They ought to change the name of Washington DC to something like Johnson, DC after LBJ.

It would be more fitting.

It's a sensible thing to do when you think about it. George Washington was an honorable man and set several precedents of civilized political behavior that we follow to this day. Having the biggest snake pit on the planet named after him just isn't right.

On the other hand, Johnson, DC seems more fitting.

Lyndon Johnson was a snake and a snake pit like DC would be a very fitting memorial to him.

Lyndon Johnson gets credit for signing the Civil Rights bill of 1964 and became a hero but if you look at his record as a senator he voted against just about every piece of civil rights legislation that came down the pike.

Truth is, Johnson signed a good bill for the epitome of the wrong reason. He signed it to assure he would get votes in the upcoming November election.

The man was quoted as saying to a pair of governors aboard Air Force One, "When I sign this bill we'll have those ni&&ers voting Democrat for the next 200 years."

Of course it can easily be argued that his Great Society package insured that blacks (and other people of low income) would continue to live in chains. They would go through life shackled by the golden handcuffs of welfare and governmental dependence.

Of course it is somewhat common knowledge that he, through his wife, owned a pretty good chunk of Bell Helicopters and that the Vietnam war he escalated was a helicopter war...

He won his Senate seat back in 1948 by a scant 87 votes and privately used to brag about the stolen ballot box. 

It was often said that he told his campaign manager back in Texas to spread word that his opponent had enjoyed carnal knowledge of his barnyard swine. When his campaign manager said, "We can't just come out and call this man a pig f***er," Johnson is reported to have replied that they could certainly make him deny it.

We ought to rename our national snake pit after Lyndon Johnson. Name it Johnson, DC.

Maybe a few years down the road when the dust settles and the deeds of the current Commander in Chief come to light we can rename the capital again.



To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html

Back in the service I was on radio watch in operations

Apparently there was a radio in the back of a jeep and the driver wasn't sitting in it because someone picked up the handset, keyed it and said, "Short!" meaning they were getting out of the army soon.

Of course, the Battalion Commander was in the operations tent with me and got upset. Rather then quietly sending out a reminder for people too watch their equipment he picked up the handset of my radio.

"This is Colonel Blair," he said. "Who said that?"

"He did!" was the reply. 

"Who are YOU?" the colonel demanded.

"Not the guy you're looking for, Sir." said the second voice.

"Well, who did?" snapped the colonel.

"SHORT!!!," said the first voice. "And I'm not stupid enough to tell you who I am.

I recognized the voice. It wasn't one of ours and I realized just who it was. It was a guy in an entirely different outfit.  He had been in our unit but had been rehabbed to another outfit. He was getting some payback. He was in a grunt outfit now and they were also in the field.

He had gotten into some small trouble that didn't amount to a hill of beans but the BnCO had decided to use him as an example and raked him through the coals with a draconian punishment. 

He had been in our battery's commo section and after he got punished the First Sergeant had quietly gotten him out of the battery on a rehab transfer and apparently he was doing fairly well in his new outfit. Word was he had gotten his rank back.

I had a pretty hard time keeping a straight face after I had figured out who it was.

The colonel asked me for a list of the entire battalion radio list and one right after the other had them check in to try and figure out who it was. Of course, he was unsuccessful.

When it was done, the voice reappeared. "This is Eagle Six and I'm STILL short!" He had just used the colonel's personal call sign.

The colonel blew up royally with that. 

I did a pretty good job of keeping an indignant and offended look on my face while this was happening even though I liked to have about wet my pants. It was downright funny and I played hell keeping a straight face.

What was interesting is that my Battery Commander quietly left the tent after giving me the look of a man that knew who the desperate criminal was.

A minute later I was relieved of radio watch and headed outside where the Battery Commander and I exchanged looks. "That sounds a lot like Fernandez," he said. "But I can't be too sure."

I nodded. He knew. It was Fernandez. "Anyway, whoever it is has the BnCO fit to be tied," I said. "Out of school, Sir, I'd have let the 'short' slide if I were him."

The BC said nothing for a moment. Then replied, "Sometimes you have to let a small thing slide."

A couple of hours later a new voice was heard. They had all the credentials and called in a fire mission for the guns. B Battery was scrambled to fire it but was almost instantly ordered to stand down in no uncertain terms. 

 In less than a minute I heard the S-3, a major, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He had located the target on the map and instantly realized what had happened.

Some GI likely bent on revenge for getting booted out had called in the coordinates for the Peppermint Lounge.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html

You will get an 'F'. The whole class would get an 'F'.

I am tired of the failures at life dragging the rest of us down.

1. You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift.

2. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong

3. You cannot help the poor man by destroying the rich.

4. You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred.

5. You cannot build character and courage by taking away man's initiative and independence.

6. You cannot help small men by tearing down big men.

7. You cannot lift the wage earner by pulling down the wage payer.

8. You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than your income.

9. You cannot establish security on borrowed money.

10 You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they will not do for themselves

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@


"I am for doing good to the poor, but...I think the best way of doing good to the poor, is not making them easy in poverty, but leading or driving them out of it. I observed...that the more public provisions were made for the poor, the less they provided for themselves, and of course became poorer. And, on the contrary, the less was done for them, the more they did for themselves, and became richer.” Ben Franklin.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@


There has been an email going around for years about a professor told the class that they would all receive the same grade. He would average all of the finals and give every student the average grade.

That to me is a no brainer. Had a professor told me that, I would have gotten up then and there and gone to the office and dropped that class like a stone. It doesn't take me a whole lot of thinking to see an upcoming 'F' when I see it.

The scenario there is the lazy students wouldn't crack a book and the motivated ones would. While there would likely be a few students there that would bust their asses to learn the materiel there would be a pretty good sized chunk of those that would not.

The lazy students would drag the hardworking students down and the result would be failure.

I am getting more and more tired so to speak of sitting in that classroom busting my ass taking notes and spending nights burning midnight oil just to have to share my work with those that are too lazy and stupid to work.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

The other day I ran into a guy that got into this business at the same time I started and in the same company. We acutally filled out our pre-hire paperwork together.

We worked together for a while and while I had my nose in a book he was ridiculing me for wasting my time. Now he hates me bacause I am more successful then he is. If you think I ought to split the differences in our pay to make it fair, you can kiss my ass. He had the same chance I did and he blew it.

