‘D’ is for…
Hey Fred….just curious…..will you be eating both pigs? Thought of selling some proper fed pigs to co-workers, friends, long time readers, etc?
The big one is for us to eat, the small one will be for a friend who is splitting the cost of the feed with us. Originally, he was also going to teach me how to slaughter / butcher them, but most likely now we’ll be taking them to a processor so we’ll each just pay for our own.
Play ball for the pigs? Pigs have toys?? Toys that they hump???
Pigs have roughly the same IQ as dogs, and they enjoy both playing with toys and humping.
They might be tiny, and not quite as flavorful as those from the grocery store, but I’m mighty proud of my treeload of plums that was so loaded down I had to tie some branches to a t-post for support.
Is it me, or is the world filled with douchebags? From the bluetooth-enhanced cell phone yapper in the mall bathroom to the rubbernecker driving ten miles an hour under the speed limit in the left lane, they’re everywhere now. Maybe that’s because we all have our own little douchebaggy tendencies (even me, when I do things like return a CD to a store because they tried to force me to put it in a plastic bag), and I’m just on a run of encountering them.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe they’re multiplying.
Friday morning, I went over to the bakery thrift store for some junk food: a pack of powdered doughnuts for me, a pack of orange cupcakes for Robyn, and a big bag of cookies for the pigs (the outside ones, not the inside ones). Simple, right?
But there was a problem: a douchebag was in the store.
I recognized him as one right away, because he was standing in the center of the store, talking loudly into his cell phone. There seems to be some sort of correlation between someone’s sense of self-importance and their phone voice. I should apply for a government grant to do a study.
So there he stood in the middle of the store, leaned against one of the big shelves of bread. There was one other customer in the store, a woman at the counter paying for a basketload of stuff. As I gathered my items, she finished making her purchase and left, and the douchebag moved to the counter, where he laid a couple of loaves of bread down.
He did not hang up his phone.
I got in line behind him and waited. The cashier rang up his bread and pointed at the number on the register. The douchebag pulled out a checkbook and started trying to write a check, awkwardly because he only had one hand available.
“No, look in the slot above where you put the CDs,” he said, and stopped writing. He laid the pen on the counter to gesture. “That’s the floppy drive.”
The cashier and I watched him.
“No, not that one. The small one. Right. That’s where the floppy disk goes. Yeah.”
He made no move to pick the pen back up to finish the check. Instead, he shifted around so he could lean against the counter and continued his conversation, lost in his own world.
Like everyone else in the world, I have my own little tendencies towards douchebaggery, especially when it comes to my patience. I don’t have a lot of it, and my time is valuable enough to me that I refuse to stand around waiting for something inconsequential like junk food.
Boy, doesn’t that make me sound like a douchebag?
What I mean is this: I don’t think that I’m more important than other people and shouldn’t have to wait, I think that something like powdered doughnuts or a Big Mac isn’t worth being in line for more than a couple of minutes. My time is important to me, non-necessities are not.
The douchebag at the counter in the bakery thrift store apparently disagreed, because he showed no signs of finishing up and getting out of the way. He was just. That. Important.
So I walked back through the store, replaced items I’d picked up, and left.
I like my truck, Jezebel, but I don’t trust her. Any time I’m behind the wheel, I feel like I’m taking my life into my hands. No airbags, old loose seatbelts, and a transmission that tends to slip all add up to a disconcerting experience. Couple that with the feeling that she’s going to just fall apart on me one day while I’m tooling down the road and I can honestly say that being in the truck doesn’t give me pleasure.
For the last couple of months, I’ve been making noise to Robyn about getting a newer truck. One that doesn’t have 200,000 miles on it and feel like it’s held together by spit and baling wire. As with everything in life, you get what you pay for in a truck, and when you get a cheap old one…you get a cheap old one.
By noon on Saturday I’d done what I wanted in the garden and gotten the grass cut. I was ready to take the afternoon off (all work and no play makes Fred a dull boy) and suggested to Robyn that we drive up to Lawrenceburg and be intimidated by the Mennonites.
We do that, you know. We drive up there with intentions of stopping and looking at furniture and baskets and homemade baked goods, then when we’re actually there driving through their community we get freaked out by their old-timey clothes, unsmiling faces, and flat dead eyes. Because of that, we generally end up only buying a few things at the general store on the way and at a produce stand in Lawrenceburg, and never actually stop at a Mennonite home unless we’re feeling particularly brave (or there are other people WHO ARE LIKE US already stopped).
