A Funny Thing Happened.....
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Dennis The Bus Dweller
- Seasoned Nomadicista
- Posts: 1883
- Joined: Mon Nov 15, 2004 9:33 am
- Location: Southold N.Y.
- Contact:
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Dennis The Bus Dweller
- Seasoned Nomadicista
- Posts: 1883
- Joined: Mon Nov 15, 2004 9:33 am
- Location: Southold N.Y.
- Contact:
Thats what I use for keeping the mice out. Stuff any holes that mice mite be using to get in with steel wool and put dyier sheets behind furniture and in cabinets and any where the little fellas mite like to go. The little guys and gals don't like any of them so brand names dont matter. I is a big buzz on alot of RV boards around this time of year. I do it and I dont gots no mice 
Peace along the way
Dennis the bus dweller N.Y.
Dennis the bus dweller N.Y.
Where are all the funny stories? Let's center ourselves and at least put in some anecdotes to keep this thread virile.
"So, Rudy, are you going to contribute some more funny happenings?"
The aforementioned request was from my good friend Orbit. My reply is that I have two funny stories on deck.
One is of when we, as teenagers, used to play tackle football with Jim Leeds, the iron man.
Another is on paper, but to be announced.
"So, Rudy, are you going to contribute some more funny happenings?"
The aforementioned request was from my good friend Orbit. My reply is that I have two funny stories on deck.
One is of when we, as teenagers, used to play tackle football with Jim Leeds, the iron man.
Another is on paper, but to be announced.
Got love? Give love.
Well, this is not all that funny- but interesting nevertheless!
The wife got up this morning quite early as she usually does, and went in to fix her morning 'cupa joe'. She did not turn on the overhead light in the kitchen and thought she had enough light from the living room to see what she was doing. When the coffee pot signaled that it was thru with the brew, she poured some of her favorite creamer in and grabbed a spoon to mix it in with. Afterward she pulled the spoon out and as is her habit, she licked the spoon. Being still somewhat sleepy, she could not figure out why the creamer and coffee on the spoon tasted fishy. So she took a big swill of coffee and could detect the strong aftertaste of tuna. Odd!
By now she was starting to really wake up, so she turned on the kitchen light to investigate. It seems she had fed the cats last night before going to bed, and had left the can of tuna flavored cat food on the counter with the spoon laying next to it that was used to spoon those delectable morsels to the puty 'tats. The very spoon she was now licking
The wife does not have a strong stomach, and I am sure that thoughts of what kind of road kill contribute to the content of the cat food went thru her mind. But she stiffled the urge to hurl, and redid her 'cupa joe'.
There must be a moral to this story.............
The wife got up this morning quite early as she usually does, and went in to fix her morning 'cupa joe'. She did not turn on the overhead light in the kitchen and thought she had enough light from the living room to see what she was doing. When the coffee pot signaled that it was thru with the brew, she poured some of her favorite creamer in and grabbed a spoon to mix it in with. Afterward she pulled the spoon out and as is her habit, she licked the spoon. Being still somewhat sleepy, she could not figure out why the creamer and coffee on the spoon tasted fishy. So she took a big swill of coffee and could detect the strong aftertaste of tuna. Odd!
By now she was starting to really wake up, so she turned on the kitchen light to investigate. It seems she had fed the cats last night before going to bed, and had left the can of tuna flavored cat food on the counter with the spoon laying next to it that was used to spoon those delectable morsels to the puty 'tats. The very spoon she was now licking
The wife does not have a strong stomach, and I am sure that thoughts of what kind of road kill contribute to the content of the cat food went thru her mind. But she stiffled the urge to hurl, and redid her 'cupa joe'.
There must be a moral to this story.............
Very often, when Bob or I wanted to wake one another up, we would take hold of the side of our campers and give an "earthquake". That is, shaking the campers as much as we could. Later in life, it became difficult to give a good "earthquake" as our campers/motorhomes got bigger.
One time, when I was parked at my brother's house in California, we had a small earthquake. It was a real earthquake. I woke up in the middle of the night and thought, "there must be a whole football team out there shaking my motorhome".
The next BIG earthquake I was awake for. That was 1989. The Loma Prietta earthquake.