I busted my ass and studied, took the appropriate tests with the Coast Guard and got licensed. He's still an ordinary seaman.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

I'm sick and tired ot being forced to share my pay with the lazy. I used to be charitable until I decided the government was just taking my money from me and giving it to someone else that was too lazy and stupid to earn their own.

If I was walking down the street with a liberal and snatched his/her/its wallet/purse/grainaol bag and pulled out their money ahd gave it to someone walking by they would likely go stark staring bonkers. Yet these same people condone having the government take my money by force of arms and giving it to someone else. It makes no sense even though its the same damned thing.

I am growing to quickly hate an awful big percentage of the so-called poor. First of all there really isn't a whole lot of true poverty in this country. Look at the EBT card users sometime and most of them are just plain fat. You don't see a lot of people that look like they just got out of Auschwitz, Dachau or Bergen-Belsen.

They're not poor.

Why is the government giving these people free phones? I have to pay for mine and on top of that, I have to pay for theirs. 

The so-called justification is that they need them to look for work. Fat chance. I'd bet that over 99% of the calls they make are to gossip, buy/sell contraband and order pizza because they are too lazy to cook for themselves.

And I'm paying for it.

Over the years I used to donate to various charities but as time has passed I have stopped donating to most of them because the government has gone into the charity business. 

These days the only charities I donate to are those that do things for animals because when you take care of an animal he's grateful. People just want more. 

Truth is if you want to hear it is that if I had to choose between saving a cat and saving a most people, I'd save the cat and have a friend for life. If I saved one of the 47% they'd just take me for granted and likely sue me because the rope I threw them hurt their soft little hands.

I saw the results during Katrina. The welfare mother brushing off the offered MRE with the comment "That's just cold army food." Never mind that the troops live on those for months on end. Was she expecting a steak dinner?

I also saw some celebrity there that took the proffered MRE and was damned grateful for it.

Truth is we're doing it all wrong. We should be feeding the troops steak dinners while they're depolyed overseas. We should be making every effort to give them good, hot meals between patrols.

We should be issuing EBT card holders 21 MREs per person per week, period. I get frustrated picking up a pound of hamburger and seeing a fattie with an EBT card picking out a nice Black Angus steak, which I am paying for.

Frankly I'm tired of it. I'm also tired of seeing people get disability because they have a problem that keeps them from working when they are perfectly capable of having a job.



Here's one from Ted Nugent:

I like big trucks, big boats, big houses, and naturally, pretty women.

I believe the money I make belongs to me and my family, not some midlevel governmental  functionary with a bad comb-over who wants to give it away to crack addicts squirting out babies.

I don't care about appearing compassionate.

I think playing with toy guns doesn't make you a killer - I believe ignoring your kids and giving them Prozac might.

I think I'm doing better than the homeless.

I don't think being a minority makes you noble or victimized. I have the right not to be tolerant of others because they are different, weird or make me mad.

This is my life to live, and not necessarily up to others expectations.

I don't celebrate Kwanzaa but if you want to that's fine, just don't feel like everyone else should have to.

My uncles and forefathers shouldn't have had to die in vain so you can leave the countries you were born in to come disrespect ours and make us bend to your will, get over it.

I believe that if you are selling me a Dairy Queen shake, a pack of cigarettes, or hotel room you do it in English. As of matter of fact, if you are an American citizen you should speak English. 

I think the cops have every right to shoot your sorry ass if you're running from them after they tell you to stop if you can't understand the word 'freeze' or 'stop' in English, see the previous line.

I don't use the excuse "it's for the children" as a shield for unpopular opinions or actions.

I know how to count votes and I feel much safer letting a machine with no political affiliation do a recount when needed.

I know what the definition of lying is, and it isn't based on the word "is"-- ever.

I don't think just because you were not born in this country, you qualify for any special loan programs, gov't sponsored bank loans, etc., so you can open a hotel, 7-Eleven, trinket shop, or anything else while the indigenous peoples can't get past a high school education because they can't afford it.

I didn't take the initiative in inventing the Internet.

I thought the Taco Bell dog was funny.

I want them to bring back safe and sane fireworks.

I believe no one ever died because of something Ozzy Osbourne, Ice-T or Marilyn Manson sang, but that doesn't mean I want to listen to that crap from someone else's car when I'm stopped at a red light but I respect your right to.

I don't want to eat or drink anything with the words light, lite or fat-free on the package.

Our soldiers did not go to some foreign country and risk their lives in vain and defend our Constitution so that decades later you can tell me it's a living document ever changing and is open to interpretation the guys who wrote it were light years ahead of anyone today and they meant what they said -- now leave the document alone, or there's going to be trouble.

I don't hate the rich.

I help the poor.

I know wrestling is fake.

I believe a self-righteous liberal with a cause is more dangerous than a Hell's Angel with an attitude.

I own a gun, you can own a gun, and any red blooded American should be allowed to own a gun, but if you use it in a crime, then you will serve the time.

I think Bill Gates has every right to keep every penny he made and continue to make more, if it makes you mad, then invent the next operating system that's better and put your name on the building. 

I don't believe in hate crime legislation. Even suggesting it makes me mad. You're telling me that someone who is a minority, gay, disabled, another nationality, or otherwise different from the mainstream of this country has more value as a human being than I do as a white male, if someone kills anyone, I'd say that it's a hate crime. We don't need more laws! Let's enforce the ones we already have.


I think turkey bacon, turkey beef, turkey fake anything sucks.

I believe that it doesn't take a village to raise a child -- it takes a parent with the guts to stand up to the kid and spank his butt and say "NO!" when it's necessary to do so.

I'll admit that the only movie that ever made me cry was Ole Yeller.

I didn't realize Dr. Seuss was a genius until I had a kid.

I will not be frowned upon or be looked down upon or be made to keep silent because I have these beliefs and opinions. I thought this country allowed me that right. 

I will not conform or compromise just to keep from hurting somebody's feelings. 
I'm neither angry nor disenfranchised, no matter how desperately the mainstream media would like the world to believe otherwise.

Yes, I guess by some people's definition, I may be a Redneck.

BUT THAT'S JUST TOUGH !!!
                                                                                                                   Ted Nugent





To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html

Sometimes I wonder about those people that make lists of stuff every guy should own

I just saw one and the first thing it had was a black tailored suit.

What would a guy that doesn't run around saving the world from Extra-Terrestials want a black suit for? I suppose with a black suit, a cheap pair of sunglasses, a hat and a narrow tie I could drive around Chicago in an old police car putting the band back together, maybe. Still, I don't need one.

