All Entries Tagged With: "food"

Climate Change Activists Warn of Elk Sausage, Camp Beans

(Montrose) Traditional fall staples are being blamed for global warming in the Rockies this season. A severe spike in temperature, coinciding with opening day, has remained constant creating a fragile symbiotic eco-system for man and beast.

Liberals are reaching out while conservatives remain in denial on the controversial subject.

The problem allegedly stems from an ultra-protein diet, more specifically the foods eaten by hunters while they are out on the woods. The old saying Guns don’t kill people but camp chili does could never have been so profound. Digestive systems, often over-irrigated with beer and whiskey, are pressing the ozone, while the price of methane gas is on the rise.

“Elk sausage and camp beans are almost sacred in hunting camp,” said Elmer Spud, of Alamosa. “What are we supposed to eat out there? Lettuce sandwiches?”

Spud went on to say that a vegan menu was too radical in that very few, if any hunters adhere to that eating philosophy.

“In Alamosa we’ll take heat in any form that is offered,” he joked. “A little warmth is welcome no matter if it comes with a little backfire aroma.”

His sentiments were quickly echoed by sportsmen from Granby, Gunnison and Walden, three locales where autumn temperatures often resemble winter ones in most parts of the world.

The Colorado Division of Wildlife, a group accused of encouraging bands of armed men and women in the woods each autumn, was yesterday called on the carpet by rogue members of the Environmental Erection Agency. In early testimony the DOW plead not guilty to charges of complacency, bear abuse and honey laundering.

“You’ve got your solids, your liquids and your gas,” said a DOW spokesperson. “We can only be responsible for what we can see.”

The copyrighted audio version of this story can be downloaded on www.teamgastrointestinal.com

 

Autumn Gold Comes ‘Round Again

Labor Department Suggests Stupid Days

(Washington) A new federal program, aimed at relieving work-related stress and decreasing employee absenteeism, will be implemented by 2018 if the U.S. Department of Labor has its way.

The plan, dubbed the Stupid Agenda, calls for the assignment of five stupid days per year per employee. The plan will be tested next month at more than 200 factories and mills throughout the country and a final approach will be determined by summer.

“If I guy wakes up in the morning and he can’t get it together, he can just call in stupid,” said one human behavior analyst. “It’s like calling in sick but you don’t have to lie.”

The analyst went on to say that several industries already honor mental health days and vacation days but pointed out that these excuses leave a lot of gray area unexplored.

“Of course we expect that some employees will take advantage of the new program and take all of their stupid days in a row,” he sighed. “It will be up to the individual business to police its own shop and regulate the extension of stupid days to people who really don’t deserve them.

According to unconfirmed sources here the federal government has been engaged in a secret stupid day exchange since about 1972. In fact, most of the major decisions that have been made since then were formulated over the phone by top level officials who had called in stupid.

“It’s about time we caste off the yoke that tells us we were put on earth to labor,” explained the government spokesman. “The concept of stupid days serves as a reminder that when it really comes down to it, life is rat race or a crap shoot.” 

-Dinty Moore

     

The mind is a dangerous place to go….

Here in the foothills of the world’s highest ranked website we pay attention to details. For example, unlike the NBA, when Red China banned the site we created a new one in Taiwan and beamed the bastards. Xiang or whatever his name is, was blown over and may never recover. The guy wears a suit like Wall Street and talks like an insurance salesman. Mao would not approve.

That was after we spent all day Saturday cleaning up after the summer nudistas at Skin Beach near Colona. Then we went and played bi-lingual sqarsh for the rest of the day. Then it snowed.

But not in pub, lads. Our dear fiends Bud and Jane stopped by the other afternoon on their way from England to Tucson. Bud “Brandy” Morrow insinuates that gout can be alleviated by the regular application of organic cherry juice with a healthy splash of vodka. I’m game.