When we were getting into the car to leave the house, Robyn mentioned that she wished we could trust the truck enough to take it, because she really wanted to look at Mennonite-made tables. That started me on the I-need-a-new-truck roll, and before we went up to Tennessee we drove by several used car lots in Otisburg, to see what they had. In Lawrenceburg, we stopped at several lots to look, too. I spotted a couple of trucks that looked promising, but (of course) both of the dealerships were closed.
The new truck talk continued yesterday, and once again I was finished by noon with the daily chores I’d set for myself. This time, we drove over to Huntsville to look at the big dealerships. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t a good idea, because dealerships in a city of 200,000 don’t tend to keep things like older farm trucks on the lot. I did spot a good-lookin’ truck at the new CarMax, but it was $11K, and homey is not laying out that much money for something that gets driven once or twice a month.
There was one last place I wanted to look, a used car place in Madison that I pass every day on the way home from work. I knew they always had some trucks out there, marked with prices in the range I was looking to spend. I didn’t expect them to be open on a Sunday afternoon, but as we turned in off the highway, I saw an ‘OPEN’ sign.
“Leave it running,” Robyn said. For some reason, she doesn’t share my love of walking around in the full sun when it’s 92 out, looking at beat up old trucks.
I climbed out of the car and walked around the small lot, checking the trucks. They had four: two were too small, one was too old and beaten up, and one Dodge Ram that looked like it might fit the bill. Excellent. I looked around for a salesman and didn’t see one, which was surprising. Used car salesmen are — generally speaking — a class of douchebag unto themselves, right above Prius drivers and right below vegans.
Maybe I was wrong about this one, though.
I crossed the lot to the building, which was once a house. The front door was open, and a box fan lazily pushed in tepid air from the front porch. As I climbed the stairs onto the porch, I could see the end of a couch through the door. There was a bed pillow on it.
The salesman hadn’t been outside hovering around me because he was asleep in a recliner just inside the front door, head thrown back and mouth hanging open. A TV played next to him, the volume down low. His head was shaved clean, but his face had a couple of days’ worth of stubble. He looked to be somewhere around 30.
I knocked softly on the door frame and his eyes popped open. He took a moment to stretch, then tipped the recliner down and stood up, blinking sleepily. I tried not to smile, but was unsuccessful.
“You know how many miles that Ram out there has?” I asked.
“The maroon one?”
“Yeah.”
He considered.
“Think it’s got about a hundred thousand. Want the key to check it out?”
His teeth were a brownish yellow, and so caked with plaque they appeared as a single bony mass. There was something white and crusty at the corners of his mouth, and when he talked, little stringers of spit stretched from lip to lip.
“Yes, please,” I said, trying not to stare. The mileage sounded just about right for the price, and I was getting a little excited at the prospect of having found a truck.
He fetched a key and handed it over, but didn’t follow me out into the lot. Perhaps there’s something to be said for picking a hot sunny day to look at trucks.
Robyn shut off her car and joined me at the Ram. I discovered pretty quickly that the automatic door locks didn’t work. That wasn’t much of a problem; they don’t work right on Jezebel, either. I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it enough for the electrical system to fire up.
The truck had 157K miles, not 100K. That’s still not as bad as 200K, and at the rate I drive, it would take 40 years to get the Ram to 200K. To me, the higher mileage was just something to use in the negotiation game.
“It’s got a hundred fifty seven thousand miles on it,” I said when I walked back to the building. The salesman was sitting on a lawn chair on the front porch now, surveying his domain.
“Thought it was less than that. Other than that, what’d you think? If anything’s broke on it, I’ll fix it.”
“The automatic door locks don’t work.”
He ran his tongue across his teeth.
“No problem, I can take care of that.”
“It looks nice,” I admitted. “Mind if I take it for a drive?”
His brow dropped, and furrows spread across his forehead.
“So what’s your plan?” he asked. “Are you going to buy a truck? We don’t do financing here. We only take cash or checks. How would you pay for it?”
“If I like the truck, I’ll write you a check for it,” I said, almost adding you douchebag. I was a little put off by his questions, and felt like he thought I was trying to pull a fast one. “It won’t bounce.”
His brow smoothed.
“Check the gas and make sure it’s got some. Take it anywhere you want.”
I went back out to the truck and climbed in beside Robyn, seething.
“Goddamn, I hate used car salesmen,” I said. “What a fucking douchebag.”
