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This first one is sure to be a favorite on Valentines Day.
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Because nothing says I love you like petrified beef.
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Good God, do these things still even exist?
Please, for the love of all that’s holy… no.
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For when you really want to throw down like Hamlet.
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This.
This is really what’s wrong with America. We’re too damn lazy to sit up.
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Pfft. I call foul.
Everyone knows Alfred Von Wigglebottom wouldn’t be caught dead on anything less than Danish Modern.
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This month’s issue of Cosmopolitan made me wonder why my girlfriend gave me a subscription to this in the first place. Fashion and make up tips? Fine.
But, hey… I don’t have a post pandemic sex bucket list and don’t plan on making one any time soon.
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But if I did?
I can assure you this wouldn’t be on it.
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Good grief. I’ve been known to blog about my trips to the grocery store… but I seriously doubt anyone wants to read about that happening in the middle of aisle 12.
After the bucket list, there was a list of commonly asked questions.
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I don’t know about you, but that’s not something I commonly ask.
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And I can guaran-damn-tee you I’ve never asked that!!
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I’m not going to show the answers to that one, you’ll never look at the contents of your kitchen cabinets the same way, but I’ll leave you with this more than slightly suggestive accompanying photo.
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This.
This is what passes for a woman’s magazine these days.
Hell, I’m not a prude… but it seems like these articles would be more suited to Hustler or Gynecologist’s Quarterly.
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James Taylor.
How wonderful is that!
Yes, I could easily ride out the Covid crisis with James.
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He was the soundtrack of my youth.
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My early married life.
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And his music still speaks to me today.
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Welcome James, pull up a chair and have a cuppa…
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And their wacky Facebook Group postings.
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Cat damage and springs that poke your butt?
Hurry up people, these won’t last long!
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A noisy big yellow machine. I shall follow this thread and report back. Who knows… maybe it’s the Beatles’ long lost submarine.
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Christ. Don’t tell my husband!
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You may not know what it feels like to fall off the turnip truck, but in my town… apparently you can fall off the potato one.
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This is a running gag because certain parts of our town lose power quite easily. Flatulent rodents will probably strike here next, stay tuned
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Sadly, I know of no retail chicken establishments.
Wonder if I could talk them into a few clever and highly motivated red squirrels instead?
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I thought maybe we’d seen the last of her.
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But no, she was out back stealing chopped up deer apples yesterday.
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She was back on the patio table.
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And there’s only one reason for that. Do you know how sick and tired I am of finding small pieces of rotted apple every time I sit down?
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And then of course there’s the poo.
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She leaves it there on purpose, I know it.
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And may I just say, sipping from puddles of rain water filled with your own poo?
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Not the least bit appetizing.
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And please note… in that last picture? She is literally pooping. Am I a great photo journalist or what!
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Let’s keep laughing for as long as we can.
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Me neither.
And that’s just wrong!
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Personally, I would love a pet skunk. They’re affectionate and trainable to a litter box. We have them visit under our bird feeders every night and they are absolutely, positively, frickin’ adorable! But Maine made it illegal to capture and de-scent the little buggers years ago, so boo to that.
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Yup.
That looks about right.
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Pulp Fiction – 2020 style.
And if you don’t believe in masks but are still responsible enough to wear one?
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Voice your protest responsibly.
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And for the record? My hips don’t either…
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But I know you do.
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Admit it, we’ve all wanted to feel a little warmer and cheesier this year.
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This gives a whole new meaning to the word shortcake.
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Skin as soft and supple as a nice juicy brain? What woman doesn’t dream of that!
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I have to admit this one might have validity. We live next to a horse farm and see our fair share of flies. A real life arcade game with salt bullets… hmm.
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Yes, you.
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You annoying fake blogger who follows me every single day…
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With different fake pages…
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And different fake names.
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I defy you, and remove every last one of your cursed fake sites.
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If you think you’ll out stubborn me?
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I fear you’ve met your match.
My Whack a Mole record is legendary.
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It’s been fun watching this little fawn grow up.
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Although sadly we’re watching his mother decline at the same time.
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Those blue eyes just slay me.
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Of all the deer we’ve had over the years, this is our first blue eyed visitor.
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Little one stays close to mom.
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Hope she’s around long enough to teach him what he needs to know…
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You know the ones, they pick up every free paper or publication they see no matter the subject?
Proctologist Monthly?
Yes.
Belt Sander Enthusiast?
Sure.
The Do It Yourself Lobotomy Newsletter?
Why not.
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It probably won’t surprise my regular readers to learn my husband is one of those people.
Free is his favorite word.. which is why he came home with one called the Maine Agricultural News the other day.
My husband, the man who’s never planted anything (other than free trees he lets die) in his life.
Here are a few fascinating highlights:
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Color me proud. My state is one of the top 5 potato chip potato producers.
And lord knows I do my part to keep the Lays company in business.
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The Pomological Society? There’s a sought after membership if ever I saw one.
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For those who don’t know, Maine blueberries are highly prized and big business up this way.
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But thanks to President Trump’s Chinese trade war, among other things… the berry news is decidedly blue.
And finally, disaster.
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Say it isn’t so!
Maine craft brewers have cut back on the production of beer to make hand sanitizer?
Oh, the horror.
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River's world..... 