Friday, February 07, 2014

I’ve been receiving phone calls. None, unfortunately, have been porn. Nope. Everyone has been asking What’sup.

I’ve been telling the nada. What’s up with you. They haven’t really answered, at least to my satisfaction. Finally, one of my friends told me that driving by it is quite noticeable that no vehicles have graced my drive, so folks were wondering.

I thought about that and deemed it worthy of consideration. No tracks, no Ten Whiskey. I also considered how tired of telling people that hearing weather reports and weather reports, I thought it best to grocer up.

After thinking about all of this, last evening I fired up the truck and mad e plyenty of tracks. In and out. A donut or two, and all the snowy beauty disappeared, trampled and dirty looking.

The phone calls ceased.

So much for the snuggly middle management chair with the foot warmer.

I’m tickled by the Winter Games. The linked circles fritzed on opening day. The Jamaicans lost the runners for their sled  – I wonder if they’ll get them back, or if they’ll be allowed to sled without?

Then there’s the picky news reporting things llike brown water in the hotels, no pillows and a zillion other things including terrorists.

And then, other than Jamaican Bob Sled, there is another favorite: Bermuda.

Team Bermuda wears Bermuda shorts, wins Opening Ceremonies

Well done, Sir. Very well done.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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