“He looks just a little too impressed with himself.”
“Oh, he is.”
When I turned the key in the ignition, the truck ROARED to life. This Ram had a dual exhaust, and was loud, blatty, and very rednecky.
I loved it.
I drove the truck in a loop that was about five miles, testing the handling and pep. It had both, and was considerably better than Jezebel. The windows and rear windshield were tinted cop-killer dark, which I liked even though it made it hard to see out the rear view mirror.
When we pulled back into the lot, I was ready to talk about making a deal. I locked the truck and traipsed back to the porch, where the salesman waited with a broad smile. Robyn went back to her car and started it up.
“What’d you think?” the salesman asked.
“I was hoping with one for a little less mileage for that price,” I began, intending to continue with but I liked the truck, so let’s talk about exactly what you’re willing to sell it for.
But the salesman interrupted me.
“You didn’t need to take it for a drive if you thought it had too many miles.”
Thunderheads danced on his brow, and his mouth pulled in tight when he spoke. He stared off into the distance, not making eye contact with me.
“Excuse me?” I asked, surprised by his response.
“If you thought the truck had too many miles, you didn’t need to drive it.”
His tone was accusatory.
“But that’s alright,” he said, clearly indicating that it wasn’t. “Whatever.”
He waved a hand dismissively my way.
“So you don’t want to talk money?” I asked, incredulous.
His demeanor changed instantly, to one of sickly sweetness. Of course he wanted to talk money.
What he didn’t know is that he’d already lost the sale.
Because everyone has a good douchebag story to share, feel free to tell us yours in the comments. 
Two years on, and Matt’s still at it. I love this video.
Five bucks says that entry makes YOU someone’s douchebag story of the day.
So, what did you say to douchebag car salesman to end the discussion? Did you leave him with his mouth agape, just as you found him?
And I was really hoping that you removed the cell phone from the douchebag in the bakery’s hand and shoved it up his ass, that would have been far more satisfying to all involved, except him. Well, you never know. Maybe he’d have liked it.
I think we as a society allow people to be douchebags and that’s why they ARE douchebags. You let people be rude and stupid and just sit there quietly seething, they will just continue along their douchebag way of life.
We non-douchebags must RISE UP and not put up with this crap! If a sign in a store says “hang up your cell phone” then we need to make sure they HANG UP THE FUCKING CELL PHONE! Even if it means hanging up FOR them! But alas, we are afraid of getting shot or stabbed. So we quietly seethe. And go along our merry way missing out on junk food opportunities. And instead we post a blog entry about said douchebags. Yeah, life is rough for the nice guys.
Okay, I’ll share. How about the day we decided to splurge on a fancy beachside restaurant for lunch. You know, the kind with $12 glasses of wine and obcenely priced “cheese plates.” Lovely palm-lined patio just feet from the sand, with the soothing sound of gentle waves breaking.
Basically you’re paying for the atmosphere — or “ambiance,” as they like to say in places such as this.
Lovely, until the well-heeled woman at the table next to ours pulled out her cell phone and launched into the most excruciatingly detailed account of her recent urinary tract infection. And not in her “indoor” voice, either.
Those douchebags are to be found everywhere, aren’t they.
Jezebel might not always work right but you got a no fail douchebag detector.Y’all seriously rock.
I hate the Douchebags that after you are nice enough to hold a door open for them, they don’t even say thank you, these are the same douchebags that will let the door slam in your face as you are walking through the door right behind them! Damn that really pisses me off, I hate people that have no manners!
Duchebags = 2 moms in a restaurant with two small kids (2 or 3 years old). Moms sit at long table with family talking and ignoring the 2 kids running around the table, running into people, screaming at the top of their lungs. Me giving dirty, annoyed looks gets bad ass Mom shit talking at ME. My revenge - I laughed when kid tripped and slammed onto the ground - screaming and crying. Bad Ass Mom had to get off ass and take care of kid. (OK I laughed at Mom having to get off ass not the kid who just wiped out). I left the restuarant very quickly - no tip for waitress. Gave dirty look at hostess - how dare they place a single women with nice book in the same room with table of 15 - 20 people. Restaurant was Douchebag too.
I’ve gotten to a place in my life where I can look at this type of person with curiosity. I wonder how he/she managed to evolve into a particular type of personality or level of self absorption. Sometimes I get instantly annoyed, but usually end up just being fascinated by them.
