Tfisher

Random

Rate this topic

121,372 posts in this topic

I made street tacos. Dry rubbed skirt steal in the cast iron pan, cilantro, onion , lime. cooked tortillas over the open flame, with Black beans and rice. No tequila, I had a Landshark.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
7 hours ago, Gloucester2 said:

Of course!      
The side door of our house had snow drifted 6 feet high.    We had to take the  top window out of the storm door on the front of the house - climb out and shovel the snow away to get out of the house.    Nothing moved for a week.    

Remember the HUGE snow pile right in the middle of Harvard Square?  By the end of the week the bars were running out of booze.  Wild times!

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
2 hours ago, Tom T said:

Dear Mick,

 

Do we give a **** about Boston and/or their snowfall?

 

Signed,

 

Curious in the bayshore

Aren’t you still involved in a mesmerizing discussion about how much wet bread goes into a meatball?  

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
1 hour ago, Kings over Queens said:

Dear curious in the Bayshore, Are Friend Mick is indisposed at the moment furiously trying to scratch an itch he can't reach because he's only got one good arm, and typing is difficult for him on account of, well, he's only got one good arm, so il filling in.

 

No, we don't give a **** about Boston and/or their snowfall.  

 

Sincerely,

 

KoQ (say it out loud)

Since you’re stepping in for Mick’s bad arm, he’s got an itch he’d like you to scratch 

5E9FE94D-70C2-446A-BD8E-1DA4064A3671.gif.6ccaa6ef213763d62b6c5ccd24320f06.gif

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
8 hours ago, Gloucester2 said:

Of course!      
The side door of our house had snow drifted 6 feet high.    We had to take the  top window out of the storm door on the front of the house - climb out and shovel the snow away to get out of the house.    Nothing moved for a week.    

I was living in CT at the time, we got just as much snow as Boston, Ella Grasso closed the state. Big effin deal.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
3 hours ago, Tom T said:

Dear Mick,

 

Do we give a **** about Boston and/or their snowfall?

 

Signed,

 

Curious in the bayshore

 

3 hours ago, Kings over Queens said:

Dear curious in the Bayshore, Are Friend Mick is indisposed at the moment furiously trying to scratch an itch he can't reach because he's only got one good arm, and typing is difficult for him on account of, well, he's only got one good arm, so il filling in.

 

No, we don't give a **** about Boston and/or their snowfall.  

 

Sincerely,

 

KoQ (say it out loud)

Tom, we don't give a good flying **** about Boston, snow or the red sox.

 

KoQ, thank you for stepping in when I needed you.

 

Doctor tomorrow. Staples out. Hopefully sling off too.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
34 mins ago, mickrazz said:

 

Tom, we don't give a good flying **** about Boston, snow or the red sox.

 

KoQ, thank you for stepping in when I needed you.

 

Doctor tomorrow. Staples out. Hopefully sling off too.

Tell the doc you want to go for a ride to sit on a fishing boat in a week

 Just to hang out. See what he says.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
1 hour ago, mickrazz said:

Tom, we don't give a good flying **** about Boston, snow or the red sox.

Thank you for confirming.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
What is the boy now, who has lost his ball.
What, what is he to do? I saw it go
Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then
Merrily over—there it is in the water!
No use to say 'O there are other balls':
An ultimate shaking grief fixes the boy
As he stands rigid, trembling, staring down
All his young days into the harbour where
His ball went. I would not intrude on him,
A dime, another ball, is worthless. Now
He senses first responsibility
In a world of possessions. People will take balls,
Balls will be lost always, little boy,
And no one buys a ball back. Money is external.
He is learning, well behind his desperate eyes,
The epistemology of loss, how to stand up
Knowing what every man must one day know
And most know many days, how to stand up
And gradually light returns to the street,
A whistle blows, the ball is out of sight.
Soon part of me will explore the deep and dark
Floor of the harbour . . I am everywhere,
I suffer and move, my mind and my heart move
With all that move me, under the water
Or whistling, I am not a little boy.
 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to register here in order to participate.

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!


Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.


Sign In Now

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.