Posted on 04/21/2002 11:15:37 PM PDT by acnielsen guy
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loddy, are you ever-so-happy about paying higher taxes for your cigs?
Here is your whale pic, Palo....
.....Westy....
Photo of Chris..and?
Did Palo make the jury pool?
I've been to both villages mentioned in the aeticle....
....Westy....
Why am I not suprised Chris is wearing jeans??LOL
When we were kids, and mom, dad, me and little brother, and my aunt and uncle and their two boys, who lived downstairs of us, would go to the Chicago area Forest Preserves for a picnic and a day of fun in the sun, dad always made sure to bring his large 'black bag'...that bag went everywhere with him, even just to the store...in it were his camera, flash, light meter, film, and his cigs, and lighters....all that was standard equipment for his black bag because one never knew when an opportunity for a snapshot or a cig might come along...
But whenever we went out to the forest preserves, there was always something extra added to the black bag...hammer, screw, nails, screwdrivers, and these smooth hunks of metal that dad had pilfered from his job as a machinist at Sunbeam..it probably was scrap metal, which served no useful purpose...on these various scraps of metal, dad would inscribe things with his electric pen...
So, when in the Forest Preserves, dad would take us kids down to the outhouse, or 'woody-woods' as we called it...we would all go in, each in our turn, and do our business...then dad would have us kids stand guard, to make sure that no one was coming...when the coast was clear, dad would be nailing or screwing those metal sheets onto the outhouse...usually they said things, like, 'This outhouse erected to Hizzoner Mayor Richard J. Daley(Who was the mayor when we were kids)...sometimes they also said the aforementioned thought, and then it was added, 'This sign designed by John L. Frazier*(My dads name)....
Dad got such a kick out of that, and we kids were proud to stand guard so that dad could have his fun...
When I grew up, I often wondered if anyone every noticed his signs on the outhouse...they were not real big, and dad usually hammered them in up high, near the roof of the outhouse...
I guess in time, when they tore down the old outhouses, and replaced them with newer counterparts, the workmen must have gotten a chuckle out of those signs...
And that is the story about my dads fascination with outhouses...he loved to put signs on them, and he loved to paint them...
The fight was over. For now.
Arselen looked herself over, out of the three of them, she was the only one unhurt. Unless one counted a damaged bustier as hurt. Rathe had chemical burns to his face. Some of that was from his efforts to clean his eyes out. Karsh was in the worst shape of all three. Arselen started to say something about his wounds, but he wasn't listening. He was staring at himself critically. Not bad, for being dead.
A small chuckle escaped his lips, no-one knew what he was laughing about. They looked in the direction his eyes were pointing and saw the blade shard in his thigh quivering. It suddenly shot from his thigh towards the ceiling far above, spanged off of something to high up to see to ricochet back down to thunk into the stone floor next to Rathe's foot where it quivered and melted. Karsh then touched his left forearm with two fingers and closed his eyes for a second. His arm knit itself back together while they stared in horrified interest. Something like children watching a snake eat a frog...
Karsh stripped off his gauntlet to inspect his work at healing. He seemed satisfied with the results since he flexed his hand and put his glove back on. It had knit itself back together as well.. Arselen thought she'd seen something odd about Karsh's hand. His middle and ring fingers seemed to be darker than the others. Karsh caught her line of thought, looked over at her, and held up his hand. His glove had only two fingers, the rest were half, fingers. As a fact, both gloves were the same way, thumb, forefinger, little finger plainly visible.
He really didn't want to have to explain his gloves, or his hands. Would be a tale too long to relate.. at least for now. He bent to look at his thigh and prodded the wound. Purple ooze frothed out of the ugly hole. He grimaced.
"Arselen, your dagger, please." his hand was held out. Once the thin stiletto like blade was in his hand, he flipped it around and stared at the blade in deep thought. Or so it looked. The blade glowed hot and smoked. Karsh pulled the wound as far open as he could get it.
"Avert your eyes, please." sounded more like a command. The blade dipped down and there was a hiss, and something squealed. Karsh caught it quickly as it tried to run. The necromancer had used a hollow blade that held a creature. Karsh hated necromancers. He squeezed the squirming thing in his hand and grolwed. His hand smoked.
"I'll get you something to cleanse the wound, lord Kentu." Rathe turned around and noticed that his face felt better. His hand went up to his forehead, his burns were gone. How odd.
"Thank you." Karsh said, as Rathe returned. He put his hand out to take the pitcher, as he opened his hand ashes dropped to the ground.
"What was that?" Arselen was close to retching. She'd never seen a purple fanged worm critter before. She'd also never seen someone turn something into dust in their hands like that, either.
"You're better off not knowing just right now." Karsh wished he didn't know as much about the Archon as he did. There was such a thing as too much knowledge...
Go here and poke around for all sorts of Baja stuff....
....Westy...
There are a few pics of whales in Laguna San Ignacio here. I have not been there,but have been whale watching at Mag Bay and Scammons Lagoon...
.....Westy...
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