A reader, who is obviously the coolest guy on planet earth, just sent me a box of heaven.
Yes! I have ALL THE SALMON!
Yo, dude, don’t Bogart all the fish, man! (mutters mild curses and infers AC has a dubious heritage). Stuff is no longer available ’round these parts, and when it was, it cost $13/lb. No way I’m payin’ that. You lucky stiff. Enjoy.
How much Yellow Perch do I owe you for the last post? My sister is in college, and that’s so getting linked.
Glad to be of service! Your sister is majoring in STEM I hope?
Yellow perch deliveries happily arranged at firstname.lastname@example.org 🙂
Wait a minute here. I trade my neighbor salsa from my garden and a variety of home-baked Christmas treats for his gift of smoked salmon from his catch every year. All you have to do is write a blog to get salmon? Homesteading in the burbs stinks.
Everything in the burbs stinks. Sorry, life ‘aint fair.
(If it makes you feel better it’s a stone cold bitch to get anything done in the hinterlands. If I need a plumber or an electrician or a mechanic I’m SOL but you can have all that at the drop of a hat, plus pizza delivery.)
I’m living on 8 acres with my closest neighbor far enough away that even with a good antenna I don’t know if they could steal my wifi, but I still have a choice of pizza places that will deliver.
8 acres and pizza delivery. It’s a miracle.
An on-going serialized novella. Lesbian squirrel harness the power of Swedish disco to erase common sense. When drone strikes, trans-species raptors, and a racist bear all fail, two brilliant college dropouts in a Subaru are mankind’s last hope. We’re probably doomed.
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