Not the Otter Pops! That's Just Being Mean!
Posted on 05/12/2012 2:48:24 PM PDT by blam
You won’t be able to sit back because you’ll have already succumbed.
I can say with some authority that the screen type, after long use, with oils from the coffee seeping down can burst into flame and make life very exciting.
I never use the screen type now.
/johnny
I guess using an old lamp cord to heat my bath water is out, too...
I have a friend in NM that collects rain water in two 1500 gallon tanks and uses that in her greenhouse.
Those, suprisingly, are fairly inexpensive for the amount of water they store and their projected lifetime. And they protect the water from contaminiation.
/johnny
Don't forget the hair dryer.
/johnny
I am a professional felter. That has been one of my businesses for 27 years.
Most dryer lint is cotton/poly and assorted hair. To properly wet felt it, you need to add wool and if the wool is not carded into the other fibers, it will not adhere. It _can_ be needle felted, which requires the barbed felting needles (available anywhere, just do a search), but the fibers are so small, it needs to be needle felted onto some substrate.
Wool felts because it has little barbs running lengthwise along the fiber strand. Those barbs interlock w/pressure and heat. The wool fiber itself shrinks into a ball, one end curling around to the other. Time increases this shrinkage and it is one of the controlling elements for ultimate density. If the original wool mass is not somehow contained, ideally with some compression, the result is a tangled mess of hardened wool, with no shape. The necessary conditions for wet felt are compression, heat, agitation or pressure and time.
I would be interested to have your observations of how the dryer lint was felted. I have even had problems with card fly, which is the lint that accumulates under a wool carder. I originally tried to manufacture my main product with waste wool from commercial carders, but finally, about 25 years ago, I switched, first to mill ends and then to carded batts. The mill ends were of varying quality, not all of which, even when 100% wool, would felt reliably enough for production. Today, I only use carded batts.
Anyway, could you describe the process you witnessed?
I'll be sure to do that ... if I ever take a bath.
The catz use that one for a sleeping pad.
I don't recall her adding wool, but she could have, since she has angora rabbits and alpaca and llama.
/johnny
I have wondered if you can put those double clay pot coolers into a hole in the ground? I have also read that they only cool to about 45 degrees. They will delay fresh produce deterioration, but are not cold enough for meat or dairy.
I have thought that they could be useful for cool cloths in case of injury, burns or illness.
I have also wondered if they could be combined with a 12v fan to increase evaporation and cooling.
Cooling would be a problem in FL or other hot, humid areas w/o electricity. I know when we lived there for 6 months, I noticed there were no basements. Up here, the cellar stays at about 57 degrees in the heat of summer and is still too warm for preservation.
/johnny
Ok, thanx!
Angora matts, technically not real felting, but good enough. Alpaca and llama felt. You described small scale hand wet felting. I can see how it worked.
OTOH, it is curious anyone would put alpaca, llama or angora in the dryer, unless it was done at low—>heat.
Cats adore felt. Mine will get into my scraps and literally roll around in them like it was catnip. This is a beast that doesn’t even like catnip!
Wait, you mean like this guy?
"I thought about this and the frustration that other preppers have with this laid back idiotic attitude that there is no need for preparation." [Be Informed's Inferno, sentence 4]
Why can't he just leave the NPs to their non-prepping? Why must he annoy them with a 30 point list of the torments they'll suffer for ignoring his prepper advice?
"* The (NP) will feel the worst guilt imaginable as they hear their family moaning in anguish from lack of anything to eat, knowing they could have done something to prepare. * The (NP) will most likely not see the rebuilding and recovery after A SHTF event. They will, like almost all NP’s, be statistics. Some will die hours or a day before help arrives. * The (NP) from lack of food, drinking bad water, no light at night, the horrid smells, no good self defense, the overall horror, will often be paralyzed with fear and despair, blank stare. * The (NP) is totally helpless after SHTF, will have to rely totally on charity of those prepared to live. They will take all sorts of desperate measures likely to get them shot. They’ll attempt to eat hazardous foods like an animal trapped in a house will do, and get sick and suffer much before dying. The (NP) will likely die (ugly and hard) as they lived, unprepared for anything." [Ibid., torments 27 - 30]
Yeah, that'll teach those NPs!
You have been told that repeatedly.
/johnny
If you've already got a generator, you might be better-off getting a deep-cycle lead-acid battery and an inverter.
Run the generator for a while at its max-efficiency power to charge the battery, then use the battery to power the fan via the inverter.
Yep. The catz love it. I've often wondered if I can somehow felt the layers of added cat hair into the existing mat.
/johnny
Did that in the winter at the shack in the mountain when we were snowed in and didn't get sunlight. 1 hour of genset a day would charge the battery bank enough to last about a day and a half.
That takes a good charge controller in the inverter. I was using an old 2.4kva Trace unit.
/johnny
So an article gets posted that refers to non-preppers as having an “idiotic attitude” and I’m not supposed to respond to that?
I don’t think you understand how this forum works.
If you guys don’t want to catch flak, don’t post provocative stuff.
You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we
say in Texas, you couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions
printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather
kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in
the Isles of Langerhan.
You’re a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little
worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk,
a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a
stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.
You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared
richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth
into a hostile world. You are an insensate, blinking calf,
meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling
beasts who sired you and then died of shame in recognition of what
they had done. They were a bit late.
I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same
species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf
at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut.
Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You
are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention
that you smell?
Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting
to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a
nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be
able to access it ever so much more rapidly.
You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up,
drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set
you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the
frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the
queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.
You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid,
nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You’re a fool, an
ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won’t have sex with
you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost
in a land that reality forgot. You are not ANSI compliant. You
have a couple of address lines shorted together. You should be
promoted to Engineering Manager.
And what meaning do you expect your delusionally self-important
statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us?
What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your
tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous
desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of
the snake?
You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and
obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living
emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a
loathsome disease, a puerile slack-jawed drooling meatslapper. You
make Quakers shout and strike Pentecostals silent. You are the kind
of person who would remove this reference to Version 5.32 and to
http://www.guymacon.com/insult.txt so people will think that
you wrote this. Your mother had to tie a pork chop around your neck
just to get your dog to play with you. You think P.D.Q. Bach is
the greatest composer who ever lived. You prefer L. Ron Hubbard to
Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. Hee-Haw is too deep for you. You
would watch test patterns all day if the other inmates would let you.
On a good day you’re a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are
deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality
of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted.
You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and
sorrow wherever you go.
You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off,
pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john.
You clouted boggish foot-licking half-twit. You dankish clack-dish
plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You bloody churlish
boil-brained clotpole ponce. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup
pratting naff. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing
gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted
clapper-clawed flirt-gill.
You are so clueless that if we stripped you naked, soaked you in
clue musk, and dropped you into a field full of horny clues, You
still would not have a clue.
You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are
degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing
you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go
away.
I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard
stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it
goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension
of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid
collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed.
Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity
stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more
stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year.
Quasar stupid. Your writing has to be a troll. Nothing in our
universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial
fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence
of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the
laws of physics that we know. I’m sorry. I can’t go on. This is an
epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me
again for a while. I don’t have enough strength left to deride
your ignorant questions and half baked comments about unimportant
trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh.
The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have
snipped away most of your of what you wrote, because, well...
it didn’t really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a
creative flame was pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together
a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective...
Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, spell,
and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary
skills that many of us “normal” people take for granted that
everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget
that there are “challenged” persons in this world who find these
things more difficult. If I had known, that this was your case then
I would have never read your post. It just wouldn’t have been
“right”. Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the
best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be
placing such a demand on you.
Wow, this is even more pathetic than “plonk”.
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