Skiddin' in the Hole
Well, there are days.... and then, there are days. This was not a good day. But there was good news. No one got hurt, the skidloader wasn't damaged, the crane hired to pull it out was relatively cheap and, most importantly, the freshly poured concrete basement wall didn't cave in. Post crane hoist, I drove over to the Edgewater to meet the dudes for some plates of roast beef & mashed potatoes and a few cocktails to calm the nerves. Deer hunters were filing in while we ate, giving our table the nod and loading up at the bar with a few stories to tell in brief. For me, it was a night of sitting in a forest of big guys with big hearts and bigger plans.
posted by wendy lewis at 11/16/2005 09:26:00 AM
13 Comments:
I will never forget the day when Lance and I bagged that skidloader. It was opening day of farm implement season. Larry and I each had a license for a grain auger each, and I had one for a single-prop crop sprayer. It was cold as hell froze over that morning. Lance picked me up by the post office. We drove out to the fields away from the highway and stopped behind a quonset owned by who knows. Larry got out and strapped on the catapult that his daughter made for him in shop class. I put on my flame thrower. I lit a cigarette and we trudged off into the field.
After an hour of walking, and no farm implements in sight, Larry started catapulting sticks of dynamite at trees. Made a huge goddamn mess. After a while that got boring. We saw a deer. Larry missed it. Then we started back to the truck. It looked like we weren't going to bag anything. I turned my flame thrower on someone's winter wheat just for the hell of it.
When we got back, Larry took off the catapult and put it in the truck bed. He meandered to the front of the quonset. "Gotta piss," he said. A minute later he came running back to the truck. He grabbed his catapult from the truck, mounted it on his back, and sort of ran staggering back to where he came from. I followed. Still running, he turned his face around and said, "Fucking A, Darrel!"
When we got around the quonset I saw what he was all riled up about. There was a skidloader right there that someone was building a house with. Larry loaded up two sticks, both landed under the skidloader and boom the damn thing flew like five feet up in the air and landed between the foundation and the hole in the ground. We cracked a beer and Larry made his digital camera take a picture. Luckily there were no rangers around, because neither of us had a license to bag a skidloader.
Hmmm, how long before this pic ends up on FARK?
i smell NSGLS. anyone else?
it weren't me
really? wow. ok. must be nick. or.... maybe fatguy. come out come out who(m)ever you are!
It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, Defeater of the Saxons, sovereign of all England.
Good one, Art.
This blog has its own fanfic!
We are all characters now.
Big deal. Arthur Pendragon. Everybody thinks Art was the shit, but he was too busy to take care of his woman, so she ends up cuckolding him with one of his most trusted friends. He couldn't have been all that, now could he?
Hmmm. NSGLS makes an interesting point. All the titleage (is that a word?....well.... you know what I mean) in England, or anywhere else for that matter, can't buy you the kind of fortitude that love-making (for real) demands of ones interior and ones capacity to give it up. Dig? That's what all that is really about.... and it has NOTHING to do with ego. Of that, I am certain.
Ah, forbidden love........
Good start, but I got nuthin'
I smite you with my oil can of oppression, peasant!
Must you?
Smite, schmite, Anonymous. Oil can of oppression? WTF!?!?!
And who you callin' peasant, pheasant?
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