One time, when I was parked at my brother's house in California, we had a small earthquake. It was a real earthquake. I woke up in the middle of the night and thought, "there must be a whole football team out there shaking my motorhome".
The next BIG earthquake I was awake for. That was 1989. The Loma Prietta earthquake.
Got love? Give love.
So, a little dog, such as a dachshund, loves to crawl under the blankets and sleep by your feet. That makes a pretty good foot warmer on a cold night.
My big dogs have slept on the bed, only to steal the blankets, lay sideways with legs fully extended, thereby nearly pushing me off the bed.
OK, so not so bad...until I wake up too many times with my dog's ass cheeks two inches from my nose. A scary sight. Still not the deal closer.
As you may imagine, An immense amount of flatulent gases vented from those said cheeks.
It was THEN that the Judge declared no more sleeping with dogs.
My big dogs have slept on the bed, only to steal the blankets, lay sideways with legs fully extended, thereby nearly pushing me off the bed.
OK, so not so bad...until I wake up too many times with my dog's ass cheeks two inches from my nose. A scary sight. Still not the deal closer.
As you may imagine, An immense amount of flatulent gases vented from those said cheeks.
It was THEN that the Judge declared no more sleeping with dogs.
Got love? Give love.
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Dennis The Bus Dweller
- Seasoned Nomadicista
- Posts: 1883
- Joined: Mon Nov 15, 2004 9:33 am
- Location: Southold N.Y.
- Contact:
Your a really funny woman Ezra, your gonna do fine aren't youezrablu wrote:Dennis...I'm on that like a bum on a bologne sandwich!I don't like mouse traps of any kind so this is my ticket to puke free mouse removal.
Today when I hit town I'll be buying a bag of steel wool and a box of dryer sheets for my bus...thanks!
Peace along the way
Dennis the bus dweller N.Y.
Dennis the bus dweller N.Y.
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Dennis The Bus Dweller
- Seasoned Nomadicista
- Posts: 1883
- Joined: Mon Nov 15, 2004 9:33 am
- Location: Southold N.Y.
- Contact:
That’s hystericalRudy wrote:So, a little dog, such as a dachshund, loves to crawl under the blankets and sleep by your feet. That makes a pretty good foot warmer on a cold night.
My big dogs have slept on the bed, only to steal the blankets, lay sideways with legs fully extended, thereby nearly pushing me off the bed.
OK, so not so bad...until I wake up too many times with my dog's ass cheeks two inches from my nose. A scary sight. Still not the deal closer.
As you may imagine, An immense amount of flatulent gases vented from those said cheeks.
It was THEN that the Judge declared no more sleeping with dogs.
Peace along the way
Dennis the bus dweller N.Y.
Dennis the bus dweller N.Y.
I'm seated at the corner of the bar at a place called Hooligan's. It is the only place in town. The bartender is cheap.
In walks a stranger who boldly asks Fred, the bartender, for some 12 year old Scotch. Fred pours him a shot.
The stranger drinks it down, and then exclaims, "that's not 12 year old Scotch, that's 4 year old Scotch!" " I said 12 year old Scotch!"
So Fred pours him another shot. Now, the stranger says, "that's 8 year old Scotch!"
I, sitting there and watching with great amusement, decide I am going to have a little fun. I sneak around the corner and manage to successfully fill a shot glass with pee.
I then wait for the right moment to slide this shot glass 8 feet across the bar. Lo and Behold it lands right in front of the guy.
He quickly downs the shot glass and spews out most of the contents while screaming loudly," THAT'S PISS!!!"
I say to him "Yeah, I know, but tell me how old I am."
In walks a stranger who boldly asks Fred, the bartender, for some 12 year old Scotch. Fred pours him a shot.
The stranger drinks it down, and then exclaims, "that's not 12 year old Scotch, that's 4 year old Scotch!" " I said 12 year old Scotch!"
So Fred pours him another shot. Now, the stranger says, "that's 8 year old Scotch!"
I, sitting there and watching with great amusement, decide I am going to have a little fun. I sneak around the corner and manage to successfully fill a shot glass with pee.
I then wait for the right moment to slide this shot glass 8 feet across the bar. Lo and Behold it lands right in front of the guy.
He quickly downs the shot glass and spews out most of the contents while screaming loudly," THAT'S PISS!!!"
I say to him "Yeah, I know, but tell me how old I am."
