Barney's Dead...

And I Don't Feel So Good Myself

When we got home from this afternoon's Mardi Gras parade down in Redfern Village I learned that actor Don Knotts had died today. Damn, I'm gonna miss him.








Anyone that didn't think that Don Knotts was hilarious must be crazy or something.

R.I.P. Mr. Knotts

I Just Found Out That I’m a "Sitzpinkler"

Hey dude...put the seat down when you're finished...


I’m suffering from a bit of lethargy this evening—not being willing to spend the time to intelligently develop a good rant, yet feeling like I need to say something about a couple of issues that just won’t go away from the public’s radar screens.

While we were out at happy hour Friday evening, one of our female acquaintances asked me about my thoughts on the current “UAE Ports” brouhaha. I put on my best non-partisan face and attempted to explain my position to the three grown women in my audience (all over the age of 50…but please don't mention their ages to anyone else...you know how ladies are...and they definitely don't look it...their age, that is...) and I quickly lost two of the three in the details I expounded.

My short answer was “it’s a tempest in a teapot.”

I then proceeded to lay out my own logical thoughts on the issue, and one of my students simply turned her back and entered another adjacent conversation, dismissing my explanation by saying something to the effect of “it just feels like a bad idea (Arabs handling port operations) to me…”

That form of analysis of important issues like global security is EXACTLY what is wrong with the world today.

Yes, you should listen to your heart and examine your feelings, but every now and then you should also take your head out of your butt and think about a subject rationally.

Those of you that are interested should stay tuned to this blog to read the long answer to this “port security” issue. I'll probably publish it later this weekend.

The other thing that is still bothering me is the ongoing rioting of our lovely Muslim neighbors over the Danish Mohammed cartoons and the pansy assed, limp wrested handling of the subject by the NY Times and almost every other US print media outlet.

One of my Blog Idols, Captain Ed over at Captain’s Quarters points out Blog Diva Michelle Malkin’s recent writing on the subject, at the same time giving us a lesson in some interesting words contained in the Danish language.

Be sure to stop by over at Captain Ed’s and Miss Malkin’s websites and read the details.

The one thing I’ll point out is Captain Ed’s definition of the word Sitzpinkler.

At the risk of delivering too much information, I have to admit that I are one…a Sitzpinkler…that is.

At least I am at home.

A Sitzpinkler is German slang for a man who chooses to sit while urinating (rather than standing and spraying every single surface within twenty feet with his left over, metabolized beer and soda.)

The word is also used to mean a “wimp.”

Hey, I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a Sitzpinkler.

That might explain why my friends aren’t afraid of my bathroom either…

(Isn't it amazing the things that you can learn reading blogs???)

Priapism?

CaN YoU Say anything NeW to a MAN having lived between the ages of 13 and 35 that hasn't had this problem without the use of drugs?


Who the hell is designing and writing these new TV commercials?

"...Contact your medical professional if you experience an erection lasting over four hours"

Most of us are still looking for a woman that would complain on our behalf...

Eighty Dollars Later

Can I Get Some Sleep Sometime?


My lovely friend Tracy over at the frame shop spent some time with me this afternoon and while we were hanging out there we laid out and cut the giant piece of mat for my church drawings. She and her husband Tony have a CAD computer program and a "robotic Mat-cutter" that reduces the work to minutes rather than hours.

Here is an impromptu photo of the project layout:

I will actually draft the Wesleyan Cross laying there in the middle at a size 33% to 50% larger, not on a piece of paper, but rather it will be inked directly onto the middle of the artwork mat, surrounded by the four church drawings in the window cutouts.

As matter of further explaination, I'm cheating this morning by using only one final drawing in this layout because I still have work to do on the others and they are still taped down to the drawing board.

This has been an interesting evolution in my artistic endeavors, but my presentation style is getting good reviews from people that should know better than to encourage an ego-maniac like myself.

I'm doing my own thing, and the public, and more importantly, my artistic peers, seem to like it.

We’re Being “Vetted”

But Not Cor-vetted (varrrooomm…varrrrooommm…)


Did I ever tell you about my adventures on my second boat?

You know, my old 1987 32’ Sea Ray Express Cruiser aptly named “Miss Behaving”?

I can’t believe that I forgot to mention it because it was almost as much fun as my adventures with my second wife. Well…actually…I have to admit that the second wife ended up being more of a pain in my ass.

