Posted on 10/29/2011 12:04:42 PM PDT by Hunton Peck
Hey! (okay, I'm not on TV...but still)
You gotta be a real piece of Samsonite to be an Osama voter.
That’s okay, Obama is still the tallest thing there. God missed a chance.
Oops, people have already posted that joke as I read farther down...
And I don’t want to know how often people need to have something removed from their butt. I went to college with a girl whose father was a fireman in the next town over, they both had stories that would make me cry laughing. “You wouldn’t believe, it was a million-to-one shot!” [Seinfeld reference]
>>cause walking to the end of a row, then following around the outside of the orchard till they got to the barn/parking lot/whatever was simply beyond their comprehension..
To a liberal, that bit of common sense is incomprehensible. You are saying, “Walk in a straight line until you hit a wall. Then, turn and follow the wall until you find a door. Exit through the door.”
To them, you are saying, “Walk in what might be the wrong direction from the door to eventually find the door, even if it requires extra steps.” Their liberal entitlement mindset tells them that they deserve the shortest path to the door and it is someone’s duty to show it to them.
They will die horrible deaths when the economic collapse happens. If the woman is lucky, she’ll become a concubine to a warlord.
I’d rather eat hot garbage than be at that event. The limp-wristed guy with his mouth open looks frightening. I’m sure his IQ is, too.
Destined to be in the first die off.
Hehe, I’ve actually done this. Going out walking with my future wife, we parked right next to a creek. Walking somewhat in the upstream direction, it didn’t matter where we went or how much attention we paid to the terrain. When it’s time to go back, walk toward the sun, keep going until you hit the creek, then follow it right back down to the car. Super easy and it makes you look worldly.
The OWS crowd will be dying when the temps hit the 40s and sleet starts falling. They’ll be moaning for the Red Cross shelter and hot soup.
I’ve been apple pickin’ at Honey Pot Farm and it does seem to go on forever. It’s really pretty and a great place just for the scenery. I used to pass it on my way home when I worked in Sudbury. It’s right next to the Collins Institution, who put on a World War II reenactment every October and who own an operating P-51 and B-17, among other toys. If you look up Honey Pot Farms, Stow, Massachusetts and look to the Southeast of the farm, just across the Assabet River, you can see their airfeild and hangar.
The strange thing is, there is a pretty tall radio antenna in the area, more or less north-east of the farm. If you use tower light for a beacon you’ll wind up back at the farmhouse from any point on the farm, since it’s on the northeast corner of the property. The farm is pretty hilly and it’s hard to see over the next hill because it’t thickly planted with apple and other fruit trees. I can imagine getting lost there.
I would love to have them for neighbors for a SHTF event.
Looters would hit them first, giving me time to get ready. Or I would invade them myself,take their stuff and make them my slaves{ Not sex slaves}
I’ve been to that farm. Because of the hilliness and density of trees, you can get disoriented quite easily.
damn straight...
disoriented i one thing, common sense is another...
and just like you have it... with a capital I !!!
Again.
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
Robert Frost, 1914
Times have changed.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.