Got love? Give love.
funny ...
My cat may not be funny, but sure has gotten the mice situation under control 
GoodClue
GoodClue
"ya gotta have art ..."
It's another rainy, grey, cold Seattle day. It is December 26. I am parked next to the large marina that houses hundreds of small boats.
Away from the shore is a park area with a long stretch of lawn.
It is particularly windy today, so I am surprised to see a car pull into the adjacent parking lot.
Out come the occupants; a man and what may very well be his wife or girlfriend.
The man has a great smile on his face as he opens the trunk of the car and takes out, what I presume is, one of his Christmas presents.
It is one of those sport kites that you fly by using two hand held steering handles.
Alas, the guy spent twenty minutes trying to launch the kite, but to no avail.
So he folds the whole thing up and both him and her (who did not look too excited about being out there) head back to the car.
I figured that today's show was over. BUT WAIT! It gets better!
After about 5 minutes of them sitting in the car, he re-emerges. She stayed in the car.
I can see, now, that he was determined to fly this new kite of his.
Amazingly, he got it in the air first try. Of course, he had no idea how to steer it, so the maiden flight lasted only 10 seconds.
Feeling a strength of accomplishment, the guy set it off again.
This time, he had full control of the flying and kept it up in the air for 2 minutes.
It is these two minutes that are some of my fondest memories.
Keep in mind that it was a windy day and the park lawn was wet.
I could see the jubilation in this guys face. The problem (and fun) was when he could not hold his ground.
The kite dragged him across 200 feet of wet grass. I did admire his ability to "water ski" across the lawn.
He was determined to keep that thing in the air.
After 200 feet, the wind got the better of him and he slid face down for another 25 feet until his kite came crashing down.
He got right up and snatched the kite,walking proudly back to the car.
Away from the shore is a park area with a long stretch of lawn.
It is particularly windy today, so I am surprised to see a car pull into the adjacent parking lot.
Out come the occupants; a man and what may very well be his wife or girlfriend.
The man has a great smile on his face as he opens the trunk of the car and takes out, what I presume is, one of his Christmas presents.
It is one of those sport kites that you fly by using two hand held steering handles.
Alas, the guy spent twenty minutes trying to launch the kite, but to no avail.
So he folds the whole thing up and both him and her (who did not look too excited about being out there) head back to the car.
I figured that today's show was over. BUT WAIT! It gets better!
After about 5 minutes of them sitting in the car, he re-emerges. She stayed in the car.
I can see, now, that he was determined to fly this new kite of his.
Amazingly, he got it in the air first try. Of course, he had no idea how to steer it, so the maiden flight lasted only 10 seconds.
Feeling a strength of accomplishment, the guy set it off again.
This time, he had full control of the flying and kept it up in the air for 2 minutes.
It is these two minutes that are some of my fondest memories.
Keep in mind that it was a windy day and the park lawn was wet.
I could see the jubilation in this guys face. The problem (and fun) was when he could not hold his ground.
The kite dragged him across 200 feet of wet grass. I did admire his ability to "water ski" across the lawn.
He was determined to keep that thing in the air.
After 200 feet, the wind got the better of him and he slid face down for another 25 feet until his kite came crashing down.
He got right up and snatched the kite,walking proudly back to the car.
Got love? Give love.
funny ...
Rudy, you reminded me of an incident years back ...
I had come down from visiting contacts in Calgary, Canada in my old 62 Ford pickup with a camper shell on the back. I had built a basic bunk, closets, etc ... a sweet, simple travelling rig.
I was heading to see friends I'd helped move from California to Red Lodge, Montana a year before ... and, by the way, Custer National Battleground was close ... I had been to Chief Joseph's battleground on the Idaho, Montana border the year before, but never the Big Horn, so, a good side trip.
It was 3 in the morning when I finally found what I thought was an entrance ... there was no moon but faint lights, dying campfires, probably a campground ... I found a level spot, parked the truck, crawled into the back and fell into a deep sleep.
About twenty minutes had passed, I woke to my truck rocking sideways ... not excessively, like I would roll over, but heavy enough to wake me.
I looked out the window by my head ... hands, nothing but hands ... I peeked out the other side window ... all hands ... and some kind of murmuring ... the window on the back door ... covered by hands ...
