sweasel.com

I was almost afraid to look in.

http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/misc/benny02.wav

Rent-A-Weasel?

Shouldn’t that be Let-A-Weasel? Weasel-To-Let?

We’s Be Weasels.

Badger – got your camera? You really need to photograph some of the actors in this action. No gore – just the , er, pros before they’re released.

Do they, like, come when called? A whistle or sumpin? Shock collars? Or, like the Nexus Six replicant, are they pre-programmed to die after – say – five bunnys?

I say, old chap…fine plantings on this estate, what?

Oh, look! A fine bunch of mustelids popping in for tea!

Jolly good.

BTW: That kitty is excellent!
“The Cuteness-Force is strong with this one!”

Ok, ok, I’m back now.

So let’s get the stereotypes out of the way first, shall we?

Yes, there was Morris dancing and lawnmower racing (!)), a small air show (the best bit of which was a glider doing a slow balletic display to music, oddly enough), and, of course, ferret racing.

And yes, I did drink tea and I also ate fruit cake.

So… the deal is that these relatives of her Ladyship are, naturally, rather partial to fresh runnybabbit so, in the winter they’ll bring the little horrors out and…. ‘deal with’ your problem. Apparently, in the summer they come out and shoot the little bastiches. Dunno why ferrets refuse to do their own hunting in the summer, I must ask.

Maybe they smell too much to be allowed out in a public place?

As for standing to attention when you whistle, I was told that they do have a problem with the females sometimes. You send them down the rabbit ‘ole, they gorge themselves on baby bunbuns then curl up to sleep it off, not emerging (no doubt with a burp and a satisfied smirk) several hours later.

I think it’ll be worth waiting until the winter A/ to see the ferrets at work and B/ (assuming she’s here by then) seeing whether her Ladyship can be prevented from making an offer for the entire SWAT team.

It’d be fine by me. We mustelids have to stick together. And we often do if it’s humid.

My mistake was letting it go so long without checking (see, you have to click two links now that I’ve uploaded a new WordPress, and some days I just don’t have the energy).

You can do it straight from the admin page. It’s the third line down in the “Right Now” section, second link in.

We must have different versions, Steve. I don’t have a “right now” section. I’ve discovered a link to the Akismet page at the bottom right under “Spam” though.

Before, I had hand-altered the php file to give me a link, but of course I lost that when I upgraded.

I don’t think Charlotte would much fancy the SWAT team, Uncle B.

But Weaz! You could keep ’em outside in the greenhouse with the cannabis & poppy plants, and feed ’em runnybabbits made on your own estate. Estate-raised, Weaz!!

Badger – do you happen to be acquainted with Vilmar – formerly of the long-defunct Right Wing Howler blog? He was a horticulturist of some kind.

Sorry, McGoo – never heard of no Vilmar.

Did he breed weasel-eating triffids, by any chance? If he did and you just happened to have his e-mail…?

We must have different versions, Steve. I don’t have a “right now” section. I’ve discovered a link to the Akismet page at the bottom right under “Spam” though.

Which version are you running? I’m up to 2.5.1.

GAH! I thought I typed my info in the appropriate boxes (damn stupid laptop; power’s fluky right now with the storms so I’m not using the desktop). -steveegg

It occasionally forgets the identity info. I have no idea why. One of life’s little mysteries.

I recently upgraded to 2.3.3 (a fairly painful process) in order to add the post edit feature. And so, of course, the latest and greatest version came out about ten minutes later. It bugs me to upgrade again every time I use the admin page, but I hear too many people bitching about the latest version to comply.

Looking back, I think I had edited my original admin page pretty heavily to get all the functionality I wanted.

Naa. Hmm. At least, not that I know of, Badger. He’s into plants and such.

Would being eaten alive by a stoat be classified as a case of going tharn? I would think not, since ‘tharn’ was more of a mental freezing or hypnotic paralysis – wasn’t it?

We could call being eaten alive “going alimentary”, or “going the way of the colon”. .

Badger – you went to a county fair and no drinking was involved? What kinda fairs do you Englanders run anyway?

Weaz – here’s an utter Fucktard Magnifico who sealed 5-week old kittens up in a concrete wall with that hardening foam insulation.

http://www.kvbc.com/Global/story.asp?S=8433139

Will you finally agree with me that intense and painful Scientific Experiments on the jackass are called for?

Spooky, McGoo. Did you pick that story at random, or did I mention that my task for today was to blow foam insulation into the hole in my fascia that the squirrels have used for a decade, and then sit around outside it in a lawnchair all day to make sure nobody was trapped inside?

Because it was.