Any hooooo…the boat had two bedrooms ("berths" in boating lingo), one bathroom (a "head" in boating lingo), twin Chevy 350 cubic inch V-8 engines (money pits, in boating lingo), and I fell madly in love with her in Hollywood, Florida one day back in March 2002.

After the marriage I managed to drive her though the Florida Keys (you know how some women like to be driven) on my way to Mexico Beach, Florida, where I was forced to park her in a marina to have some emergency engine work done by one of the infamous, indigenous “boat guys.”

(For those of you that don’t know, most of the so-called “professional” “boat guys” are only slightly higher on the evolutionary scale than Jellyfish and Garbage men.)

I only knew her for a few months, before my highly paid stupid f**king crooked asshole unscrupulous mechanic managed to steal her and sink her or otherwise lead her to some other terrible fate.

Twenty two thousand dollars cash money right down the drain (or into Davy Jones Locker…as the case may be…)

Did I mention that since I paid cash for my lovely lady, that I decided to not buy insurance—at least until the restoration work was done?

Well…

I didn’t have insurance.

Sorry…I was stupid in retrospect…so what is your point???

Can you say Pee-H-Dee in B-O-A-T-I-N-G? (that would be PHD for my dyslexic readers.)

I’ve got one now.

So what do YOU think about the current brouhaha over “Port Security?”

Let me give you a hint…

What does the letters B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T add up to spell.

You got it???

When I get throughwith my drawing and doing some other writing tonight, I’ll tell you why I think so.

If you're smart, you'll get an extra roll of toilet paper out...

The Girl Scout Cookies Are Here

Finally...

Don't get between me and my freezer full of "Thin Mints"...

Diplomatic Relations?

Is That Like "Sexual Relations" With Your First Cousin?

I just heard FOX News say that the US hasn't had "Diplomatic Relations" with Iran since 1979...

I say that that's GOOD, dammit

My New Dilemma Artistic Endeavor

God Help Me…


Reality has sank into my thick skull regarding the task that I’ve undertaken with my new friend “Mr. Tree,” and I’m feeling a bit of panic as I undertake outlining the project scope and writing a proposal to myself and any other interested parties covering what I’m actually trying to accomplish here.

As is usual, I’m taking this project VERY seriously.

Imagine being guilty of encasing someone you knew and loved in polyurethane and placing them in some ridiculous pose, with a retarded expression on their face, on public display for eternity (or at least thirty or forty years.)

Do YOU want to be responsible for that kind of insult and disgrace?

I certainly don’t, and my friend “Mr. Tree” definitely deserves better than that.

I have this private joke that I’ve shared with my mother and my girl Pat about my behavior in “touristy” gift shops and places like Hallmark Cards and the obsequious “Christmas Shoppes”.

I freeze my face in a teeth gritting grin and walk around saying things like “isn’t that cute…” and “uh-huh honey,” “buy two of THOSE…” while I pray for the experience to end.

That’s not how I want the public—at least anyone with any taste and judgment—to react when they see the results of my endeavor.

The south is already quite well known for tourist traps like “Gator Farms” and zoos sporting “two headed snakes” and crap like that, and we also have our fair share of what I call “Public Art.”

You know what I mean by “Public Art”, don't you?

I mean things served to the public on a silver platter--things which are so ugly or otherwise ridiculous looking that it is clear that there is no way that the artist could actually make a living and sell their artwork unless the GOVERNMENT used force to STEAL the funds from the TAXPAYERS in order to give said money to the so-called ARTIST in return for the possession and use of the so-called ARTWORK.

I just hate when that happens, and I've written about it in the past.

Now I have to put my body and energy where my mouth is and get this thing done, tastefully and with my own high standards, but without one dime of confiscated tax money other that the amount that would have otherwise been spent moving the tree from where it lies to the landfill or dump.

I’m going to by God do it…just watch…

I Just Got Twenty Tons Of Free Firewood

Be Careful What You Ask For...


About 4:30 on Wednesday afternoon the phone rang.

The call was for me.

It was my friend, Brunswick Mayor Bryan Thompson, calling to tell me he was behind my efforts to save the old Live Oak tree trunk (Latin name "Quercus Virginiana") that had been ripped out of the ground removed from the edge of "K" Street last fall during a sewer construction project.