Another item was a good chef's knife, the kind you see on TV wielded by freaked out women in grade-B horror movies. I have one, but generally I cook with either a camp knife I have or a KaBar I picked up in my travels and keep sharp. I don't do a lot of mincing when I cook.

Last time I cooked for guests I used the KaBar and the ribs just came out fine.

Another item was a two hinged corkscrew that I do not own. Instead I either use a butterfly corkscrew unless it is champagne I am opening in which case I use my hands and I DO let the cork fly. Of course, I don't drink champagne.

Another item was a bar set. I have a bar set. It consists of glasses, a bottle opener and ice cube trays. If you want a fancy drink made at the Piccolo house you get handed directions to the nearest cocktail lounge. The exception is I will cheerfully make you a hot buttered rum.

Also listed was a bottle of good booze in case the president shows up. If the president shows up he ain't getting my good booze. He ain't gettin' any of my booze. The closest thing he's getting from me for liquid refreshement is a canteen cup half full of water. That's if he's DAMNED lucky.

The good booze at the Piccolo house is there for when I show up, and there generally is a bottle or three.

There was also a requirement that one has a set of bedding and I do. They are neatly folded in the closet where they have been for years and will likely stay for years until I am dead and gone because I don't like crisp sheets. I make my bed using either flannel sheets or soft blankets for sheets. They're soft and I like it better than crisp sheets.

Another thing is an iron and ironing board. I own both of these but generally do not use the ironing board as a blanket on the coffee table work just fine.

A tool set. Yeah, right. The picture shown is one of those housewife kinds they sell for $20 and the tooks suck. I have a took BOX that is 6 feet long and 5 feet high and full.

Good underwear. Of COURSE I have good underwear. What if I got into an accident and had to go to the hospital? Then the doctor would know I come from a good family and try harder to save me. My momma didn't raise no fool.

Matching dishes. Three sets. One made out of the stuff they make dishes out of, another set of blue enamaled steel for daily informal use alone, and a nice set of matched stainless steel surplus mess trays that are used for those slap up meals that generally accompany some sort of moving around  activity.

The stainless trays are great for an activity where my guests are on the go. Just pick up your whole place setting and move to where the action is.

An umbrella. Yeah right. Try a good GI poncho. A lot better than a bumber shoot because you can wear it. It covers you any your stuff a lot better and yes, I have worn a poncho over a jacket and tie. 

Jumper cables. Yeah, but not cheap ones. GOOD jumper cables.

A French press. Yeah, sure, Kid. Have a nice cup of Joe right out of Piccolo's percolator. If you don't like it, Starbucks is up the street.

Sunglasses. Yup. Ray Ban aviators. THe kid got that one right.

A weekend bag. I got one, it's been all over the country. Eat your liver, Pamela Anderson. It's made of leather.

Cologne. Those are not three dollar bills in my wallet. I use deodorant and sometimes Old Spice. Period.

Brown dress shoes. I have black dress shoes and a pair of cordovan penny loafers. Good enough.

A flashlight. I have several spread out all over the house. The kid got another one right.

Sports equipment. I'm 62 years old. I have a baseball bat to chase kids off with. The sports I like are pheasant and deer hunting and hilltopping. I have the clothing, firearms and radios for that. Which reminds me, I'm opening up a new summit when I get off. Activating it, actually because I'll be the first to set up shop on the mountain.

Good socks. The kid shows dress socks and I have a couple of pairs tucked away. Most of my socks are thick cushioned because I actually walk places.

A cast iron skillet. He got that one right. Most of my meals involve mine one way or another. Get two. One for baking with.

Still, most of the crap he listed Isuppose is good for some kind of metrosexual kind of city guy, but I am Old School and too practical.




To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html

I have written about the baseball game of about 15 years ago

 when I hit the winning home run through the neighborhood grouch's window. Of course, in accordance with the rules of sandlot baseball I ran like hell for the woods like the rest of the kids did. Not one of those kids ever ratted me out which says something.

I have also mentioned that a couple of the kids sometimes stop and chat with me and that some of them are damned near 30 years old.

Anyway, one of them is getting married and I do not know why, but he asked me to attend the wedding. I am scheduled to be at sea, though, so I'll miss it.

I did get invited to a half-assed bachelor party, though and I accepted. It was supposed to be a night out at a strip club, compliments of the groom to be's friend.

Marvelous. 

I don't really care too much for strip clubs as when you have worked in one you see the other side of it and I really didn't like what I saw. It's been three decades since I have been in one other than ten minutes in Lou Turks, which I spent 10 minutes in about ten years ago. Curiosity had overwhelmed me. I have driven past it for years but never stopped in and one night I did on impulse.

I ordered a coke, took a couple of sips and left after a quick look. 

I can't see why the young guys would ask an old goat like myself to go out for a night on the town with them but I decided I would just for the hell of it. I was curious. 

These guys didn't seem like the strip club type. Actually they were somewhat nerdy to tell the truth, but I figured it was just someone's bright idea. Someone got the idea and the rest of them went along with it.

Anyway, I decided to go for a couple of reasons, one of which is because I like the groom. He's a pretty good guy. I was also wondering if I still knew how to get every dancer in the joint to head straight to the table I was seated at.

"Bring a couple hundred bucks in ones," I told the groom's friend. "And you're driving," I added. 

"A couple hundred in ones? He asked.

"Yes. To tip the girls for coming by our table. I would bring a stack of ones myself but I am a Democrat and believe in spending someone else's money." I replied, smugly.

On party night I drove to the driver's house and parked. We picked up the rest of the guys and off we went. They took me to a place well off the beaten path and when I asked why we were not going downtown they told me that most of the clubs there were pretty much BYOB clubs.

We arrived. The place was out in BFE. We very well may have crossed into West Virginia. It was a real dive. It looked like it had been last remodeled back two weeks after Carol Doda got her world famous boob job. 

In a way it was smart because out of the city things tend to be easier and there is somewhat less hustle like there is in the city. On the other hand, it's a pretty good bet the local gendarmes are watching the place to bag drunk drivers.

Still, I didn't get a twitch about the place and I have a pretty good nose for trouble. It seemed safe. I looked around and it wasn't a busy night which was a plus.

Of course, if you are reading this, you were not there so I can get away with telling you that the girls there were as hot as the ones you see in strip clubs in the movies. They were. Really. Movie starlets. Anyway, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

 As soon as we found a table I got up to use the men's room and passed by the bar and had a quiet word with the bartender. I told him that I was to get no alcohol in my drinks. He was a pro and knew the drill. He called a waitress over and passed the word on to her.

