The thing has no power. The pellets are plastic. The idea is to scare the little beasts and make them run off somewhere else. Usually they do that as soon as I set foot out back.
So here’s me, cocked my AirSoft Daisy, going out the back door into the cool dark morning, looking for the noisy ones. I saw nothing.
What do I do with the chambered pellet? Here I was looking forward to nailing a cat. I nailed the electric range instead. Perhaps a ricochet, or perhaps the sound startled whatever it was by the fence that made quite a racket trying to escape.
This new computer turns itself on without warning. I’ll have to be judicious with the RJ12 phone line once I get a working modem. I don’t want my computer dialing things when I’m asleep. Like Costa Rica, trying to buy property.
Sometimes you wonder where the time went. All the wheels on the ’91 are clean and sparkling. All the lug nuts are clean and sparkling, too. Silicone-greased, torqued, wheels on the ground, jack, jackstand, wrenches all put away. Except for the lug that the mechanic stripped. That’s a lil’ mystery for me to solve.
Who are these 47 million Americans who don’t have health insurance? And did I used to be one of them? Why, I believe I was. But in college, we had a student service center, where they had doctors to treat minor ailments at a low cost. And in the Army, we had real hospitals, not like you’d want to be in a hospital for anything.
I suspect these 47 million Americans just haven’t played the game right. We are only guaranteed the right to life, liberty and property. What you do with that right is up to you. If you work at a burger joint, you should broaden your horizons instead of waiting for the government to get you health care and a flat screen TV.
When they talk about the cost of health care going up, one of the factors is the improvements in medical science. They sure have some expensive diagnostic tools and treatments these days. All you have to do to reduce the cost of health care is outlaw science. Not saddle the taxpayer with another bureaucracy for 47 million Americans who haven’t yet figured out how to play the game.
The mysteries of our times. It’s not really a mystery. If you want Uncle Sam to take care of you, just find one of his uniforms that fits. After you’ve been institutionalized long enough, you may like it, or you may go find something better. Why are you bothering us?