Greetings and Salutations!
A Short Update
OK… in the past 24 Hours, a Recap:
(Strap In)
Got the Nookular Redheaded Gran overnight.
Well behaved went to the pool, and fun to be around.
She was literally perfect (unlike some occasional bratty past visits… comes with the territory right?)
This was a thing of goodness.
Late Saturday Night, “Uncle Miltie” was aiming North at Clearwater… that’ll work.
I played Fallout: London (great Mod BTW… just took forever to load… be aware!)
I’ll take that.
I go to bed.
Again, take the “W”.
I wake up.
Begin litany of Bilious Bullshit that’s currently ongoing
Starting with a call from DumbCunt.
She’s out… time fucking served dammit.
Called Mommy and “…wants to ‘come home.”
Of course this creates MAD drama w/Gretchen… it’s a ‘mom’ thing I guess… never mind that bitch knows just what emotional buttons to push…
Me?
I tell Gretchen “Suuuuure… have her come on down! I’ll get her bed ready, right next to Luca Brasi.”

And no, I’m not joking.
Needless to say, she knows that too (Gretchen that is), so no, no worries. Bitch ain’t welcome no matter what.
It just was yesterday I had a reminder how how much I fucking hate that bitch. At the pool, The Redhead met another lil girl about the same age who was there with her Grandmum (nice British Lady), and in the process of them becoming friends, Kenna asked Red about her Mommie and where she was?
Goddamn it. I hate when that happens… it’s not often but…
Shit.
The look on her lil face…
My heart –still- hurts for her…
I don’t have much left of Ye Olde Ticker…
But what is left fucking hurt.
Mind you all that did was infuriate the ever-living fuck out of me, but I was able to reign in said-anger knowing the bitch was in durance vile. Add on the embarrassment Gretchen feels when this sort of shit happens. So yeah, I tamped down the Killing Anger, secure in that DC was locked up. Of course, that was…
…until this A.M. and that fucking call from DC.
My Anger Reignited like a fucking full fucking sized Tesla Lithium Battery dropped in the ocean… Hot doesn’t begin to describe it. The screwdriver slipped on the Demon-Core and the blue-light O’Burning Death came out.
THEN I check the updated course for “Uncle Miltie”
He’s aimed straight down my fucking gullet.
I swear to Christ in Heaven I can’t catch a break sometimes.
Sooooo to counter all of THAT bullshit, we went and visited Cowboy. I figured to go see my Brother-from-Another Mother to chill and get caught up. Plus, raining or not, the Ranch is always a nice place to visit and Red loves “Mister Cowboy” and the horses.
Lately, we’ve been giving him his space and time to reorganize his headspace, and he has, thank The Lord. He looked good, has stopped soaking his brain in booze, and was back to his old self to a point. We went to lunch and Red had a blast.
Seems he might have even gotten laid last night!
Not sure, but hints -were- made…

Go Cowboy!!!
Git back up on that Hoss!
After that call to set up the visit, I realized I can abuse his hospitality (sorry Bro, I needed it desperately) so I grabbed my .357, my 9mm, and my John Wilkes Booth (Bond Derringer in .357, a mean lil fucker) and a BIG pile of ammo, of which I used ‘bringing the hate’ onto the targets. Cowboy’s ranch has a couple of places one can cut loose safely with live rounds without fuckers coming ’round to fuck with you, and you can shoot like I did growing up, off the tailgate of your vehicle into the woods…
The Good Old Days amiright?
Recoil Therapy Indeed.
I even did “The Deadpool” which is after I dumped a 7 shot cylinder of 158 grain .357 in like 4-6 seconds (I was hyped and cranking it hard) when the second dry-fire went ‘click’ I whipped the muzzle up and deeply inhaled the gunsmoke, and blew what was left of it out my mouth…

Oh yeah baby…
All around winning IMO.
So we got home, pretty much emotionally exhausted. I had planned on going in and cuddling up to Gretchen, maybe have a lil sumtin’-sumptin’ go down… and well…
The phucking phone rang at 20:00
It was Gretchen’s Dad.
Seems Mom had fallen again and was being transported to the Hospital again and there was circumstantial evidence that she had been drinking again.