I got back to the table in time to get the first round of drinks, ordering a  double Beam, neat with a water chaser. The drinks arrived, I knocked the double watered coke back, put the empty glass back in her tray and ordered another. When it arrived I knocked it back and put the glass back on the tray.

Of course the young guys ordered either beers or the mixed drinks that seem popular these days. Their eyes opened wide as they saw an Old School guy knock back a pair of doubles. Little did they know.

The guy that had invited me pulled out the wad of ones and stuffed in his shirt pocket. I did a thing that took good old fashioned gall. I reached over and yanked the wad out of his shirt pocket , peeled off about half of it, held it up and shouted.

"Yaaa-hooo! Let the ass kicking commence!" and started dancing in my chair. "Yes! Yes! Whisky for me and my friends!" In an instant I noticed the bouncer eying me which meant nothing so long as I didn't cross the line.

The kid next to me took my cue and let out an Ellie May Clampett whistle and the pair of us looked at the other four that seemed a bit shy.

The rules generally seem not to have changed much. Keep your ass in the chair, don't get grabby, too sloppy or break anything.

The nearest dancer come straight over to the table where she danced for us for a minute. I stuffed a couple of bucks in her G-string and the procession of dancers began coming over to the table.

I overheard one of the younger guys say to the other, "Piccolo sure knows how to get the women over here!"

It didn't take long for the somewhat nerdy guys to catch on. 

You have to take into account that these guys were not the hard men and bad boys of the French Foreign Legion nor were they brawling commercial fishermen or merchant seamen. (The kind of people I'm used to drinking with) These were fairly straight suburban kids whose parents had kept after them.

They'd done a limited amount of partying in college, I'm sure. This was actually a double edged sword. Generally they avoided trouble, but kids like this that get a snootful can get jammed up MOST riki-tik. There is something about kids like that that says 'easy mark' on them.

I was totally astonished they didn't have a designated driver picked out ahead of time and I made it a note to do some serious ass chewing further up the road.

It took the 5 of them maybe 2 1/2 to 3 hours or so to get plastered and drop their wads and we stumbled out. I stuffed them into the car, making sure the guy next to me had his head out the window in case he puked. The rest of them I stuffed into the back seat as best I could. Then I started to drive them home.

I really didn't know the way home. My plan was to head east until I crossed I-79 and then pick it up somehow.

 I made a wrong turn or three and whipped an illegal U-turn to get back on track. I figured it wouldn't matter in the light traffic but some policeman with nothing to do at the time thought otherwise and came out of nowhere. He turned on his lights.

"Rollers," I said and three of the five paled. "I got it, stay cool."

I rolled down the window and the cop took one look at us. "Out drinking, huh?" he asked.

"They have, but my grandson had enough sense to call me to scrape him and his friends up to stay out of hot water," I replied. "I'll take his friends home and park my gransdon on the couch and tell my daughter-in-law we were busy flying model airplanes or some such crap."

"You cover for him?" asked the cop, with a touch of disapproval in his voice.

"He's a big boy. He covers for me," I shot back, "We got each other on speed dial. He scraped me up a couple weeks ago  at the strip club down McKee's Rock."

The officer chuckled and reached for the license I offered him. While he shined his flashlight on my face, he had the beam lowered to keep it directly out of my eyes. I knew he was checking me for signs of drinking. 

I looked at the kid next to me and quietly saw his hand go out the window in front of his face and I knew I had trained him well. He was sticking his finger down his throat and he vomited loudly. It was then I knew my good training had paid off. It got the officer's attention and he grimaced.

The officer glanced at my license with his flashlight, handed it back as the kid vomited again. He shook his head, "Better you than me, Pal. Stay safe." 

We drove off and the kid riding shotgun looked at me with a
self satisfied grin. He was punching his way out of the fog.

I was still lost for a while but then I picked up on a landmark and put it on automatic pilot and drove them home and dropped them off. My pickup had been parked in the driveway of the guy that owned the car and I drove home.

While I certainly wouldn't have gone there alone, it was fun. Three of the guys were kids I played that baseball with with so many years ago and we see each other seldom. The game and the resulting neighborhood outrage has been a special bond and it is fun to meet then now they are grown up.

When I got home I had a pretty good sized belt.

 One of them drove by the house the following morning looking like hell as I was in the driveway drinking my morning coffee. He slowed down and waved and truth is he looked like he had to puke again. I, of course, looked no worse for the wear. 

The passengers side of the door looked had somewhat of a smeary stain on it. I figured he was going to stop at the car wash on the way to work.

I wonder what's going to happen when they start talking and he reports he saw me the following morning looking as fresh as a daisy.

There are a couple of them I am going to chase down and chew out for not appointing a designated driver early on in the game. Not doing so was a crock.

Still, I guess they got a charge out of an old man that hadn't forgotten how to raise hell in a low-rent dive strip club.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html

Thank you, Mr. President. Now please go away for the rest of your term

Thank you for driving my neighbors health care premiums up to three times what they were. 

While we are at it, my primary care physician out and out quit. 

Most likely he's opening a small concierge type practice where he takes cash or maybe private insurance. Why not? His loans have been long paid off and he's in a position where he can. He can make a pretty good living with a practice like that with a lot less hassle. Furthermore he can practice medicine the way he should instead of having to answer to the insurance companies.

My dentist has done this for years now and will only work for cash or whichever insurance he feels like taking. I can't blame him. He works out of his house.

A couple of the guys have reported that their kids are having trouble finding full-time work and one has been hired full time and was told outright he will be reduced to part time when Obamacare kicks in.

Add to that the number of employers that are doing away with insuring their employees families and are only insuring the employee himself or have jacked up the family plan rate.

Bet you they never thought of that when they came up with that expensive, unaffordable monstrosity and decided to ram it down the throats of the unwilling American public.

Affordable healthcare my ass.

Unintended consequences.






To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html

I could write a damned book about a pickup I owned

 for a while. It was a '62 Dodge half-ton stepside with a Slant-6 engine and from the time I first got it until it wound up at Smokey's dump my life was chaos.

I won it in a poker game one night and collecting it was a hash. I was the out of towner and when it was time to settle up the loser tried to back out.

It was a strange game as I was trying to lose the last $20 I had to my name because I always seemed to land in the gravy when I went broke. Instead of losing I came out 250 dollars, a banjo and the pickup ahead.