That stuff is kind of cool. Ummm…guys who use it on kittens should have all their available orifices filled with it, howesomeever.

You did not mention it that I recall. But it’s not the first time synchronization has occurred here.

Hope you didn’t entomb any tree rats.

Good idea on the foam-filled orifice experiment. We can time how long before he explodes. Or let him hand-pick it out like they’re having to do with the foamed-fur kittens.

Oh, sure, there is always a beer tent, McGoo.

Sadly, this badger was driving home afterwards.

Oh! How stupid of me. Duh. Of course you’d have to drive home – and on the wrong side of the road, to boot! That would keep me sober, for sure!

I need to look up that phrase “to boot”.

Weasel, have I mentioned recently how much I like the post-editor you added one long weekend not too long ago? It’s neat!

Also, Uncle B doesn’t drink beer. That means when people send him the Great British Beers collection for Christmas, I have to drink it all. Boohoo!

You are truly selfless in your dedication to Badger, Weasel!

Don’t drink beer? Don’t drink beer? Etc….Actually, English fairs aren’t really the place to drink beer in my opinion. They’re for eating scones and jam and laughing derisively at the old biddy who lives next door’s shallots as she weeps into her lilac-scented hanky.

It’s 24 degrees (75.2F) up here B – what’s it like down there? Oh, and if you happen to have any new greenhouse pictures you might be willing to send Weaselward, I’d be happy to give them a butcher’s for you and then offer my stupid opinion…

Uncle B hasn’t put in an appearance this morning. He might be in the greenhouse. Or he might have buggered off out.

I slept late (seven thirty!). I wouldn’t know.

Well, if he is in the greenhouse, I hope he’s remembered to open those vents. Otherwise he’ll be cooking in his own, uh, fur.

It’s been over 100°F in the greenhouse most mornings lately (I bought him a remote sensing thermometer for Christmas). The vents don’t do enough; he has to open the doors (a habit that I am quite sure will lead to Charlotte have a lovely ripe shit in his potting soil some fine morning).

That explains things. 2.5.1 is pretty close to bug-free, though the back-end interface (especially the multimedia upload) still sucks. The coolest thing about the 2.5 series is it will handle the installation of updates to the plugins for you.

Nice. I’m the #1 Google hit for

HERES A FUCKING LOG FOR YOU GREENY STOP LOOKING ASSHAT

Why? I neither know nor care. Jesus, it’s hot in here.

I seem to recall reading somewhere that cat truffles are of nominal nutritional value; chicken shit, horse shit and human shit being the best uses for fertiliser.

‘Oh, hello Bob. Nice day isn’t it? I’m just taking a dump on my tomatoes. Does them the world of good, don’t you know? How’s the wife?’

I also saw this program a few years back about this girl of around 7 or 8 who couldn’t stop eating. She had an insatiable appetite. All other things being equal and her metabolism being relatively normal she was obese. Her parents, understandably, were concerned and so put all of the food in the house beyond her chubby grasp. But they forgot to move the kitty-litter tray, and its stinky, magical harvest of cat eggs.

Gibby – I, too, am under the impression that cat meteorites are nutritious. That’s why dogs consider them … well … like we consider truffles – a delicacy.

Apparently the digestive systems of cats aren’t too efficient, and what comes out still has a lot of food value.

That’s why I hate it when a dog licks my face: ya don’t know where that tongue and mouth were recently, and probably don’t want to know.

…And it looks like Mrs. Peel is getting an Insta-Lanche from Ace due to her net-investigative skills. Goody!

Yeah, I’ve never met a dog that didn’t take great delight in a freshly covered-over cat dookie. It’s one of their worse qualities, but, as you say, it makes perfect sense from a nutritional perspective. Humans and their habit of anthropomorphising – cause of so many problems.

Years ago, I used to take the neighbors’ dog for walks (yes – the neighbor was a divorcee milf, and I am a dirty old man). I took great delight in letting the dog off her leash at one particular house down the road just so the dog could go over to one particular shrubbery area and root for truffles, so-to-speak. She (the dog) thought it was GREAT!

We had a pet crow when I was a kid (two, actually). Crows are very clever and very inquisitive. And thieves.

Anyhow, one day the crow watched my kitten bury something in the back yard. Bury something? It must be something really special! So he zoomed down and stuck his big fat beak into the middle of it.

