June 19, 2004
Saturday
Well, my language got a little salty on that last post. Regular readers know I never use language like that, do I? I said Do I? But there's something about seeing a man's head resting in the small of his back that brings out the intemperate in me. I washed my mouth out with Dalmore as punishment.
Bad news on the Burning Man figure. A storm blew through and toppled it. I can erect it again for the big torching tomorrow, but the wood is all wet now. I don't dare use gasoline on it, either, as my insurance company is still squabbling with the Burn Unit over the last incident. The worst part? That offal I fetched from the abbatoir for the Moore and Rall effigies is really starting to stink up the Blazer.
The Damning Guinea Pig project isn't going too well, either. Retrieved the bones okay, but not being an anatomist, or having any clue really about the skeletal structure of aforementioned rodent, it's starting to look more like a ferret zombie with a monstrous head. I never should have used those two ribs for horns...
Have you ever tried to lash fish hooks to the legs of a really irate cock rooster? I have so many hooks in me I'm going to audition as lead singer for the Mucus Plugs tonight.
Later, Intrepids.