Do the Washington Nationals have “angels in the outfield” in 2019? The team appears to be destined for greatness after a sweep of the Cardinals. Now they get to play one of the two monster teams. October will tell.

Oh that reminds me: sanjuanhorseshoe.com is not FDA approved. I have to get on that tomorrow or the next day.

Our resident reggae lyricist here has harvest tips. She suggests hurling your marijuana debris such as sticks and leaf into your hot wood fire. That way all the nearby wildlife can enjoy a good buzz and a chilled out experience. Why horde when so many others engage in that activity? (Note: Elk grow their own strain of killer weed in hidden patches all over the National Forest.)

In closing…Does anyone out there know the first three verses of the tune, Chug-A-Lug? Here’s what I have: Makes you wannaa go Hidee Ho, burns your tummy don’t you know…

Keeping the fun in marriage

with Dr. Muffy Hollandaise, MSW, PhD, ASAP, LSMFT

Part 162 – Creative Disagreement — Keeping It Civil

As my fifth husband always used to say: “If you can’t fight standing up how do you expect to make love lying down.” While many of us here in the business are not clear as to what he means, we will go to the wall to defend his rite of common passage. Given: Everyone, with the possible exception of white doves, hermits, the dead and laudanum addicts locks horns sometimes. Nowhere is this phenomenon more interesting than within the sacred bondage of marital harmony.

You may ask: How then Dr. Muffy can two people learn to tolerate each other when the green grasses of secularism beckon and the chains monogamy rattle throughout the night. The answer: Don’t just sit there like a rusty old war memorial. Kick up some dust. Here’s how to do it:

Most people would agree that it’s far easier watching someone else explode than to hit the ceiling yourself. That’s our first direction: Shut the hell up. Sure, it’s tough but generally your opponent will continue to hold the floor at least until they have exuded all primary hostility. Everyone thinks they know what they are talking about but no one has a clue. Blah, blah, blah…and so on. Rocking from toe to heel with a knowing smile can be very effective in this realm.

During this peripheral exchange be sure to keep a serious look on your face (laughing will only succeed in making matters worse). Don’t make eye contact (it is often seen as a sign of aggression and yet can simultaneously denote fear). Back away slowly attempting to make yourself seem larger and more formidable (running will convince the predator that you are food).

While surfing the primrose path it is wise to make lots of noise so as not to startle your mate, especially if he or she is traveling with cubs (off-spring).

When the confrontation reaches phase two — the actual dialogue, it may help to circulate a print-out to the participating parties. This helpful sheet can provide guidelines, parameters and information that will be covered during the brawl. This way nobody feels blindsided by issues introduced in the heat of battle. Hint: Always hold back just a little in case backstabbing is the only recourse. For example: Personal attacks on in-laws and personal hygiene are good while implications as to the lack of integrity and/or obesity are less effective.

Always take time to choose a setting that benefits both sides. The kitchen is often better than the bedroom, even though that’s where the knives are housed. The garden may work well for the combatants but what about the tomato plants? Squash can be very sensitive to upheavals and often wilts on the vine in the face of entanglement. (And that says nothing of endive and/or periwinkle). Referring to the set as the battleground does not carry with it the indication that one is serious about solutions. Waiting for the other partner to be drunk is not a good idea as one runs the risk that he or she could pass out during your rebuttal.

Timing is important too. She should throw out a contentious line during, say, the final game of the NBA Playoffs. He could do well waiting until the VISA bill arrives, unless of course he is the big spender. Bringing up an old mate is a valid approach only when he is in jail or her hair is falling out.

Never presume that you are a better lover unless you were actually present during their tender moments. Don’t accept guilt connected to such evangelical surprises as: “After failing at several suicide attempts she joined a cloistered order and was hit by a bolt of lightning while on her way to vespers; He passed away after contracting leprosy, you know, working with the poor in India; or the old standby he jumped into a small bucket of chilled white table wine from a squat piñon tree atop lover’s leap and it’s your fault!”