I had played it smart when the owner of the pickup went bust and offered the truck. He lived a couple of blocks away and I told him to get the title. Then I loaned him $100 on it and inside two or three hands the truck was mine. 

That's when I quit the game. I got up, pocketed the cash, picked up the banjo, and held out my hand.

"Keys....Thanks...Bye." I left instantly, fired up the truck and left the area quickly. I was gone before they knew it and headed north to a girlfriend of sorts I was welcome with at the time.

I wanted to get out of the area and away from possible sore losers.

When I arrived at her place she greeted me with a smile and told me that someone was looking for me and when I got inside her place I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the message she had taken and on the spot I had a job framing an apartment building going up nearby.

From there I took the truck to a wreckers and built the wrecking yard owner a new counter and did some repairs in trade for a gently used Slant-6 engine. One of his regulars custmers saw me work, checked out the job I was doing and hired me to do a couple of things for him.

I was paid in cash and he beefed up my rear springs. As I was finishing up, one of HIS customers saw me and hired me to do some work. I got more cash and a camper that fit the pickup so now I had a portable place to live.

For the next 4 or 5 years that truck took me on some of the most whacked out adventures of my life. It went up up the Alaska Highway twince and down it once. 

I might post an episode of these adventures from time to time.

I think I did post about taking it to Las Vegas and the three ring circus that was.

As for the banjo, I found out it was worth something a few months later. I wound up selling it for about $375 and a couple of carbide circular saw blades to some hillbilly that sure could play it.

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To those liberal democrats, don't worry

. Hillary will most likely 
be the next president. You can relax now.

The time is right for the Republicans. It looks like there are enough people disgusted with President Obama that are looking at a change in leadership. The Republicans are pretty much in a spot where they are being handed the presidency on a silver platter.

But don't worry. Hillary is probably going to be in the Oval Office after President Obama leaves. It's a pretty good bet.

Why is that? 

Because the Republican leadership is stupid, that's why.

What is the likely scenario is that Republican leadership will present us with a candidate that will do exactly what the last batch did. They will alienate the voter base because they do not know how not to.

Rick Santorum is a classic example of this. He was squeaky clean and had a lot of initial support. He was in a position where all he had to do was keep his mouth shut.

(I wonder about people that clean. Abe Lincoln once said, "He who has no vices probably has no virtues.")

He alienated the gay community right off the bat with a bunch of homophobic crap. Next he alienated half the voter base by dragging in the abortion issue into things. That in itself was more than enough to insure that he wouldn't win in the primaries.

The stupid bastard went straight to our bedrooms and started telling us how he would legislate things there. Fat chance he was going to go anywhere. This was a classic case of someone talking their way OUT of the oval office.

He's no exception to the rule.

The other candidate that came to prominance last election was Herman Cain, a black conservative with a pretty good record in the private sector and quite possibly would have done a pretty good job in the White House. His job had been rescuing failing companies and he was pretty good at it.

Then again, Cain was stupid enough not to think that his enemies would not investigate the hell out of him and he had a history of being grabby with women. Another one bit the dust.

Actually with Cain'e background I'd bet that if he had kept his paws to himself and run he likely would have been in office now. His skills are likely right up the alley for getting the economy up and running. He very well may have jumped in and gotten the ball rolling towards getting people back to work.

Still, he was stupid for underestimating how far his enemies would go to dig up dirt on him.

Instead the people reelected Obama and here we are.

Another thing the Republicans have done with their burning desire to legislate morality is to create another party, the Libertarian party that is pretty conservative but spun off ot the Republicans. They did this most likely because they were fed up with the Republican party trying to enforce morality.

I tend to identify myself as Libertarian and no little part of my choice is based on the aforementioned reasons. I simply do not like to see government sticking their noses into the bedrooms of consenting adults.

Likely in the future the Republican leadership is going to err again and I think that there is a pretty good chance that Christie will wind up running against Hillary.

Of course, if Christie wins it will be a liberal victory, anyway. Christie is Republican in name only. If he wasn't he would not have been elected in New Jersey.

Hillary will get elected and will keep spending.

After all, the Republicans are going to do what they do and drag abortion, religion and the gay community into things, alienate the voter base and lose again. 

My prediction is that we're going to be going deeper and deeper into debt until the entire economy collapses and we're all back to the Dark Ages watching the nightly news while sitting in candlelit caves.



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Sometimes nothing is a real cool hand.

Like the time I decided to fight a $2 parking ticket in Kodiak.

To this day I don't know why I got one as when I saw it in my wiper blade I reached into my tool box, got out a tape and measured to make sure I was within a foot of the curb. I was about 11 inches so I was legal. I just think the meter maid had a bad eye or something.

I left the pickup there and got a camera and took a couple of pictures with the tape measure because I was annoyed and then and there decided to fight it.

I sent it in requesting a trial date and was given one and reported into court armed to the teeth with pictures and escorted by a trio of somber men in suits. The prosecutor took note of me and wondered what it was all about. 

When my name was called I went to the table in front of the bar and my trio moved into the front row behind the bar. One of them handed me a briefcase and I opened it and withdrew a thick stack of pictures.

He looked at the docket, turned and asked me if this was over a parking ticket.

I said it was and he declined prosecution right then and there.

The Magistrate, a woman with a German accent looked at me curiously and asked me if I had a minute, which I did and asked me to stem into her chambers with my evidence.

She looked at my pictures and asked, "What's this?"

"Red Swayze's dog," I replied.

"And this?"

"Tom Murphy's boat."

She looked confused. "Do any of these pictures have anything to do with a parking ticket?" she asked.

I showed her two pictures of the tape measure, curb and tire. She nodded. "The men in suits?" she asked.

"A couple of my friends," I answered. "Moral support."

She looked at me, trying unsuccessfully to surpress a smirk.

"This two pictures would have won you the case," she said. "Why did you bring all of these extra thing to this courtroom with you that had nothing to bear on the case?"

"Because the prosecutor didn't know what it was," I replied. "I figured he might decline if it looked like I'd steamroller him. Sometimes it is best not to fight if you can avoid it and still win."

She started laughing outright and shook her head.



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Interesting morning already.

I just got a report that someone I deal with sometimes is sporting a fading black eye and has changed for the better. He's one of those guys that has a reputation for being profane and pretty foul to people sometimes.

I have had no problem with him over the years because I brought him up short when we first met.

Apparently he ran his mouth where he shouldn't have and someone just popped him. It will be interesting to see if he learns from this.

