads up, and I'll show you around if I'm not knocked out by some cheap-shot affliction.
  2. That'd be the ending in my novel: Vladimir Putin saves the US, digs out the nests of pedophiles, and gives vengeance to the abused. Y'all would LIKE LITERALLY never see it coming.
  3. Ignore the Doug Jones stuff in the article. We aren't there yet. But the situation could develop. What's up right now: Vicious-Ass Possibly Smart Most Likely Psychotic Alabama Gubernatorial Candidates Are diggin into Florida Tubbs tax records. Mr. Al Capone used to have a house right up the road in Mountain Brook. He dressed so well, was so polite. Wonder why he stopped comin' round? https://www.alreporter.com/2025/11/17/tubervilles-eligibility-crisis-dark-money-surge-and-jones-wildcard/ Democrats here, as is tradition, can best hope for "less bad." But a tag team of Republicans citing the law against the Archduke de Maga, I mean shit that's almost like we clicked the ruby slippers and we're back in Kansas pre-Trump.
  4. Possible brain tumor recurrence plus heavy-hittin cancer pills plus middle of flu recovery blood pressure waffling up and down and maybe too much Sri Racha on them dumplings and my wife got them nice LEGS don't she there she is walkin to that fridge where the BEER is yes don't mind if I DO it's like a scholarship to UT in the 90s when everything was already kinda expensive but you could still drink day-to-day off finding 20s on the sidewalk. And they were there, if you'd just look. They were there.
  5. Yeah. Oh HELL Yeah.
  6. Kiddie-creeping is the third rail for MAGA candidates. Trump has been operating like a Vampire lording over mesmerized servants. This is the part in his Mexican Horror Movie where Santo looks up from the 600 year old codex, stares at the camera, and says "Ahí tenemos el Rey de los Robaniños-ES EL TROMP." Next up panning montage of Trump servants, guards, hoodlum layabouts just *snap out of it* and snatch up the local equivalent of a pitchfork. Joined by some skinny hippies with reedy voices and a gospel choir of joyous Sistahs, they surround El TROMP who hisses and darts from window to window at Mar-A-Lago. Just as the freed former minions crash through the barriers, we hear a muffled roar from inside the boat house, and with the bull-like burst of twin 4,000 hp Nachomama hydro-jets, Trump and any of his non-stoned sons ESCAPE into the drear Atlantic. Anguished voices arise, but just at their loudest they seem to fade. Instead of noise there is silence. The low sun behind them leaves an explosion of color, just the same as the ancient blind priest saw as a child over his home in Hiroshima. No one notices the old man, who kneels, placing one palm flat on the sand. His sightlessly scans the Eastern skies, finds something, and whispers. His voice, instead of fading, is picked up by small gusts who hand it off to steady breeze who expand it to huge brutal Nor'Easters in their aerial ice palaces when ZWACK some of the braver ones salute and dive straight down. El Tromp notices the water spout forming aggressively off the port bow. "Look at that dumb water tornado. SAD, pain in the ass. C'mon. go around, point the other way. 'Starboard?' I dunno, I speak American. Right, yeah right, go riiiight." EL TROMP grabs the railing as the 4,000 hp Twin Nano-Tuned Vyper-Detailed Twin Nachomama hydo-jets spin the ship in a starbord bank that would have thrown a lesser man into the deep, had El Tromp not smashed his bone spurs into the Vintage Mongolian Cherry-wood parquet and thereby gained two more anchors that gave him the grip of a giant, dripping, Numidian Cliff Spider. Yes the Numidians love him. The Waterspout lags far behind them. Very fine people, the Numidians. There is squabbling, the boys. They're boys, they squabble. Numidians, fine people, strong people-- wtf feels like the wind is coming straight down-- a Numidian walked up to me, crying from his eyes, he said WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON-- I SEE GIANT FUCkIN JAWS and we we w are Inside them CHOMP An ancient beast the size of an office-block rises from the depths from which he had been called. The creature seeks out his old friend among the milling humans on the coast. The old priest whispers, miraculously reaches the sea monster, the gorilla-whale, and share a smile. Then the creature rips a colossal shart, and debris mixed with orange streaks swirl out into the Gulf Stream. FIN FotografÍa: Raul Martínez Solares Productor Ejecutivo: Mario A. Zacarías
  7. I was kayaking down Barton Creek. Leslie was paddling a shiny canoe upstream. He said "HEY MAN YOU WANT A BEER." I said "Yeah!" Then Leslie gave me a beer.
  8. Well dammit. put him in some tight swim suit because we don't need the fish all getting anal cancer too. Seriously, nuke it from orbit.
  9. There but for the grace of God go I. Couple of decades ago, was not really into my job and ready to drift, Because I was a driftah, yeah. Anyway, had good record in Military Police, spoke OK Spanish. Border Patrol was hiring. I may not have still been in now, but shitty soul-killing encounters aren't exclusive to now. This dude wouldn't have cracked up unless he knew inside that many of his deeds were wrong.
  10. I expected more bass from Magua.
  11. MTG and Boebert are on my card if I ever get dropped into a bar brawl backed by two house reps. (Sorry Dems, y'all just wanna talk.) With these two women I'm guaranteed a win-- Boebert goes Feral Corpse Rat droppin to all fours and biting chunks outta shins, shakin her head and growlin, givin my pansy ass the safe opportunity to throw some cheap-shot throat punches. As more come at us I just turtle up until I hear MTG go into hulk mode, then gtf outta the way as she crashes past. Maybe open a beer and watch, then clock anybody on the back of the head who tries to get up. Stay down, fool, stay down. Meanwhile halfway across the wrecked room Boebert's still got those rat incisors going like fava beans and a nice Chianti sa sa sa, and MTG in her red rage has got her mitts on two kegs putting those Orangutan back muscles to work. Victory is inevitable but the danger is not over-- until the red mist leaves their minds, they are likely to turn on friend or foe. Best to throw a box of donuts out in the parking lot and ring the dinner bell,
  12. Check out Skippy deLachecul there at the end casting warding spells to see off attacks on his master.
  13. Splain Loocy. nm/I googled. Mireille or French cleavage. That came out after I did the basics, and right before it was looked down upon for accurately portraying mid-80's life, including the creeper professor.
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