Along with the setting one should consider the general ambiance. The sound of a distant lawn mower or chain saw can be relaxing. The sound of a dog barking can lead to further frustration. Make sure no faucets are dripping or digital beeping is present as distraction can cause breakdowns of the communicative process.

Music is very important. Country and Western works well, especially compared to the annoying repetitions sometimes inherent in progressive jazz. Samba is good. Salsa is too much. Rap is not a beneficial option since it is often loud, repetitive and crude. Love songs may not be appropriate either. Save them for the making up part, if it ever comes.

Body language should not be a consideration and physical response isn’t a solution, even for lower primates. The habit of repeating verbatim every sentence uttered by your opponent is childish and can provoke further duress.

At some point in the proceedings there should be a period of dead air when everyone is finally exhausted. This is the right time to terminate the argument. The best way to do so is to throw your arms around your partner and hug them till they turn blue. Most people find this extension less attractive than facing a bayonet but moments after the initial fear of rejection is conquered anger is usually replaced by relief. Never leave during an argument since it can be taken as a retreat and you may have to go through this discussion process all over again.

Now that the argument has come to a halt it is time to start gathering ammunition for the next big fight which we will undress in the next episode. Too-DA-loo…

Dr. Hollandaise graduated from some school back east & uses a lot of words she doesn’t understand. She can’t cook, has over 40 mirrors in her abode and is lousy in bed, according to undisclothed sources.

An encounter at Baker’s Park

It started out warm but the monsoon summer hung heavy in the afternoon sky as they made their way up the Animas toward what prospectors called The Forks, where traces of gold had been discovered the year before. It was 1861 and the two trappers had made the journey from Taos north to the San Juan in search of treasure that had eluded most previous expeditions. Although it was late July hints of winter could already be felt in the early morning.

John MacGregor and Charles Healy were an unlikely pair. They never got along in civilization but somehow, when cut off from it all in the mountains they were friends, respecting each other’s ability to survive in the wilderness.

“I hear they gonna have ’em a war back east,” said MacGregor. “Guess the South has had enough. I read a paper from back in February when I was in St. Joseph. They say they had to sneak Lincoln into Washington for his own Inauguration.”

“Yeah, even before John Calhoun was elected to the South Carolina Senate they’ve been at each other’s throats,” said Healy. “The South has its point but you can’t be ownin’ people outright…”

“Oh, you one of those abolitionists?”

“One of those what?”

“Abolitionists. One of those fellers that is out to end slavery.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that all I’m sayin’ is…”

“And if you showed up on the battlefield with that headdress on nobody would know which side you was fightin’ for. Hell, the way you hold onto that red hat you’d think it alone could protect your scalp.”

“What about you prancin’ around St. Joseph half naked, drunk as a dog? singing those naughty French postcard songs… ‘Woke up the whole whorehouse, didn’t you,” chided Healy. “The only reason you made it out alive is that the Madame liked your harp.”

“That’s right. My music saved us both.”

“The poor woman loved the way you played the harmonica, even though I can attest you have a long way to go before you master the instrument.”

“At least I’m not walking around in a silly red hat,” said MacGregor.

“That silly red hat is part of the family tartan, fool. If you had the least bit of breeding you’d understand legacies and the like. You just walk up and down mountains blowing on that mouth harp, looking to get rich.”

“We’d better get at it too,” said MacGregor. “We’ll be having a lot of company just as soon as they sort out their problems back in Virginia and Massachusetts.”

As they reached what is now California Gulch, MacGregor stopped playing his harp. It became apparent that they already had company. A small band of Ute had appeared on a ridge to the south. Although the Utes kept at a distance it was clear that the two men had been seen.

“They couldn’t help but hear us comin’ what with that harmonica noise,” whispered Healy…”

“Who could miss seein’ us with that red hat sittin’ on your head?” spat MacGregor. “Tartans be damned. Now we’re in for it.”