Sooooo….
Instead of being able to chill and try to recover from the shytte we had imposed on us today, we’re fucking back to Square Fucking One.
Gretchen however has to handle this solo.
–I– have waaaaaay too much shit I have to get prepped for.
Fuel and Generator Checks (Fill the new DotMil Euro-Gas Cans)
Window Prep. (Tape/board Up)
Sandbag Filling and Emplacement
Yard and Lanai Clearance (throwing all the Lanai Furniture into the above ground pool so the wind doesn’t turn them into UFOs)
Refill Depleted Water Jugs (we have about 13 5 gallon refillables that we use on the cooler/filter)
Pre-Emptive Tree Branch Checks to see if there’s any really big/thick branches I need to chop before they become an issue. I’m pretty sure after the wind from Helene I’m good but it pays to double check.
I’m not worried about doing the “OMG! I need to empty the Grocery store!!!” thing… Our stocks are deep and without Gretchen being here, Sapper and I will munch quite happily on expired Russian and Krainian MREs if needed.
Otherwise, w/Gretchen safe w/the Car in the Villages, it does make it a wee bit easier. But I will say
I’m fucking tired of this shit man.
But fear not Dear Readers.
THIS Particular Pile of Shit is fucking over.
Dad’s in a state. She’s his primary caretaker, and after Time #2, and her bullshit, -I- told her point-fucking-blank IF there was a next time, we were invoking the Durable Medical Power of Attorney and having her forcibly locked up/detoxed or whathaveyou. I had Gretchen get that after the first time as I had a hunch eventually the Boomer Stubbornness would need to be legally circumvented for both their and our own good.
Dad balked last time.
This time?
Notsofuckingmucho.
I didn’t even have to push it too much. I did tell him this’s what he got for having a weak Pimp-Hand, and this’s what happens if you fold like a lawn chair for your bitch.
And no, I’m not kidding.

I’ll just leave it at that.
Needless to say, I have to deal with this again on my own.
I have to leave Sapper out of it.
Poor fucker is being fucking beaten at work at the port(s) like a rented fucking Mule. He does all the gauging and measuring of ALL the fuel that comes in on the West Coast main entry points. He had 3-4 days off for Helene, then got beaten to death with 18 hour days for the past week.
NOW with Milt inbound, this time instead of pulling back early, the barges are maxxing the fuel load/unload, so he’s still going full bore. The worst part is after measuring the barges, he has to climb those big fucking tanks and measure from the top-down with a looooooong fucking rope, then climb down, and figure out if the amount of pumped fuel matches the amount added to the tank… plus get samples while he up there and get them to the lab to make sure it’s the ‘right stuff’…
Couple of months? ago some asshole fucked up which hose was what and pumped a fuckton of diesel into a 87 octane tank, ruining the batch. Made national news. Sapper said it was 20k plus gallons that were fucked up, and part of the reason he’s overworked is said-asshole who’s supposed to double check the hose-dude to make sure the right hose is going to the right tank, which is another thing that ALL of them guys working this job are responsible for, well… the company hasn’t been able to replace said-aforementioned-asshole yet.
Good men are hard to find.
I’d love to get on board
BUT
-I- can’t do it physically.
I’d love to $$$ wise especially, but I’d be dead in a week. The left bionic knee that got blown off and rebuilt in 2006 would never handle that much stair climbing. Never mind the rest of the carcass-damage.
So that’s a summary of tonight fucking fun filled fuckery.
I need to go rinse my brain out with some YouTube Videos of -something-… maybe Squirrels on Fire? Or Frogs in a Blender… maybe Hajiis having IED issues… better yet, IDF Ambush vids of the IDF being shot-to shit by Hamas/Hezbollah… always a crowd pleaser IMO… that’s about my speed right now… I need a laugh…
More Later
Big Country