How about the douchebag appliance salesman who got pissed off when we didn’t bite on his “extended warranty” bullshit salespitch by saying “Ok but we’ll get the last laugh if this thing quits working” Guess who got the last laugh? Asshole!
I don’t have a particular douchebag story right now, not that I don’t have a million of them, but just wanted to thank you for making me run to the bathroom and floss!
“Used car salesmen are — generally speaking — a class of douchebag unto themselves, right above Prius drivers and right below vegans.”
Guess that makes me a douchebag. At least I’m not as bad as car salesmen
I use the abbreviation DB all the time. Yup- everyone has a story and I am sure that term will be used for many days to come.
Now, if you really wanted to be a first class DB you would have filled out the guys check for him at the bakery. Loudly say, “I know you are VERY important so please let me do this for you.” People really suck.
Niki, that’s what i was going to say!!!! Fred, I really thought that’s what you were going to do. Now that would have had me on the floor LMAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I really think some of these people don’t know how their being so self absorbed affects others around them.
I can’t stand the douchebags that pull out in front of you when there’s no one at all behind you. They can’t wait 5 more seconds for you to pass them up before pulling out on the road. This one DB did this from the left side of the street even. No one coming from either direction except for me. I had to put on my brakes otherwise I was going to rear end him. THEN, he had even more nerve to turn right not even 2 blocks up the road. And there wasn’t a turn lane for him to go into either to at least make it a little better.
Or how about the lady that just had to speed up to merge in front of me on Thursday. And not only did I have to slow down to let her in, she actually had to squeeze in because there was a line of cars in front of me. So it’s not like she was able to speed up to get in front of me and then keep going at a nice quick pace. THEN, she too turned right not 2 blocks up the road with no turn lane for her to go into. Both times I had to slow down because these people who are so much more important than me just had to get in front. Then had to slow again because they turned right just up the road. I’m sure that by doing so they got to where they were going to with loads of time to spare.
It’s times like these that I wish I had the laser my coworker talked about having. You could just shoot at these asshats and they’d be vaporized. My husband is more humane than I am. He says they should get time outs. We should have buttons that we point at them and it lifts them car and all on to the side of the road that makes the car stall for a half hour. But to me that’s nothing. Heh, I guess he’s just that much nicer than I am.
My latest douchebaggery problem is that I will go into a store (like Kinko’s, ick) and there will be 2 people behind the counter at 2 different places to help but the douchebag next in lin–behind the two people already being helped — stands way back, kind of in between the two lines, not looking for sure as if he’s in line or not. Well, I — not being one to butt in line — will then be forced to stand behind the afore-mentioned doucebag. But since he’s so far back, other people come in and go directly up to a line to stand behind the person being waited on (thereby cutting in front of both of us). Of course, it’s not their fault, because it’s the doucebag that’s standing too far back to look like he’s properly in line that’s the problem. This happened at Kinko’s the other day, and I even asked the gent if he was next in line (to sort of point out that it was hard to tell, hoping he would then pick a line or move up) and he said he was, then two people ended up in the line ahead of us. So I was forced to pick a line and go in front of him but was still farther back in line than I should have been.
Did that even make sense? It did to me. Maybe I need to draw a diagram…
I think that clerk was also a DB for allowing that jerk at the bakery waste everyone’s time and she lost a sale. Having said that who writes a check in a bakery?? Do businesses still take checks?? Yeah sure I can see a check for a pick up truck or some other large purchase but for a few loaves of bread in a bakery, they’ll take a check? I can’t get over it.
Fred, we always talk about going up to Amish Country when we go to Lawrenceburg. It’s known as an Old Order Amish community. I’m curious why you always refer to them as Mennonites? Actually there are both up there. And we find them kind of intimidating, too. Or just the experience of being in “their” area. Why is that? I mean I get NERVOUS going up to their porches even when they have signs out inviting customers to come check out their honey, baskets, whatever. We got to know one family a little by having them build us a dog house, then going back a few years later and having them make us a bigger one. There is a language barrier just as challenging as in a foreign country, I’ve found. And I guess I’m always afraid I’m going to say or do something offensive. Hell, the fact that I, a woman, drive up and get out of the car wearing pants, I used to worry that would be offensive. But I’ve actually had the chance to talk to some of the folks up there and ask some of these questions. Bottom line: they take care of themselves and do things their way, and don’t really pay attention to how other people do as long as it doesn’t interfere with their ways. Personally, I admire them and their simpler lifestyle. And their lack of prosyletizing! Even though they’re fiercely religious, I’ve never been preached at a single time on all my adventures into Amish Country - there, and in Pennsylvania. I’ve hardly seen anything prettier than their fields, in the fall, and the site of the bunched up corn stalks standing in rows, hand-harvested and tied, no power lines to mess up the view.