The Utes got a little closer as the prospectors looked for cover. They found a small outcropping protected to two sides by a sheer cliff.

“We’d better stop here and make a stand if need be,” said Healy. “Otherwise we’re caught out in the open.”

“How much powder you got left?” asked MacGregor. “They don’t look all too friendly.”

Perched in the enclosure the two watched the Utes surround their position. It was beginning to get dark. The wind picked up and the blue sky turned purple. Prepared for what could be their last fight Healy and MacGregor again checked their arsenal.

“If they come at us after dark we’re fried,” gasped Healy. “There are at least twenty of them that I’ve spotted so far.”

The night dragged on slowly with every little sound foretelling an attack, but none came.

“Remember what they did to that scouting party up here last fall?” said Healy. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“Maybe they just want your mule,” offered MacGregor. “An animal like her is worth a lot up in this country.”

 “I think they want more than the mule,” retorted Healy. “I think they want our scalps.”

As the morning arrived the men could see smoke from a large campfire up above. The Utes had not moved. Now it appeared some ten to fifteen more warriors had joined the original band. As the sun crept higher into the sky MacGregor began playing his harmonica.

“What are you doing!” screamed Healy.

“What’s the harm in a little tune? They know we’re here. Maybe they’ll leave us be if they think we’re crazy enough.”

The music flowed; Darlin’ Clementine bounced off the rocks and whirled upward, seducing one Ute out into the open.

“What’s he doing? I got a clean shot if…”

“Wait,” said MacGregor. “I think he likes my playin’.”

As the man approached it became clear that indeed, he liked the music. He was smiling. When he got closer he stopped, put his hand to his mouth, stomped his foot and began spining in a circle. Then he stopped and stared and repeated the ritual again.

“He wants you to play more music,” said Healy. “I can’t believe this.”

MacGregor put his harp to his lips and began a scattered rendition of Dixie. Now several Utes popped up their heads. MacGregor performance grew bolder as he now had an audience. He followed with Sweet Virginny, Healy joining in harmony of sorts despite a wad of tobacco in his cheek.

The first Ute approached gesturing that he wanted to examine the harmonica. He was still smiling and MacGregor turned it over to him.

“I haven’t seen one of these outfits since my last trip to Paris,” said the Ute in perfect English. “What will you take in trade?”

Healy and MacGregor were stunned. Paris? This was 1861. Nobody from these mountains had been to Paris. Was he talking France?

“What will you take in trade?” repeated the Ute now holding the harmonica tightly.

“Water,” bellowed Healy. “We’ll take water and maybe some tobacco.”

MacGregor was not pleased. The harmonica was his and he didn’t cotton to parting with it.

“Why don’t you offer him that stupid red hat instead,” he asked. “Maybe we can trade that for water, or maybe your mule and the hat for free passage.”

Two others, quite mesmerized by the instrument, now joined the Ute. Each took his turn blowing into the harp, laughing and wrestling with each other for another go at it.

MacGregor stood up gesturing at his canteen. Within moments the deal was consummated. Healy looked at MacGregor, saddened from the loss of his harp.

“Here’s a little icing,” he said. “I’ll throw in my red hat too.”

He walked over to the Utes and gave them his tartan hat gesturing that it was theirs to keep.

“I haven’t seen one of these since I was in Edinburgh,” said one of the Utes, placing the red hat on his head happily.

You can keep it as a gift,” said Healy. “I can always get another one but this here scalp is one-of-a-kind.”

Soon the two men were alone. The Utes had disappeared and were not seen again.

“I’d love to see the look on the faces of the next white party that runs across these Utes, what with the harmonica and head gear,” quipped Healy.

“We should have held out for more than water,” said MacGregor, “but at least we are alive. I’ll buy a hundred new harmonicas and even get you another red hat after we strike it rich.”

– Kashmir Horseshoe