Time to lighten up - Laughter is good medicine Part II
- Thread starter Tree Spud
- Start date
AtomApple
5 year old buck +
i played that game in Iowa on Friday from 12:00 AM - 6:00 AM. Decided to tough it out to avoid spending 2 days in an Iowa hotel
Foggy47
5 year old buck +
Really is spooky stuff driving in a white out. I was 1/2 between MN border and DesMoines back in the day.....when a huge blizzard said "no more". I was never so grateful to find an exit off 35W that led to a VFW club.....where we spent the afternoon playing cards and drinking. Absolute white out for several miles.....before finding a glimpse of the exit sign. At any moment......you think your going to smash into something......or something is going to smash into you.....yet you dare not stop. Been in too many to say 'em all.....Bad juju...those storms.
Should be hazardous duty pay for road salesmen. Grin.
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hillrunner
5 year old buck +
sandbur
5 year old buck +
I can remember driving in those white outs while trying to get to a specific farm. Heck, you don’t know if you are within three miles or not. Your nose almost touches the windshield as you keep leaning forward.
Catscratch
5 year old buck +
jsasker007
5 year old buck +
Donkey is right! Leading the sheeple. Reminds me that we're due for another plandemic soon.
jsasker007
5 year old buck +
Criminal
Turkey Creek
5 year old buck +
We have been discussing the finer points of the English language over on another one of my favorite websites. We started with the past tense of the word "skin" and debated on the usage of "skun", as in "I skun my deer already." We have now moved onto debating "Creek" vs "Crick" the following from the late, great author Patrick McManus! As someone on that site pointed out "We must be in the dead of Winter as to the level that posting we have all stooped to." LOL!
"There is much confusion in the world today concerning creeks and cricks. Many otherwise well-informed people live out their lives under the impression that a crick is a creek mispronounced. Nothing could be further from the truth.
First of all, a creek has none of the raucous, vulgar, freewheeling character of a crick. If they were people, creeks would wear tuxedos and amuse themselves at the ballet, opera, and witty conversation; cricks would go around in their undershirts and amuse themselves with Saturday-night fights, taverns and humorous belching.
Creeks would perspire and cricks sweat. Creeks would smoke pipes; cricks, chew and spit. Creeks tend to be pristine. They meander regally through high mountain meadows, cascade down dainty waterfalls, pause in placid pools, ripple over beds of gleaming gravel and polished rock. They sparkle in the sunlight. Deer and poets sip from creeks, and images of eagles wheel upon the surface of their mirrored depths.
Cricks, on the other hand, shuffle through cow pastures, slog through beaver dams, gurgle through culverts, ooze through barnyards, sprawl under sagging bridges, and when not otherwise occupied, thrash fitfully on their beds of quicksand and clay.
Cows should be perhaps be credited with giving cricks their most pronounced characteristic. In deference to the young and the few ladies left in the world whose sensitivities might be offended, I forgo a detailed description of this characteristic. Let me say only that to a cow the whole universe is a bathroom, and it makes no exception of cricks. A single cow equipped only with determination and fairly good aim can in a matter of hours transform a perfectly good creek into a crick."
"There is much confusion in the world today concerning creeks and cricks. Many otherwise well-informed people live out their lives under the impression that a crick is a creek mispronounced. Nothing could be further from the truth.
First of all, a creek has none of the raucous, vulgar, freewheeling character of a crick. If they were people, creeks would wear tuxedos and amuse themselves at the ballet, opera, and witty conversation; cricks would go around in their undershirts and amuse themselves with Saturday-night fights, taverns and humorous belching.
Creeks would perspire and cricks sweat. Creeks would smoke pipes; cricks, chew and spit. Creeks tend to be pristine. They meander regally through high mountain meadows, cascade down dainty waterfalls, pause in placid pools, ripple over beds of gleaming gravel and polished rock. They sparkle in the sunlight. Deer and poets sip from creeks, and images of eagles wheel upon the surface of their mirrored depths.
Cricks, on the other hand, shuffle through cow pastures, slog through beaver dams, gurgle through culverts, ooze through barnyards, sprawl under sagging bridges, and when not otherwise occupied, thrash fitfully on their beds of quicksand and clay.
Cows should be perhaps be credited with giving cricks their most pronounced characteristic. In deference to the young and the few ladies left in the world whose sensitivities might be offended, I forgo a detailed description of this characteristic. Let me say only that to a cow the whole universe is a bathroom, and it makes no exception of cricks. A single cow equipped only with determination and fairly good aim can in a matter of hours transform a perfectly good creek into a crick."