LOL, Jen, around here we have stores that don’t take credit cards! It’s cash or check only — my feed store is one of them
Okay on the douchebaggery — Never is this so clearly pointed out to me as when I am hauling a load of animals in a 28′ gooseneck trailer. HELLO — people, this ain’t no friggin sports car! I can NOT stop in 10 feet when you decide to cut in front of me and slam on your breaks! I have 12,000 lbs pushing me from behind! Not to mention, I am *pissed* that you have forced me to stack my animals up like cordwood in the trailer when I slam on the brakes because you are a *douchebag*!
And for God’s sake, please learn to merge onto the freeway. I can NOT move for you when there is someone right next to me in the left hand lane. So piss off if you have to slam on your brakes because you were talking on your damn cell phone instead of paying attention to the merging thing and the giant 40′ combination of truck and trailer!
Gee, thanks, Fred — I feel much better, lol.
I think the people who don’t know the state laws regarding merging are douchebags. If a car is merging into your lane on to a freeway it is the law (at least in my state) that you let them in. Don’t speed up to try to prevent me from getting into the lane because it won’t work.
And by the way, I also hate the douchebags that try to merge over a solid white line. That is also illegal and you need to wait till there’s a broken white line. If the merge lane is 400 yards long, why do you need to merge into traffic with a solid white line? Why? Can anybody answer me that??
I also hate the douchebags that take children to a movie theatre and let them make racket during my $10 flick. I didn’t pay that much money to listen to your child cry. Rent a movie and stay home till the kid can behave itself. And how about the people that screw around with their cell phone during a movie, whether it rings or not the lights are distracting. And lets not forget the people who narrate the film for their friend who hasn’t read the book… you are NOT in your living room. I don’t care if you read the book 12 times…I want to watch the movie, not listen to you!! Shut the hell up douchebags!!
Heh, that was kind of fun… like a release of bad energy!!
people who tailgate; I hate that.
Well…. I suppose I have to side with Miz Robyn on this one.
(And I’m a vegetarian that will own a Prius in a couple months.)
I would have made the douche feel like a class-A-hole for his asshattery. I absolutely would have made a comment that he could now go back to sleeping inside having made zero when he could be sleeping with some cash in his pocket.
I hang my head in same as I type this………………..
Douchbags are a part of life; in fact I do not mind em to much because they make me look better! that said, the other day the wife and I were in Walgreen’s She picked up some aspirin and I wanted some Burt’s Bee’s Wax. The wife was on the phone half the time in there and I am thinking enough already! We get to the check out and my normally non-douchbaggery wife continues the conversation on the cell phone. Shamed I moved her aside so I could deal with the less than amused clerk. Walking outsode she gets off the phone and getting into the car I informed her she looked like apompous douchebag on the phone in there. She laughed proud that she brought the douchbaggery up to a pompous level….
My name is dave and I am married to a person with Douchbag tendencies!
Oh Fred. You got me a round of applause today. I did good and I owe you. Here is how it went down…
I am a branch manager for a large branch in a small city. I have 6 tellers on the line and during lunch hour it can get a little hairy. Well, I was behind the teller line today sending a fax and visiting with my customers when a cell phone rang. It was the guy at the front of the line. He proceeded to answer his phone and start talking in a loud voice. OK, no problem, he will keep it short. Well, the next teller became available and she called him over by name. He ignored her and continued talking. The customer in line behind cell phone boy poked him and pointed at the teller. He walked over, didn’t say hello and just gave her his transaction. She completed it, said thank you and gave him his money. He stood there. Talking. Loudly. He swore. I said that’s it. I went out from behind the teller line walked up to him and asked him to please end his call, that his language was offensive and he was not conducting himself in a way that was appropriate for a professional environment. The place was dead silent. He stared at me. He turned and walked away. When the door shut behind him the applause started. I think I made a lot of people happy and I think my coworkers were proud of me. Hell- I was proud of me.
The guy might close his account- I don’t know- it was a chance I was willing to take because I think I kept way more customers with my actions. It was a good day. Thanks Fred.
I couldn’t have kept my mouth shut in the bakery. Douchebag would have gotten pissed at me.