Along the same lines I just heard that a Greenpeace ship, Arctic Sunrise, has been seized by the Russians after crew members had boarded a Russian oil drilling rig to try and shut them down.

It will be interesting to see how this plays out because Arctic Sunrise is now en route to Murmansk. It looks like the Russians are not playing around. The crew may very well find itself paying the Gulags a visit for a while.

Over the years the Greenpeace people have gotten away with what amounts to piracy for too damned long and it's long past time since someone brought them to task for it.

I imagine that a couple of college age kids are going to wind up in the Russian judicial system and are going to have a hissy fit and run their mouths about how unfair it is to be taken to jail for saving the world. 

They'll shut up soon enough if they get any real time. Truth is I'd like to see the look on their faces as reality sets in. It's funny to watch.

These people are going to find out that there are consequences for their actions. For too long these people have gotten away with what amounts to piracy and getting brought to pay for it is long overdue.

I'm no fan of ecology raiders and the whaling of endangered species but it is no justification for piracy. 

I wonder how many of the young people involved in this piratical activity have never been disciplined as kids. Probably none of them because if they had been taught that there are consequences for actions that they likely would have opted to find another way to protest.

In a way I don't look at the kids as being responsible because truth is they are victims of bad parenting. Maybe the Russians ought to offer to let trade the detainees for their parents and try them for bad parenting.








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One of the things that I see in the background

 is a show about repossessing stuff, boats and airplanes particular. I repossessed a boat once but I won't post about it here. All I will say is that it was a wet, wild, scary three day ride. 

I wasn't paid for it, either. It was one of those things you do because it was the right thing to do. My payment arrived a year or so later in the form of a post card from the Solomon Islands. I had helped a guy live his dreams and that was reward enough in itself.

Let's leave it at that.

In other news there is a story in the news where two guy with handgun permits killed each other. Of course, the people that predicted Dodge City are gloating over it but they forgot a couple of details. One of the guys was the agrressor and the other was defending himself.

That reduces the number of illegals involved to one.

There is also the rest of the story. If you figure that as of a couple years ago there were six million people licensed to carry firearms and that the number has increased there along with a few other states that have loosened the laws it's likely over seven million people licensed to carry. (update: Nine million as of now) 

Add to that the entire population over the age of 21 that reside in constitutional carry states where no permit is required to carry.

One guy with a permit committed a murder and the other seven million licensees plus the populations of four states behaved themselves, I'd say that is a lot less of a murder rate than the rest of the people in the country can boast about.

On the other hand, Chicago has arguably the most restrictive gun laws in the country and yesterday I read where it was reported to be the murder capital of the entire country.

Go figure.



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Recycling is a joke in places.

I was reading an internet thread from people all over about recycling.

A lot of it is done on a municipal level and a couple of people report that they are required to separate the trash from the recyclables only to have both containers dumped into the same truck and hauled off to the landfill. I'm not surprised.

Sometimes I separate my cans from the other stuff and bag them up  and toss them into the shed and when I have a few bags full it's off to the scrap yard for a few bucks. Al least some good comes from it.

Still, in places where they send more than one truck around to pick up trash and recyclables I wonder. They send an enormous truck out that likely gets about 4 or 5 miles per gallon burning diesel to spend an eight hour day to collect a couple of hundred bucks worth of cans and bottles.

That doesn't sound green at all.

Right now there are a number of hybrid cars out there that cost a lot more than their conventional counterparts. They cars get much better mileage but most have a lot less power. Fine. If you drive responsibly you don't need a lot of power.

Still, these hybrids cost a lot more and if you look at the construction of them they use rare metals that have to be mined somewhere. That doesn't sound too green, either. Maybe it's a wash, maybe it isn't.

Still, it's likely not all it is cracked up to be.

There are a lot of pretty gullible people out there.



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The other night I saw an interesting Guiness advertisement

. It was one of those ads that sneak up on you.

It is a game of wheelchair basketball which can be one of the most brutal sports known to man. I have seen a couple of games and on my best day I would not dare to play with the guys I watched. It is a no holds barred game and probably closer to being a Pier 6 brawl than a sport.

You put 10 handicapped guys with attitudes in wheel chairs on a basketball court and about the only thing rougher is a Christian fighting a lion.

Anyway, the ad begins with a brutal game of wheelchair basketball and ends with 9 of the guys getting out of the wheelchairs The10th guy, who really is handicapped rolls his chair to the locker room with everyone else.

That's when it occurs to you that the guy who is handicapped is one lucky bastard because he has 9 good friends. Friends that would get the hell beat of them just to play with their handicapped buddy.

Guys are like that. They show a lot of tough love and when I have been at shooting matches there are a number of handicapped shooters. Generally they simply get treated like equals.

When a real obstacle shows up everyone pitchs in and gets him across the creek or rough ground and then just lets him do what he can. They don't coddle him, they let him keep his pride and they bust his chops the same way they do everyone else.

I once held the first of a set of double doors for a guy in a wheelchair. He passed through and thanked me. When he went to the next door I sat there and waited. He was a new casualty in from Afghanistan and fairly new to being wheeelchair bound. I just expected him to return the favor and hold the second door for me.

Of course, someone tried to jump in and to the handicapped guy's credit, he told the person to butt out and use the other door. The doo-gooder looked shocked and went over to the other door.

He had a bit of a time getting the door open and when he did he jammed his wheelchair into place to hold the spring and  I slipped in between him and the wheelchair.

I thanked him, and he told me I was welcome.
A couple of mintues later the attempted do-gooder tried to chide me about not holding the second door for the guy I told him to urinate up a hawser. I told him that giving a guy his pride and confidence in himself mean't a whole lot more than fawning all over him.

By treating the handicapped guy like an equal I gave him a sense of pride and confidence that the do-gooders in this world never seem to understand.

Some people expect nothing out of the handicapped and generally get nothing. I expect excellence out of them and generally I get excellence.


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A couple of the guys were yakking

 about their kids and one of the guys has a pair of daughters that are doing excellent in college and both are getting marketable degrees.

I was sitting there reading a week-old paper which means I was being coy. The guy with the two daughters wondered if there was anything he could do to help them get a jump start in their careers.

The degree is imperative in their fields. Both of them will have that when they graduate. So will everyone else in their class. 

From the back of the paper I said, "Tell Julie to lose 20 pounds and get Janice's hair fixed. Get both of them trained somewhere in professional fashion and the use of cosmetics."

