Random Nuclear Strikes

So yeah, as you can see by the late posting time, today sucked ass.

Not sucked in a ‘My truck broke down’ or an ‘The pipes froze and burst’ sort of way, it was just a general, all around, crappy day that began shortly after midnight.

So, now that I’ve had my bacon and eggs dinner (better known to daycrawiling types as “Breakfast”), I’m going to hit the hay and hope to wake up to a better day tomorrow (better known to the daycrawlers as “This Evening”).

In lieu of any substantive posts, I’m going to bribe y’all with some day early tunage. And not just any tunage, the only song that could make me laugh after a day like I’ve had. It is rather offensive to just about everyone who isn’t in on the joke, so there’ll be no playing this at work and then coming back here and whing about how this song got you disciplined. Got it?

Hell, just the title could be considered offensive and I know the band who recorded it has offended just about everyone at some point or time.

So here you go:

A Lap Dance is So Much Better When the Stripper is Crying – The Bloodhound Gang

And now off I go to sleepyland.

If you feel the need to check it out beforehand, the lyrics are below the fold

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Due to my recent move, I have tripled my commute to work from eight miles to twentyfour. It is all done after the main afterwork rush is over, at around 2000 hours and except for about four of the miles, they’re all freeway.

My truck, a full sized, late model F150 gets decent mileage, approximately 18-20 MPG, but I want to keep the miles off my truck since the guys at the dealership always HAVE to double-check the odometer when I take it in for its free oil changes every 3K, and especially since my account with FMC has now been paid in full.

So I am casting about for a good little highway roller with decent mileage. My problem is that I know exactly what I want but the wife keeps telling me, in no uncertain terms, “No”.

Her reason for the negative answers are quite one dimensional and not unfounded and they are as follows: Part of the reasons the move was such a chore was that we both collect a lot of stuff. Her stuff categories into religious artifacts and movie memerobilia and mine is firearms, music and car parts.

Now the firearms and music are quite know around these parts, but I have been keeping the automotive stuff under wraps as I don’t want to get too wrapped up in them until I have time to devote to them. They are marked, catalogued and mostly well cared for.

They are also all Toyota performance pieces. And that it is the rub: both of the cars I have in mind are Toyotas and she knows that I have a plethora of go-fast gear for either of them.

I am not even supposed to go quick anymore (there is a difference between ‘fast’ and ‘quick’. Trust me on this). It is some sort of motherly protection that I should have recognized when I saw the smile on her face when I brought the truck home that evening from the dealership.

This instinct has been bearable for the last couple of years because I didn’t really get to put my usual amount of yearly hours behind the wheel, making the addiction to velocity easier to bear. I also haven’t had a lot of cash to go spending on cars what with my other addiction to custom firearms coupled with my truck payment (I’m not like Mr. Kirk who very recently took delivery of his new beastie).

But this new, longer commute has given me the worst case of ghost-clutch I’ve had in years. I pity the truck’s left-side kick panel and it is a damn good thing they don’t put the hi-lo beam switch down there anymore.

I know guys, I should have hidden the parts better and never spoken of them to her, but when she asked what is in those boxes, I couldn’t lie to her. She is the knower of all truths (or so she says, anyway).

It’ll be a couple months before I can work up the cash for either of the potential daily runners and I think that, in time, she’ll warm to the idea of at least one of them, most likely the Series 2 Celica

And most likely because it looks tamer than the Series 3 Corolla GTS

Even though it’s (potentially) not

But she had better be careful to specify which Celica I can get or I might just come home with one of these bad boys, you know, for safety reasons, because it rains alot around here. Yeah, that’s the ticket!

A Celica All-Trac. The car that was the Subaru WRX 10 years before the Sub-standards had the balls to put a turbocharged, all-wheel drive machine on the street (and that can still walk most WRX’s, on or off road).

But the All-Tracs are a rare beast and a bit on the pricey side. Plus, I need to swap the driver-sdie seat out before I can comfortably fit in one. Which isn’t too much of a problem, seeing as how I have a Recaro, a couple Sparco’s and even a very comfy Corbeau folder available.

But knowing me, I’ll probably end up with the Series 2 Celica Supra.

Then I’ll just have to fight the urge to plop in the 7MGTE that I…may…just…have sitting somewhere on an engine stand unbeknownst to the wife.

OK. I’ve got to get some rack time. I could, quite literally, and have, talked about Toys for days on end. Maybe more in the future.

Of RNS Blogstation Tacoma.

As requested by my fellow RNS poster, David, I finally have pics of what is swiftly being labelled as “The Men’s Room” by the Analog Wife. One of the things I wanted to do after our time at the range on Saturday was invite Rivrdog to Mi Casa Nuevo, but since most of the house still looked as if the moving van had exploded, I abstained from doing so, but now everyone can get a peek at at least one of the rooms. All the pics are ‘Clickable’.

As you enter the room, in the corner to your right is the blogstation, with music at my left hand and firearms of often told tales to my right. I was hoping to have the desk holster attached on the right hand side of the desk, but forgot to do so before parking the safe in its location (I need to find my zip-ties for those wires too).

Neal Peart sits on the safe and Mr. Johnny Cash gives attitude at the desk. One of the shots I couldn’t get my camera to take is of the blogstation in the dark. The tri-CD player gives off a cool blue glow that archs across the wall and celing. If you’ve ever been to a lazarium, you can probably guess what it looks like in action.

The old blogging desk which is now Firearms Cleaning Station 1, the “For Emergency Break Glass” gun cabinet, more music, George Carlin and Bjork. As you can see, I haven’t hooked the speakers for that desk up yet. In time.

The entryway and the closet of mystery (filled with my yet to be organized ammo supply). Above the Rush/Primus poster is the miniature plumbing diagram from when my company helped in the construction the Seahawks Stadium a couple years back. I have the full sized electrical one somewhere, not that I have the wall space for it. It looked too much like a map to pass up when it was offered.

No, I haven’t cut my hand on the axe attempting to turn on the lights yet, but it’s sharp enough to do so.

And that is RNS Blogstation Tacoma. Hope you enjoyed the tour of where I rant and rave. BTW, the room is fully live now. Any attempt at unauthorized entry into it makes the house do funny things. I loved getting that set up.

Ms. Analise couldn’t make it last night, apparently she had a bit too much Power & Sons the night before.

But all was not lost, for after a short trip out of Limerick, I was in the town of Cork where the lovely Nadine and I spent the afternoon and evening.

Nadine knows how to pace herself for a weekend of celebration and was up to the task of showing me more of Cork than I knew existed.

Tis almost a pity that I have to fly back to the Occidental Tush Institute tomorrow.