Take a look at this beautiful, but monsterous piece of wood:

Just to give the tree trunk some scale, here's a photo of four of the local neighborhood boys STANDING side by side on my new piece of firewood...

These young gentlemen are each about ten or twelve years old and at least 5' tall, so you can see that words barely describe my new friend..."Mr. Tree."

It's about 25 feet long, at least 22' diameter at the root base, and the main trunk is about 9 feet in diameter. It's topped off with not two, but three main branches that are over 3 feet each in diameter.

I did a few calculations just for fun, and in my estimation, based on published figures indicating that Oak weighs between 16.5 and 26.0 pounds per cubic foot, this thing weighs between 31,000 and 49,000 pounds.

Is there a Flea Market somewhere that I can drag it off to? Can I have free Charcoal for life or something?

Now comes the hard part...what to DO WITH MY TREE.

I want it to end up in nearly the exact same spot where it came from when the construction interrupted its life. I want it to be carved into a sculpture of people or something (ML King, Sidney Lanier, General Oglethorpe), and most of all I want the final presentation to be dignified--not just another "cheesy" gee whizz type public debacle.

In addition to starting a fund raising drive and soliciting ideas from the community about the theme, I also have to get the tree moved and stored while I complete the design and hire an artist.

When I come up with something, you'll be the first to know.

Now where did I put my really big chain saw...

One Down

Three To Go...

OK, I finished my pen and ink rendering of the old First Presbyterian Church located over in Brunswick. The belltower and windows gave me fits, but I got it done after about 6 hours of work spread over the past three evenings.

I finally have my techniques figured out and have gained command of my new pens, so I thought that I'd give everyone a peek at the results of my latest efforts:



I limited my work to the old sanctuary section built in in 1873, and enlarged in 1893. Numerous additions have been made since then, but history can't improve on the classic beauty of the original structure.

I've got to go back to drawing now...

NY Times Writers Are Treasonous Idiots

It’s just a simple fact…


Hang on a second; because I have a few things to say in my preface, then I’ll get to this morning’s real topic.

Ever since my first “social experiences” way back in 1965—in Kindergarten—I’ve understood that most people my age and younger are f**king idiots. I hate to say so, and it's sad because I think that it's not hereditary. It's actually a manifestation of their environment, education, and their upbringing (or the lack thereof.)

I’ve also suspected that this affliction extended way beyond my own age group, but as a matter of respect I’ve waited to obtain solid evidence before making this assertion about other age groups. I can honestly say in retrospect, that most of my public (government) school teachers fell into this category.

This morning I reluctantly have to announce that I consider the jury to be in—on all counts—and sadly I’ve been correct all along.

Let's look at the evidence...Take our little elections for things like “Class King and Queen”, for instance.

The title of “King” and “Queen” were incidental in those simple old days, and the concept of actually having any so-called “class” was overridden by the reality that at least half of my classmates (including the aforementioned “king” and “queen”) still wet their beds each and every night and most couldn’t successfully use a fork and knife to stuff food in their own pudgy faces.

Beauty and popularity were everything, and voting for a loser was to be considered a personal defeat. We were taught at an early age to go with the herd…run with the Lemmings…jump off that cliff. God forbid that you risk being different and going against the flow, lest you be considered a “loser” (along with your candidate.)

I could write another five pages about my family’s association with the George Wallace branch of the “yellow dog” Democratic party, but since the media has successfully re-written history and good old George and Strom and Senator Byrd’s legacy of racial insanity has been expunged, I'll save my words and your time because I’d probably just be called insane or a liar, or maybe the liberals would choose to just ignore me as an unfortunate expounder of facts that shouldn’t be allowed to get into the way of their liberal good intentions.

Today I find myself having lived through and voted in SEVEN national elections for president, not to mention numerous state and local elections involving mundane things like adding a penny sales tax on Cheese Whiz and Beef Jerky to fund new water pipes and trash service for “invalids and shut-ins.”

Let’s face it ladies and gentlemen…even after graduating from Kindergarten, Grade School, Junior High, High School, and Columbia or Harvard Universities—many out there are still uninformed, hard headed morons and will go to their graves voting with, arguing about, and maintaining their status as a F**king Partisan Idiots.