) And I absolutely hate it when people answer their phones in a public place so loud that everyone can hear their whole conversations.
Coming from a family of car dealers, I do have to say they are not all DB’s. But even I have a DB story about buying a car. My husband and I have spent years repairing our credit from a misspent youth and we were finally ready to buy a car. We were kind of looking for a van as we have two children, but we were not set on anything. First lot we went to, we found a decent van. We drove it and crunched numbers with the salesman. He told us to take the van to lunch and when we got back, he would have our financing ready. When we got back the whole thing had changed. They wanted twice as much down and our payments were going to be $200 more than we wanted. We told him to keep the van. Next place we went, sold us a great car for a great price and well within our price limitations. What asshats. We are the product of their businesses and they thought they could push us around. I hate people who try to push you into things. No means no people.
Years ago my sister bought a new Ford F150 truck. She knows a lot about cars and trucks, did a lot of her own work on her vehicles when they weren’t as computerized as they are now. Dealers couldn’t jack her around because she was female, like they would be able to do with me because I know where to put in the gas and oil and that’s about it. When I wanted a Ford Explorer she recommended the dealer where she had bought her truck, and told me which dealers had tried to treat her like an idiot. I went straight to the dealer she recommended where I ended up liking the fancy SUV with leather seats, 5-pack CD player, etc. It was a lot of money, but they were very good about not pressuring me. Instead they said to keep the SUV for a couple of days, drive it around and think about it. Wow. But I figured I had to at least go to one other dealer for comparison. A woman at the second dealer took me on a test drive of a slightly less expensive SUV, with cloth seats and not as many options, then she handed me off to a man who sat down with me for a while until we had agreed on and initialed a price I would be willing to pay. He went away, then came back and said his boss wouldn’t let him sell it for that amount, and gave me a price about $2000 more. I stood up and walked out. Now these weren’t individual douchebags, everyone was very polite, but it was a douchebag situation. I bought the fancy SUV from the other dealer that same day. That night the woman from the second dealer called to apologize and say they would sell me their SUV for the price the salesman and I took great delight in telling her I had already bought an Explorer from so and so.
On rare occasions people may not realize they’re being douchebags. I usually just seethe when someone is in the 10 items or less checkout line with a lot more stuff, but one time I said to the woman with a full cart who was piling stuff on the belt, “Excuse me, did you know this is the Express Lane?” She looked up above the register, then said “No, where does it say that?” Well this particular store has a sign below the end of the counter, not a sign above the register like in the other grocery in our neighborhood, and she just hadn’t seen it. She apologized, put her stuff back in the cart, and went to a different register.
Fred, if I wanted snackies, no DB in the world would have kept me from them.
That being said, I sometimes wonder how people get by in life as they seem to have the common sense of a cat food can. (But then again, a cat food can has a purpose.) May I also add that Niki P. is my hero for the day? My DB complaint? People in grocery stores who leave their cart in the middle of the aisle and make no effort to move it so you have to go around.
Vegans = douchebags? WhatEVER.
But I have to agree about salesmen. We spent a year looking for a used truck for my husband. We’d drive on the lot and they would swarm the car, sometimes fighting for us. Annoying. (I love it when they assume that the little lady knows nothing, too. I probably know more than they do.) We ended up using my Dad’s discount to get a new one.
Louann - I have a special method for those types of DBs: I bump, a bit too forcefully, their cart, and when they look up startled I sincerely say “Oh, I thought I had room to get around. Sorry.” then gleefully make my way down the isle. I admitted this at work one day and found out my co-worker does the same thing! It feels good.
Actually, Fred, you have turned me into a vegetarian. Seriously. I honestly never put much thought into the meat I was eating until you started telling your farming stories and showed the other side (the factory farming side). It made the meat not taste as good and made me feel guilty eating it. Since 1)I don’t have the means to raise my own livestock and 2)There is nowhere near me that sells lovingly spoiled meat, I have no other choice but to abstain from meat all together. I haven’t gone vegan (although I am buying the cage free eggs now (thanks to you, too)) because I like eggs and dairy too much. Maybe someday…
But we are still a 2 SUV family… One is even a full size, gas guzzling SUV. Does that redeem me a little??
Hi Fred. I just found a link to these from another blog and thought of you: http://www.prettybitter.com/product-p/dd03.htm
Then again, you’d probably go broke handing them out to all the douchebags you run across.
Anyway, maybe it put a smile on your face.