My mother did a terrific imitation of him stropping his beak back and forth across the grass, desperately trying to get all the soft, gooshie kitten shit out of his nostrils.

cat truffles
cat eggs
cat dookie
cat meteorites
gooshie kitten shit (picturing grossed out crow desperately trying to remove said substance – guffawing here)

I am so pleased. You ALL get A’s for creativity. Though nutritous the turdlettes may be, they can harbor some nastiness to unsuspecting pregnant ladies in charge of cleaning their pans)

I think I like the “truffles” term best. The term implies buried treasure, usually found via scent. I doubt they’ll ever sell for 2000-4000 euros per Kg, though.

(I can’t make that li’l E- or L-shaped money-thingy. I know there’s a way but I cherish my ignorance, so don’t tell me.)

Aren’t weasels thieves, too, um, Weasel? Or packrats, or whatever? I know crows like shiny things. They’re like morons in that regard.

Oh! And lets not forget cat biscuit!

Ewwwww, you guys are gross. I’m telling Mom!

I actually ran across Pavlina a long time ago and remembered his “lightworker” BS when this article came up. So, no real investigative skilz required. ++ did some investigating, though. I think he’s also responsible for the links, since his site is read by some of the bigger dogs. I’m just clinging to his coattails.

Nothing sweeter than a Sunday afternoon ‘lanche, nonetheless.

Holy CRAP it’s hot in here. 85 in this livingroom, 64 in my lovely dark basement.

Sorry for dropping the ball. I went back to the Country Fair again as I wanted to film that gliding display. Sadly, there was light cloud at around 1,000 ft, but I caught some of it.

Then I came back and felt the urge to start digging, so put in a couple of hours.

Not much in the greenhouse to show, yet, Gibby. A growing bag with half a dozen strawberry plants (providing a few every couple of days at present) and three strapping tomato plants each with one truss of flowers open. Everything else has been planted out.

The real fun will start when I get back from a forthcoming trip and start sowing seeds for next year’s biennials and hardy annuals. But her Ladyship is right – I’ve got to get that temperature down first – on a day like today it soars up over 100 F in no time at all.

I just hate the thought of that whitewash stuff all over my nice, new greenhouse!

And yes, I’m afraid it’s true – badgers don’t drink beer. At
least, this one doesn’t. And The Weasel does. That is also true.

Oh. and I also got some footage of the ferrets today. Cute overload isn’t in it! Shame we can’t get video up on here 🙂

Here, Weaz. The cat/England solution.

http://antzinpantz.com/kns/?p=1656

Whitewash stuff? Do you mean, like, reflective paint to ward away the man-slaying southern English sun? Harrumph! Put a small fan inside – up high, blowing out through a vent. You might be surprised at the effect that just a PC case fan will have.

Er…you did wire power out to the greenhouse?

A Home Depot (or the Brit equiv.) $10 window fan should more than do the job. But don’t take my word – try it. What could it hurt?

It’s really stunning what just an itty-bitty bit of moving air will do to an ambient condition.

Electricity? McGoo, the fucking thing has a chandelier on a dimmer switch over the jacuzzi.

Srsly.

It’s true, McGoo – plenty of juice out there – and a fan.

It’s not just the temperature with plants – the sun can actually scorch leaves so, even with our puny light levels this far North, some kind of shading is needed in summer.

Even where Gibby is (the mammoth hasn’t fully died out in Yorkshire) gardeners paint their greenhouses white.

If there’s any left over, they drink it, I hear 😉

Well, I’ll be dipped. I dinna know it got so god-awful hot there. Of course, I’m a moron, so you have to take that into account.

All sorts of suggestions percolate up into my consciousness – but I bet you’ve been percolating the problem already.

– And I figured you’d have power out there. I bet if you haven’t been out there already at 2AM – puttering around and doin’ what gardeners do – , you will be sooner or later. And you need light for good putterin’.

It doesn’t get that hot there. I love the climate of Britain, no matter what anybody says. It rarely gets below freezing or above about 85. But a greenhouse…that’s something altogether different.

It’s amazing to look at a globe and see how far North Europe is. Honest to god, Britain is more or less on a line with Hudson Bay. So in the Winter, it’s getting dark just as Uncle B wakes up and in the Summer it’s daylight until 10.

Weirdest place, I swear.

Yeah – and they drive on the wrong side of the street over there. That must be terrifying.

Actually, I have been in a greenhouse several times. Well, to be completely accurate, I have been in several greenhouses – but only one time each, I think. But that’s not important right now.

It does get astoundingly hot inside one. And the sun can burn the skin thru the windows in minutes regardless of the latitude, or so it seems.

