Red Mosquito

spike wrote:Did you ask him how he got it?

spike wrote:Did you ask him how he got it?

BurtReynolds wrote:

spike wrote:Did you ask him how he got it?

It's best not to ask questions and hope the money is properly laundered.

wease wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:Got the money I loaned out back, in the form of a fat wad of hundred dollar bills, because my bank won't accept checks or deposits from my stepdad. Now I'm walking around with a load of cash like I'm some kind of drug dealer. I should hit the strip club and make it rain.

Really channeling my drug dealing ancestors here.

Well that was quite unexpected. Glad you were able to get it back

wease wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

spike wrote:Did you ask him how he got it?

It's best not to ask questions and hope the money is properly laundered.

Or real?

spike wrote:Had to fire off an OSHA threat before 7am. Builders just left this huge beam resting on top of the scaffolding three stories up. Residents have to walk under this to get to their cars, the trash bins, etc.



Foreman said they’d be here over an hour ago to move it back onto the roof, but of course no sign of anyone yet.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:A pedestrian got killed in my Brooklyn neighborhood from something just like that.

Higgs wrote:So just to confirm, that's not your house and doesn't affect you personally in your day to day life?

dad wrote:good job, man.