I can’t understand how in the world FULL GROWN ADULTS would choose to act like politics is a sports team or is like electing the class or Prom King and Queen, but 49% of America and at least 75% of the world sits around with their head up their collective asses, apparently because they VOTED for the idiots in charge and God forbid that they should change their stance and party affiliation in the middle of the process of LIFE.

Even more amazing to me is that hardly anyone votes in this country. What a truly great opportunity, and what an amazingly awesome RESPONSIBILITY.

For instance, we recently had a poorly staged county referendum to decide on a new “SPLOST” (special local option sales tax.) Something like 15% of the eligible voters turned out, and it won by a 65-35 margin.

At the same time I have to listen to the endless ravings of various pontificating “blue collar” “working men” while they bitch and complain about the taxes they are FORCED to pay, yet they also admit that they don’t vote because they believe that their vote doesn’t make a difference.

Bull Hockey.

If you don’t vote, I say that you have absolutely no entitlement to say a damn thing about what goes on outside the fence line of your own private property, and that you shouldn’t be surprised if someone from the GOVERNMENT doesn’t show up in short order and start telling you where you can pee and what and when you can eat. They might even knock on your door one day and tell you that your lovely GOVERNMENT now owns your property and you need to get the hell out.

Taking…A…Big…Breath…

Now I submit, for your consideration, this article from this morning’s NY Times:

WASHINGTON, Feb 20--In a seven-year-old secret program at the National Archives, intelligence agencies have been removing from public access thousands of historical documents that were available for years, including some already published by the State Department and others photocopied years ago by private historians.

The restoration of classified status to more than 55,000 previously declassified pages began in 1999, when the Central Intelligence Agency and five other agencies objected to what they saw as a hasty release of sensitive information after a 1995 declassification order signed by President Bill Clinton. It accelerated after the Bush administration took office and especially after the 2001 terrorist attacks, according to archives records.

But because the reclassification program is itself shrouded in secrecy — governed by a still-classified memorandum that prohibits the National Archives even from saying which agencies are involved — it continued virtually without outside notice until December. That was when an intelligence historian, Matthew M. Aid, noticed that dozens of documents he had copied years ago had been withdrawn from the archives' open shelves.

Mr. Aid was struck by what seemed to him the innocuous contents of the documents — mostly decades-old State Department reports from the Korean War and the early cold war. He found that eight reclassified documents had been previously published in the State Department's history series, "Foreign Relations of the United States."

So what is the NY Times’ point here?

The government has SECRETS, and it's wrong?

Ohhhhhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhhhhh Eeeeeeeeeeee Owwwwwwww

Or maybe it's REPUBLICAN GOVERNMENT = BAD?

DEMOCRATS = GOOD?

Funny thing…because they do bother to say that this new "reclassification" program began during the “Philanderer-in-chief” President Bill Clinton’s administration, but they glaze over that fact in continuing to bash the Bush administration with allegations of E-V-I-L behaviors and insideous aspirations of mis-doings.

I think that my head is going to finally explode…something that I’ve been worrying about for the past twenty years.

The NY Times seems to think that the only time the government could possibly have any secrets it must involve the Vice President shooting hunting companions or political operatives “outing” people that aren’t actually under cover.

In the NY Times world view, there is no possible way that having a “Secret” can be a GOOD THING—something to be respected—something in the INTEREST OF OUR NATION.

So the NY Times runs around talking to criminals and leakers “informed sources” and publishes everything they can find about the federal government in an effort to undermine our military in wartime and limit our ability to gather intelligence about what our enemies want to do to us.

I've had it right up to here (pointing to the top of my ever balding head.)

Everyone will be pleased to know that I think that I have a solution that is going to piss off all of the liberals and eco-tree-hugging assholes, but I don't care because I really believe that I'm on to something here. We will, however, have to give all of the Yankees that have already relocated to the south an opportunity to apply for amnesty and sign a pledge to stop telling us how they do things up north, or else we can bus them back north of the Mason Dixon line and wish them all a "wonderful life."

First, I want us to divide the country up—reminiscent of the idea of the south’s succession back in 1862.

We’ll (the Libertarians and the Republicans) will take everything between Texas and Florida, and south of Kentucky and Virginia, and we'll keep all of the US military (Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard) that wants to come along with us.