Remember, I carry no weapons, never have ... Tho scarred, it was more eerie than threatening. I decided non-action was better than crawling out into the dark, moonless night to meet ... what fate? So there I lay, pondering the situation, as wide awake as I'd ever been ...
Dawn broke ... the murmuring, was it chanting?... stopped. The rocking stopped. My time was at hand.
I opened the small back door ... Indians ... everywhere ... in regalia ... surrounding my truck in a circle about 15 feet distant ...
"Yatahea" I said.
Nothing, just very stiff, quiet Indians. Everywhere.
Seems I'd pulled right into a major council meeting camp ... and I was not one of them ... hmmmmn.
No one said a word. I stammered an apology ... no word.
The circle opened, a pathway, the way I'd entered.
I walked to the cab of the truck an opened the door. No movement from anyone. I entered and started the engine and slowly backed out the way I'd come, passing the stearnest group of people I'd ever seen ... true wooden Indians ... and, feeling I'd just survived my own Last Stand, I drove on to Red Lodge.
It was not the time to explore human relations ... Tensions were high in Canada with their Native Americans. for good reason. Wounded Knee was going on in the Rosebud reservation, South Dakota ... tho not ignorant of the politics, I was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Two years later would find me delivering clothes and supplies to Rosebud ... I did this for several years, taking friends along to have them experience the Wounded Knee cemetary, the history ... the Native American friends I had later found ... I have yet to return to the Big Horn.
By the way, the people I delivered the supplies to dubbed me White Dog because of my white Husky, Clue, my best friend and travelling companion for almost 15 years ... the reason I use the name for all my business, she was a very good Clue ... she's still with me ...
GoodClue
I had come down from visiting contacts in Calgary, Canada in my old 62 Ford pickup with a camper shell on the back. I had built a basic bunk, closets, etc ... a sweet, simple travelling rig.
I was heading to see friends I'd helped move from California to Red Lodge, Montana a year before ... and, by the way, Custer National Battleground was close ... I had been to Chief Joseph's battleground on the Idaho, Montana border the year before, but never the Big Horn, so, a good side trip.
It was 3 in the morning when I finally found what I thought was an entrance ... there was no moon but faint lights, dying campfires, probably a campground ... I found a level spot, parked the truck, crawled into the back and fell into a deep sleep.
About twenty minutes had passed, I woke to my truck rocking sideways ... not excessively, like I would roll over, but heavy enough to wake me.
I looked out the window by my head ... hands, nothing but hands ... I peeked out the other side window ... all hands ... and some kind of murmuring ... the window on the back door ... covered by hands ...
Remember, I carry no weapons, never have ... Tho scarred, it was more eerie than threatening. I decided non-action was better than crawling out into the dark, moonless night to meet ... what fate? So there I lay, pondering the situation, as wide awake as I'd ever been ...
Dawn broke ... the murmuring, was it chanting?... stopped. The rocking stopped. My time was at hand.
I opened the small back door ... Indians ... everywhere ... in regalia ... surrounding my truck in a circle about 15 feet distant ...
"Yatahea" I said.
Nothing, just very stiff, quiet Indians. Everywhere.
Seems I'd pulled right into a major council meeting camp ... and I was not one of them ... hmmmmn.
No one said a word. I stammered an apology ... no word.
The circle opened, a pathway, the way I'd entered.
I walked to the cab of the truck an opened the door. No movement from anyone. I entered and started the engine and slowly backed out the way I'd come, passing the stearnest group of people I'd ever seen ... true wooden Indians ... and, feeling I'd just survived my own Last Stand, I drove on to Red Lodge.
It was not the time to explore human relations ... Tensions were high in Canada with their Native Americans. for good reason. Wounded Knee was going on in the Rosebud reservation, South Dakota ... tho not ignorant of the politics, I was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Two years later would find me delivering clothes and supplies to Rosebud ... I did this for several years, taking friends along to have them experience the Wounded Knee cemetary, the history ... the Native American friends I had later found ... I have yet to return to the Big Horn.
By the way, the people I delivered the supplies to dubbed me White Dog because of my white Husky, Clue, my best friend and travelling companion for almost 15 years ... the reason I use the name for all my business, she was a very good Clue ... she's still with me ...
GoodClue
"ya gotta have art ..."
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