"Whaddya ya mean by that?" he snapped, angrily. 'You want me to make my daughters look like a couple of whores?"


I lowered my paper. "Not whores, idiot. Attractive polished professional women. If you polish them up a bit they'll have a lot better chance of getting ahead," I said.

"They'll have degrees," he said. "Marketable ones, too."

"You said you wanted something extra to get them ahead. You asked and I told you. Every single kid they graduate with is going to have the same degree they do. People gravitate to attractive people. Attractive, confident people get treated better and generally get further in life," I said.

"It's all about being good," he said.

"When you had that payroll problem a while back, who did you go to see, Beth or Joanne?" I asked.

"I went to see Joanne," he said. "Everyone says she's pretty sharp."

"Everybody's wrong," I said. "When I have a problem I see Beth because she gets the job done faster. Joanne simply had your money added to your next check. When I needed grub money shuffled Beth had me squared away right then and there and made sure the square-up on my paycheck was right. No waiting, no errors."

"The guys said," he started before I interrupted him.

"Joanne dresses well and makes herself attractive. Beth looks like an old maid schoolteacher. That's why the guys like her. Joanne's OK. She gets the job done, but Beth gets it done with a whole lot less trouble. Still the guys flock to Joanne based on appearance. Pour yourself a cuppa mud and let's look at this from something besides your dim daddy of two girls hillbilly eyes."

He sat down and I proceeded.

"Look, you're running a truck stop and need another waitress. You have 3 applicants. One is 100% honest, one is pretty honest, one is shaky. Which one would you hire?"

"I'd hire the honest one. How about you?" he asked.

"The one with the biggest tits," I shot back. "The system of checks and balances will keep them honest enough and I want someone slinging hash that'll get those truckers to keep coming back and chowing down on the leftover dog food meat loaf at $10 a plate."

"Yeah, but we're not talking about being a waitress," he said.

"Right and we're not talking about beehive hairdos, push up bras, open blouses and shoveled on truck stop waitress makeup here, either. Incidentally what works at Mel's Diner doesn't work at an upscale restaurant, either. A local family dining place nearby just let a bartender go for showing up with too much cleavage showing."

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Uh huh," I said. "They let her go but they put in a good word for her with the owner of a joint a couple of miles away that caters to a different crowd where it's appreciated. For the place that let her go a busty Betty-Lou and 'What can I getcha, Hon?" doesn't work.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said.


What we're talking about subtle polish. A smudge of makeup here, a wisp of pastel eye shadow there. " I answered. "A polished professional appearance will take someone a long way." I said.

I continued. "Companies are hiring both the ability to do the job they were hired to and to represent the company to the general public. The ability to attend seminars, meetings, speak publicly and put the company in a good light in addition to what they were basically hired to do." 

"Look, we're just ordinary people," he said. 

'Yup, that we are," I replied. "Trick is to take an ordinary country girl and shine her up a bit. Ship 'em off to charm school and they'll do just fine."

"I suppose I ought to have a word with Julie to lose a few pounds," he confessed. "What do you think a course in that kind of stuff would cost? I mean about clothes and stuff?"

"It's going to be a tough row to hoe," I said. "Julie has that kind of weight that's going to be hard to lose, but it will certainly help. As for Janice she ought to do OK, just polish 'em up a bit," I answered.

"As for finding someone that can teach the kids how to dress, I don't have a clue, I continued, "Years ago there were a lot of finishing schools but I haven't heard of one in decades. Besides, most of them were geared to women becoming WIVES of big shots. Maybe there's a course at school that will at least get them started. Incidentally, we're not trying to turn them into stuffy little twits so much as give them some confidence."

They don't seem to polish people up in college these days and God knows they don't in public schools but they still seem to do this to a certain extent in Old School private academies. The reason they make the male students there wear a jacket and tie to classes is to get them used to it to the point where they don't think of it and take for granted that it's what they will wear in their careers.

Part of the reason successful people often have successful kids is because they can afford to school their children in places that train them for success in the first place.

Incidentally the services tend to provide a pretty good finishing school. It goes for both men and women. People that make it to captain generally have been polished up enough to play the game.

They at least know enough not to show up for an informal Friday barefoot in cotoffs and a T-shirt. They know that informal means one step down from their usual uniform.

The Fortune 500 companies know this and recruit from junior officers that are serving to pay off ROTC college loans or otherwise have no career plans with the service. An awful lot of these people get fast-tracked business.

One of the things that a country style background IS helpful with are the situations that come up from time to time that even the finest academy doesn't teach.

They can handle common everyday problems a whole lot easier. A country girl can often put her two little fingers in her mouth and let out an Ellie May Clampett whistle that you can hear for blocks. It's a very useful skill for hailing a cab in the Big City.

**************************

I'll add another thing. I'm lousy with dress clothes. When I need a decent outfit I get my kid sister on it because she's got a good eye for things. She makes me look good.


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When I first got my cell phone I got a lot of strange calls

until I realized that the number had likely been some criminal's burn phone so I said the hell with it and became a criminal.

Why not? "Where do you want me to meet you with the stuff?"

When I didn't show up and they called me back I blamed them for being in the wrong place and threatened to have them whacked. The counter threats were pretty good, too.

Whoever had this phone number before me likely got the living daylights beat out of him.

Whoever had the number seemed to have a pretty good variety store because the calls were not all for drugs. They were for women, too.

After a week or so of playing pimp I bored with it and decided to be someone else for a while. I became James Michael Tipperton IV, the CEO of the Tipperton Securities Exchange. Actually I became Mr. Tipperton's butler.

It was fun being Tipperton's butler and I remember more than one confused caller. Imagine being some kind of druggie looking to score and instead of dealing with the usual greasy little street corner thug, you are talking to the butler of James Michael Tipperton IV.

I remember telling one druggie that appeared to be a supplier that Mr. Tipperton was certainly not interested in street grade pharmaceuticals  as he had a personal doctor that would prescribe him anything he wanted.

The calls dropped off rather quickly but there were odd ones dribbling in for about a year or so. It's been a while since since the last one so I suppose the number is now mine.

I can't say I miss the calls. I don't. Still, it was interesting being called a drug dealer over the phone for a couple of months.





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So here's another Sunday morning

Yesterday I met with a guy I know that sometimes reads the inane drivel I spout here. He read yesterday's post and asked me if I really tell people stuff like "Tell him I'm busy with some babe that showed up in a Ferrari sporting a $40,000 boob job."