The rest of the geniuses, rocket scientists, panty wasted, bleeding hearted, bed wetting liberals can have everything else left over—lock, stock, barrel, and Nor’easters. They can start their own country, and we'll keep the one that was formed in 1776.

They can have Gay marriage, Abortion on demand, ban greenhouse gasses, sign the Kyoto Treaty, impeach everyone they don't agree with, tax everyone that makes over $75,000 at 95%, build new three bedroom homes for the homeless, institute socialized medicine, hand out PHD's in panhandling, institute Gay, Lesbian, and "transgendered" studies in the third grade, and generally prove how caring and compassionate they are to the rest of the world.

They will have to live with their own new golden rule, however.

NO GOVERNMENT SECRETS.

NONE...

NADA...

ZERO...

ZILCH

I know that they will all be so relieved.

I even have an idea for the name of their new country (since we'll be keeping the old one.)

They can call themselves Canada South, or maybe South Canada--sorta reminiscient of "South America," if you know what I mean.

Meanwhile, we'll go back to enforcing the original US Constitution, The Bill of Rights, and the first thing I'd do is eliminate all income taxes. We'd immediately go to collecting a National Retail Sales Tax.

Everyone will get a nice framed picture of John Wayne, they'd get to keep every penny they earn free from income tax, go (or not go) to the church of their choice, say (or not say--without passing a new law) the Pledge of Allegience, Pray (or not Pray--without passing a new law) before kickoff at football games, donate (or not donate) to charities of their choice, teach (or not teach) their own children about sex when they feel that the time is right, and feel free to sign (or not sign) a petition telling Alex Baldwin, Barbara Streisand, and Arianna Huffington to shut their big stupid yaps shut the hell up.

Wouldn't that be marvelous? I'd be happy as hell, and most people could get on with their lives in relative safety and have a heck of alot more freedom and more of their own money to spend exercising their newly found freedoms.

Of course you know that we'd have to rescue South Canada from their stupid selves inside of a five year timespan--forced to station troops on their borders and sending massive packages of foreign aid money through the UN to keep them financially solvent.

Imagine that ...

What a utopia...

No one would be working, because they'd all be dieing of aids or sitting on their asses collecting government checks, or if they had "won life's lottery" they'd be busy spending their inheritance consulting with their accountants to protect their money in offshore bank accounts.

That's OK however.

Better US than them...

and I'd get to say yet again...

TOLD YOU SO!!!

Just When You Think That Things Can't Get Any Worse

You Need To Consider Situations Like This Little Girl's Fate...


Being the arrogant Blogger that I am, I often check my site visit totals and follow up on who is reading my rantings.

For some reason that is beyond my understanding, someone from the Christi Thomas Blog stopped by to visit me this morning. They didn't comment or ask me for anything, they just left an electronic trace of their visit on my hitcounter.

I probably offended them with some of my rhetoric.

I just learned that Christi Thomas is a little girl that has a bad case of cancer, and the above blog is documenting her trials and tribulations.

I'm humbled and slapped back to reality that I don't have it that bad when it comes to my own health.

What's YOUR excuse?

My Final Subject Matter

I Got Religion


After running around with my camera in my hand for the past week or so, I have determined the winning subjects for my latest artistic endeavor.

Here they are, in no particular order...

First there is the regional favorite and oldest church in the area, John and Charles Wesley's Christ Church:





Then there is my personal favorite, the old Episcopal Church in Darien, Georgia:



Across the circle in Darien is also the First United Methodist Church:



And finally, there is Brunswick's own First Presbyterian Church:



Notice the amazing contrast between the feel of the color images and that of the black and white versions that I did using Photoshop. Seems like that they are 100 years apart, don't they?

I have the Darien Episcopal church drawing finished, and I have studies of two of the other three completed, but the March 1st deadline is rapidly approaching.

Now where are my pens...

Another One Bites The Dust

Rising From Your Own Ashes…


The Georgia coast is widely populated with gigantic Live Oak Trees, some of them over 200 years old.

I have long lusted after the possibility of owning property here that contained one or more Live Oaks, and I do in fact have a young tree on the grounds of my Duplex and a massive adjacent tree that has branches that encroach on the roof of my building and need to be trimmed.

Trimming any branches on Live Oaks inside the City Limits of Brunswick, Georgia requires getting permission from the “Tree Commission.”

