A Grim Determined Face & a Giddy Free Sprit:
Thought for the Day:
Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.
Voltaire
JQP’s Garage Roof Vol. I:
I took the better part of Friday off to re-due my garage roof. As you the frequent reader know my roof had a man sized hole in it (which resulted in a trip to my local ER, last time I took it upon myself to be handy around the house). Assured, I had help on Saturday & Sunday, I started to work on my garage.
Now about my garage, it is historic, which means I can’t tear the fucking thing down (word of advice, never move into a historic neighborhood). It was built in 1918, to hold not one but two automobiles or perhaps a buggy. It is rather large, as old shitty garages go, and has a four sided peaked roof at a 65 degree angle, yes 65 degree, nothing but style.
But due the needed repair work there are several permits needed, plus I am told I would have to appear in front of a historic preservation committee. I being an outlaw and a descendant of a long line of Irish Travelers (in my off time I seal the driveways of elderly people with used motor oil and bilk them out of their life’s savings). I went ahead with the work, permits; I don’t need no stinking permits.
I should note that I had no idea how to roof anything. It’s something I have never done, nor seen done. That is where my trusted friends came into it. If you know 4 guys there is a good chance that at least one of them worked as a roofer at some point in their life. I borrowed the necessary tools for the job and gathered supplies.
Now something any home owner should note, is that when your going to start a do-it-yourself job it pays to tell everyone you know. After telling folks, my backyard was inundated with roofing supplies, we men are true to our gender.
For the following reasons:
A) Men, always over buy when they start a home project. Hell, for some odd reason the hardware store clerics almost insist you do. Thus, after every project there is left over building supplies.
B) Men, after completing a project are tired and lazy; they do not take the left over stuff back to the store, even if they have a receipt and their wives ask them to, hell you never know when this or that might come in handy.
C) After a few months/years, the piles of shit sitting in their garages starts to drive them nuts and they want it gone.
Brothers and sisters, the only thing I have had to buy for this project is the shingles. I have gotten 8 rolls of tar paper, 30 sheets of plywood, 30 pounds of roofing nails, two roof vents, lumber, and drip guards, plus free use of tools, just because people I know didn’t want it around anymore. Yes, children, it pays to know people.
Stay tuned for Vol. II, when you hear our hero say “Oh, Fuck” and my old retired neighbors just shake their heads.
Your Hairy Pits of the Week:
(Exhibit A: Goth-Girl, Hot in an “I-will-screw-your-legs-off-steal-your-CDs-read-Emily Dickinson-cut-myself-NIN-is-past-tense-train-wreck” kind of way.)
(Exhibit B: Same Goth-Girl with hairy arm pits. Perfect in a Sexy-Misunderstood-by-my-family and-friends-poet-erotic-woman-warrior-with-great-taste-in-music-and-film way.)
Random things this morning:
How many wars does our current President want to start?
Why am I the only man in this town with three seersucker suits (I wear them with starched white shirts, brown suspenders and my Panama hat). Trust me, people do notice.
I am glad the North Koreans can’t build a decent missile.
Ike was right.
The Village People are coming to town on Saturday and my wife asked me if a wanted back stage passes.
Lately I have been humming old Boxcar Willie, Turtles, and Yiddish Folk tunes to myself. That and rocking back and forth seems to comfort me.
Drinking helps to.
Mrs. JQP wants to start trying to have a baby again, with me.
When will the pain in my knees and arms stop and why have I no pain pills?
M. Chamberlain looks good in an ascot.
Last night, I spoke with a woman who just got back from the Rainbow Tribe gathering; she felt it necessary to tell me she forgot her tampons and had to buy an internal menstrual cup.
Pastor Bob called me at 11:15 last night to ask me if he could borrow my MIG welder (something I do know how to do). It seems he is planning of building a 1/3 scale WW1 Dreadnaught “Deutschland”, and plans to take his family on a three month cruse in it when completed on Lake Erie.
I woke up this morning and somehow during the night my eye brow hair had grown three inches.
I know several people who can name the songs and artists on the 1980’s compilation album (available only on TV) “Southern Fried Rock”.
Tiny knows more about C.W. McCall, singer of the 70’s hit “Convoy” than any man should.
It is supposed to be in the 90’s all weekend.
I am getting three free lunches this week at expensive restaurants. They all specialize in fish. There is no such thing as a free lunch.
Today’s Bill:
"Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know."
From Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45)
Quote of the Day:
Most of you have been where I am tonight. The crash site of unrequited love. You ask yourself, How did I get here? What was it about? Was it her smile? Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle, the poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart? That's an age-old question. It's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night.
Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman
I remain, much like Bob the Builder, busy at work in your repressed thoughts and feelings:
JQP esq.
Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.
Voltaire
JQP’s Garage Roof Vol. I:
I took the better part of Friday off to re-due my garage roof. As you the frequent reader know my roof had a man sized hole in it (which resulted in a trip to my local ER, last time I took it upon myself to be handy around the house). Assured, I had help on Saturday & Sunday, I started to work on my garage.
Now about my garage, it is historic, which means I can’t tear the fucking thing down (word of advice, never move into a historic neighborhood). It was built in 1918, to hold not one but two automobiles or perhaps a buggy. It is rather large, as old shitty garages go, and has a four sided peaked roof at a 65 degree angle, yes 65 degree, nothing but style.
But due the needed repair work there are several permits needed, plus I am told I would have to appear in front of a historic preservation committee. I being an outlaw and a descendant of a long line of Irish Travelers (in my off time I seal the driveways of elderly people with used motor oil and bilk them out of their life’s savings). I went ahead with the work, permits; I don’t need no stinking permits.
I should note that I had no idea how to roof anything. It’s something I have never done, nor seen done. That is where my trusted friends came into it. If you know 4 guys there is a good chance that at least one of them worked as a roofer at some point in their life. I borrowed the necessary tools for the job and gathered supplies.
Now something any home owner should note, is that when your going to start a do-it-yourself job it pays to tell everyone you know. After telling folks, my backyard was inundated with roofing supplies, we men are true to our gender.
For the following reasons:
A) Men, always over buy when they start a home project. Hell, for some odd reason the hardware store clerics almost insist you do. Thus, after every project there is left over building supplies.
B) Men, after completing a project are tired and lazy; they do not take the left over stuff back to the store, even if they have a receipt and their wives ask them to, hell you never know when this or that might come in handy.
C) After a few months/years, the piles of shit sitting in their garages starts to drive them nuts and they want it gone.
Brothers and sisters, the only thing I have had to buy for this project is the shingles. I have gotten 8 rolls of tar paper, 30 sheets of plywood, 30 pounds of roofing nails, two roof vents, lumber, and drip guards, plus free use of tools, just because people I know didn’t want it around anymore. Yes, children, it pays to know people.
Stay tuned for Vol. II, when you hear our hero say “Oh, Fuck” and my old retired neighbors just shake their heads.
Your Hairy Pits of the Week:
(Exhibit A: Goth-Girl, Hot in an “I-will-screw-your-legs-off-steal-your-CDs-read-Emily Dickinson-cut-myself-NIN-is-past-tense-train-wreck” kind of way.)
(Exhibit B: Same Goth-Girl with hairy arm pits. Perfect in a Sexy-Misunderstood-by-my-family and-friends-poet-erotic-woman-warrior-with-great-taste-in-music-and-film way.)
Random things this morning:
How many wars does our current President want to start?
Why am I the only man in this town with three seersucker suits (I wear them with starched white shirts, brown suspenders and my Panama hat). Trust me, people do notice.
I am glad the North Koreans can’t build a decent missile.
Ike was right.
The Village People are coming to town on Saturday and my wife asked me if a wanted back stage passes.
Lately I have been humming old Boxcar Willie, Turtles, and Yiddish Folk tunes to myself. That and rocking back and forth seems to comfort me.
Drinking helps to.
Mrs. JQP wants to start trying to have a baby again, with me.
When will the pain in my knees and arms stop and why have I no pain pills?
M. Chamberlain looks good in an ascot.
Last night, I spoke with a woman who just got back from the Rainbow Tribe gathering; she felt it necessary to tell me she forgot her tampons and had to buy an internal menstrual cup.
Pastor Bob called me at 11:15 last night to ask me if he could borrow my MIG welder (something I do know how to do). It seems he is planning of building a 1/3 scale WW1 Dreadnaught “Deutschland”, and plans to take his family on a three month cruse in it when completed on Lake Erie.
I woke up this morning and somehow during the night my eye brow hair had grown three inches.
I know several people who can name the songs and artists on the 1980’s compilation album (available only on TV) “Southern Fried Rock”.
Tiny knows more about C.W. McCall, singer of the 70’s hit “Convoy” than any man should.
It is supposed to be in the 90’s all weekend.
I am getting three free lunches this week at expensive restaurants. They all specialize in fish. There is no such thing as a free lunch.
Today’s Bill:
"Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know."
From Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45)
Quote of the Day:
Most of you have been where I am tonight. The crash site of unrequited love. You ask yourself, How did I get here? What was it about? Was it her smile? Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle, the poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart? That's an age-old question. It's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night.
Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman
I remain, much like Bob the Builder, busy at work in your repressed thoughts and feelings:
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 2:20 AM
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