I told him I do from time to time because it is so far out there and unbelievable that inevitably someone believes it.

I suppose because my general aura is easygoing and kind there are people that misread it and assume I am a pushover.  I think that the hippie chick in the table next to us assumed that because I saw her listen to our conversation and I saw her glare at us.

I guess she didn't like hearing what we were talking about and it really wasn't any of her business. I briefly considered saying something so outrageous that she wouldn't be able to contain herself but decided against it. I just continued and shortly thereafter she got up and left.

She probably got into an '87 Honda Civic to go home and braid her armpits or something like that. It was obvious she couldn't afford a Prius.

You can say whatever you want about babes with $40K boob jobs and Ferraris all you want. Truthfully they are not my style, but I have to give credit where credit is due. The babe is doing her best to present a good image of herself. 

The hippie chick seemed to be taking the opposite tack for some unfathomable reason. She really looked like hell and I knew she was trying to make some sort of a statement like 'beauty is only skin deep'.

I suppose that in itself is true. We've seen pictures of celebrities without their movie magic on and many of them are really nowhere near as attractive as they appear on the silver screen.  Beauty IS only skin deep.

On the other hand, ugly is to the bone.

It wouldn't take a whole lot for that hippie chick to at least shave her damned legs and pits and find a somewhat different outfit to wear. Burlap went out in '74. 

She'd gain at least some credibility if she put a minimal effort into making herself at least minimally attractive. 

Then again, I suppose that even is she did go out and get a $40,000 boob job (and a face lift, tummy tuck, butt lift and whatever else they can do these days) and pour herself into a little blue dress it would be a waste of time, effort and money.

She'd likely still be the angry, belligerent hippie chick she is now.

On the other hand she wouldn't be as difficult to look at and someone might even take her seriously.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&



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It is good having people trained.

I had guests in last night and while 2 were regulars and knew the score, the other two were new to the Piccolo household and surprisingly came pretty much trained.

It was a couple and he wanted to get some time on an HF rig and the wife came along for both the ride and as a designated driver in case we got into too much beer.

That's always welcome unless it's a guys night out which this wasn't. 

Anyway, he was supposed to simply use my transceiver and learn a few things. I wanted to stay in the background, at least for the later part of the evening during the scheduled drill we had last night.

I told him that if anybody wanted to talk to me to tell them that I was busy with some babe that had just stepped out of a Ferrari sporting a $40,000 boob job.

The wife was funny. She looked at me and wryly asked if she should have dressed like a hooker.

Good point. Sure, why not? I looked at her head to toe and told her she certainly had all the right parts and that I could think of a couple outfits she could stuff herself into to play the role. She blushed a bit but she was amused and actually knew how to take a complement. She is really quite attractive.

It's fun having good people around with a sense of humor.

As I sit here I can see the neighbors go nuts if she did walk into the house dressed like that, but without her husband. They pull up, he drops her off and she comes in and hangs out for a couple of hours. 

Maybe sit down and balance her checkbook, write out checks for the family bills, make up a grocery list, watch a little TV and then before she leaves we muss up her hair, smear her makeup a bit and and wiggle her clothes around so they don't fit quite right and she leaves counting a wad of cash.

Of course, if she doesn't have enough time to hang around, that's OK, too. She simply enters through the front door, heads straight to the bathroom and puts on a pair of jeans and sneakers and I sneak her out the back door and she cuts through the woods and gets picked up a block or two away.

The next morning, being trash day, I just stuff a mannequin in the trash with the legs sticking up out of it.

Of course, that would get a few of the neighbors wagging their tongues, but the truth is that after 20 years of having them as neighbors they wouldn't bat an eye. The would simply wonder what I was doing this time.

Incidentally, last night was the night of the Big Giant Ecomm Drill and while my guest got some hands-on time running the rig, I stayed at the keyboard watching the progress.

The rules were that the internet could only be used to post progress reports and it was amazing how fast things spread. The original plan was that we were going to basically work CONUS but a few minutes after things started Hawaii checked in as having received the message. 

The message spread like wildfire all over the place and it was astonishing how fast things moved. In about an hour just about everyone had the entire message, all over the country.

My inbox was stuffed with people checking in to let me know they had gotten the word and who they had passed it onto.

An interesting night.






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Tonight is an ECOMM drill that has been planned now for over a mionth

One or two of the guys are scheduled to show up here and I hope the guys haven't scared him off.

The last time someone came over he told me that a bunch of the other guys emailed him to tell him not to park behind the Ferrari and to check out the hot women that drop by.

"You should see the woman that drop by Pic's place! Las Vegas showgirls!"

"Check out the boobs on the tall redhead if she shows up! They must have been designed by an aeronautical engineer! Betcha she's got 40 grand tied up in that rack!"

"When I visited him some babe showed up in a limo and told him the Lear jet would take them to Europe in a couple of days!"

I don't mind the guys doing things like that to me because I generally do it right back to them. It's half the fun.

Anyway, I hope that they didn't scare him off.

The one that almost got me into hot water a few years back is when some sicko took a picture of me at Camp Perry and photoshopped a couple of bikini clad lovelies on either side of me. From a glance at a distance it looked pretty good until you got close enough to realize the women were both in their 80s.

Then it didn't look too good. I almost caught hell from the Mrs. for that until she looked at it close and figured out it was a smartass photoshopper.

Anyway, the drill is to see how quickly we can relay a message from NH to CA and get a return message back to NH.

After that we will try spread the message to anyone out there that has a shortwave by having them listen in on us.

I am the one that planned this drill and what is cool about it is that I really don't have to do a whole lot. I'll just sit back and watch things go and coach a couple of newbies and answer questions.

I like setting things up so that no one person is needed to accomplish the mission. You do this by making sure the guy at the bottom of the chain knows as much about what is going on as the guy at the top does. It makes the team virtually unstoppable.

It doesn't matter it the team loses its leadership because the next guy down the chain can keep the rest of the team going.

One major that ran an outfit during the Guadalcanal campaign said that making sure everyone knew what was going on had insured his success. The lesson has paid off dividends time and again in both the military and private world.

Right now there is a show on in the background about deep sea salvage which sounds interesting.

What to me would be more interesting is blowing out an oil well fire. Just once I'd like to go on safari with Boots and Coots or someone like else that knows what they are doing. It sounds interesting.

They generally blow the fire out with explosives. When the charge goes off it sucks all the oxygen out of the air for a nanosecond and the fire goes out.















To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html