God help me…

That said, there is another old giant Live Oak that happened to get in the City of Brunswick’s way while they were doing a little sewer construction this winter, and after much public debate and discussion, this is what resulted:



As you can see, the tree was massive. I made this picture Sunday afternoon while visiting Brunswick to make some additional photos in support of my new "Church Art" efforts. The four young men striking their best "rapper style" pose were quite knowledgable of the old tree's fate and supportive of my idea to salvage the trunk and have some kind of memorial wood carving done using it as raw material.

I'll be talking to my new friend, Brunswick Mayor Bryan Thompson, later this morning about preserving the old tree's carcass and pursuing fundraising efforts to finance the art effort. I've already contacted this guy (www.treecarver.com) about the posibility of doing the work.

Now all I have to do is come up with a design.

I guess that I'm losing my mind in an art induced stupor in my old age...

Bansi Sweet Potato?

I Just Might Start A New Fad...


I keep wayyyy too many vegetables in my kitchen. In fact, due to our warm climate, I have trouble with my fresh potatoes sprouting before I can get through a bag in my cooking.

This winter the local grocer was basically giving away Sweet potatoes and I have struggled to keep ahead of their growth once they reached my home.

Here are a few photos of my most recent pet potato:





Hey, who needs a pet rock when you can raise your own potato?

Someone please pass the butter and brown sugar...

An Additional Lack Of Progress

Paralyzed with Indecision



Note to self...

Political (in)Correctness

Freedom's Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose...


Have I mentioned that I’m really allergic to bee stings?

No?

Well, I am—although things seem to have settled down a little in my old age.

Of course I haven’t been stung in nine or ten years now, so the next encounter might be my last for all I know, but the more recent reactions were relatively mild. Over-the-counter antihistamines like Benadryl provide the necessary relief to keep my heart beating and my chest rising and falling.

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with my winged nemesis my entire life—I love to hate them. We had practically every single form of bee and wasp on the planet living within 50 feet of my bedroom where I grew up. Bumble bees, Honey Bees, Carpenter Bees, Red Wasps, White Faced Hornets, Yellow Jackets, Dirt Daubers—if it had wings and a stinger, we had it buzzing around between May and November.

Just try pushing a lawnmower around your back yard and run across a Yellow Jackets’ nest some time. You will gladly GIVE the lawnmower to the Yellow Jackets. Those sons of bitches come up out of the ground in massive numbers and it is virtually impossible to not get stung at least a half dozen times in a single encounter.

I used to get stung at least once every summer because I couldn’t resist tossing a rock or can or shooting a pellet gun at the giant paper wasp nests that hung under the eves of the outbuildings on my Mother’s Father’s farm in “lower” Alabama.

I knew that I got sick as hell when I got stung, but I couldn’t leave the little bastards alone because I believed that some day I would beat them at their own game. Finally the bug spray companies came out with the Wasp/Hornet spray that shoots a potent, deadly stream of liquid 20’ feet long and I revel in killing everything in sight at my Mom’s house every spring. It is much easier to kill them when the nest is small and there are only three or four flying menaces hanging around, than to wait until the nest is the size of a saucer or dinner plate and there are two score of them in their “air force.”

My approach to political and social issues in life runs a parallel course to my interaction with flying insects. Fraud and injustice always seems to irritate me, and within fifteen minutes of arriving on the scene I tend to run afoul of the hierarchy and I end up in an “us versus them” conflict with the governing authorities.

In my recent past I’ve found myself in direct conflict with published “ethics codes” where I knew that organizational leaders were selling illegal steroids, management was having illicit sexual relationships with subordinates, subordinates were homosexually involved with other subordinates, and I was contractually obligated to turn the whole miserable crowd in to someone (if I could find someone that wasn’t involved in the corruption) else face expulsion for aiding and abetting the debauchery.

Let’s just say that they threw the baby (that would be me) out with the bath water.

I’ve recently tripped over a substantial situation going on here in the Golden Isles. Someone of significant importance would be in real trouble with the Federal Authorities on several levels if things were ever to be made public. The problem is, said individual has more money and influence than God and Satin put together and if it were ever to come to light who (or whom) was responsible for the revelations there probably wouldn’t be enough remains left to do a DNA analysis.

I’m still thinking about making a few phone calls.

We can always move…and there’s always the witness protection program…right?