Lest you think a weasel was indulging herself in hyperbole:

The sunlight thing was the hardest thing to adapt to for me. For the last several years, I’ve instinctively gotten out of bed when it gets light (daylight savings time really screws me up, too). But for summer in England, I was waking up at 4 freakin’ AM and having to stare at the ceiling. Or worse, some nights we’d be getting back so late that it’d just be starting to get light and I’d never get to sleep at all.

I miss London.

Jeez, Weasel, if it weren’t for the the Joe Blow Current (or whichever one of those thingy’s warms England) ol’ Badger would be an Eskimo. Or a Canookistanian.

And I’ve spent all of my adult life south of where you are now – and most of it south of where you were born.

I feel … tropical.

What! I wasn’t doin’ nothin!

Weaz! Akismet is touching me! I’m being repressed.

Come see the violence inherent in the system!

Eh. Sorry McGoo. The new Akismet is awfully keen. It sequestered Uncle B earlier, and he didn’t have any links either.

Big uptick in spam today…maybe that accounts for it.

When I left for the mountains it was cat bollocks, when I get back it’s cat box treats, and hothouses. I’m still trying to process it all.

But then again I’m still trying to figure out what exactly that bear was doing in the back of my truck this morning. That would be kind of cool, driving down from the mountains with a bear in the back.

Winter in Alaska. Watching the sun rise and set in about the same place screws with the mind.

That’s what I’m doing living in my own basement, Gabe. Without curtains or carpets, my home is like living in a Junior High School Gymnasium. From last light to first light is not enough sleep for anybody.

It’s cool and dark and quiet down here in Trollheim.

Stoaty – I’m not upset when The Filter messes with me. What bothers me when it happens is the vague suspicion that – once again – I fucked up and my comment went permanently bye-bye.

Odd – I haven’t had spam 1 yet today. They must figure spamming a porn site is kinda useless. And they’d be right.

Allen – I’m told that that midnight peekaboo sun up there has driven men bloody-handed mad. By reading this site too you’re really tickling the dragon’s tail. You’ve got bollocks, Sir.

So…there was a bear in your truck? Um…would you like to say more? No – really – please – go ahead. I’m not trying to pry anything out of you. Ho-hum….do-de-do-do….

McGoo, it’s passingly strange. We’ve had a number of run-ins. He was just standing in the bed of the truck looking around. I call him “Buddy” after the Jimmy Buffet song “God’s Own Drunk.”

There is not a still involved, yet…

That is strange. Maybe Buddy was in the bed of the truck just to get a little height advantage. you know – checkin’ out the lay of the land and such – maybe just deciding what to do with the day.

Why don’t you have a still? You aren’t a “revenuer”, are you? I had some of that stuff once, in Tennessee. It was tasty, but that day is still kind of a blur.

Hey lookie there on that map McGoo, we are near Moroccan sun strength latitudinally. (sounds more ominous than just Spain.)

Allen, maybe Buddy was hoping you left the keys in the ignition or a snack (you) in the bed?

Grief! You think England is strange, when you have bears trying to hitch a ride?! 🙂

And yes, Akismet… Hmm… first time I’ve ever been in there. Smells a bit, don’t he?

Badger – what you’re smelling is the flavor of the ages, of lost hope and frustrated dreams. The scent of utter terror, and stupifying roneriness, and despair without measurable breadth or depth.

…and of popcorn. Stale popcorn. And Baccus. God knows who wore that in there. Perhaps they were drinking it.

Weaz – go read Vilmar over at Kicking and Screaming ( http://antzinpantz.com/kns/ ). I think you might get a kick out of him. He pulls no punches.

I’m outa here. See ya wed-thurs.

Even where Gibby is (the mammoth hasn’t fully died out in Yorkshire) gardeners paint their greenhouses white.

If there’s any left over, they drink it, I hear

Well, it’d be a waste to just throw it away. And anyway, you’re hardly the one to be criticising people’s drinking habits, Mr. NoIDon’tDrinkBeerThankyouVeryMuch.

According to that map, I’m on the same latitude as NL (say, when did the Netherlands move across the Atlantic?). Thank God indeed for the Gulf Stream. Mind you, it’s 23°C/73.4F right now (14:26) – maybe they (whoever ‘they’ are, the Jews presumably – they control everything else apparently) could turn it down a little.

Happy trails McG.

Hats. Silly hats. I love hats. But I’m not allowed to go out in public in them…

I do have one plain black no logo baseball cap that I’ve been wearing lately, but I’m sure it’ll be confiscated soon.

As much as I love hats, I look silly in them.

My mother always said my brother and I were born wearing hats. And that’s certainly not something a woman would forget.

Wait…why are we talking about hats?

Hats? I thought you said cats.

http://bchcalifornia.net/MountainLionLunch.html