You Can Squeeze My Teats By Hand.

Sal and I are gonna take off for Kansas City for a day or 2 to visit my daughter and son in law. Oughta be a fun trip. I've been wanting to hit the Musician's Friend outlet store down there for awhile. We'll have a bunch o' stuff all jammed in, in one fell swoop.

For your teat squeezing pleasure, I give you this video, "I Am Cow". It killed me to death.







Have a great weekend!

J.






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Your Car Is On Fire

I dunno why my mind drifts to the places it does, but it does and I've got no control over it. It's like it's got a mind of it's own.

Whoa. That's kinda out there. My mind has a mind of it's own....



I was pouring windshield washer fluid in my truck this morning and remembered a story my buddy (who will remain nameless)(oh what the hell, it was Gary) Gary told me that happened to him several years ago. He was at a gas station and had just finished filling his car with gas and paying for it and there was a car pulled up to the pump beside him with a couple of guys standing beside it and the inside of the car was filling up with smoke.

He said the guys looked to be in their late teens and they were pretty panicked about an amp or something in the back seat or under the back seat that had evidently caught on fire and didn't know quite what to do... when one of 'em opened a back door. The fresh blast of oxygen caused the backseat to flare up and the 2 young men went into a full blown meltdown. He said one of 'em just stood there holding the sides of his face screaming while he jogged but didn't move outta the spot he was in, like an invisible force held him there despite his best jogging efforts. The other guy was running back and forth between the door of the filling station and the stationary jogger dude yelling "CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!!" over and over.

Gary seeing the situation escalate dramatically in mere seconds did what he thought was the right thing. There was a huge mountainous stack of windshield washer fluid stacked there between the pumps, he grabbed 2 jugs, knifed the tops open with his pocket knife and threw the stuff in the backseat of the blazing sedan.

What happened next was unexpected by everyone in the heat of the moment. See... windshield washer fluid doesn't freeze. Know why? No? Cause it's mostly alcohol. Alcohol is pretty flammable.

Whooof.







Gary said the 2 guys both screamed in horror. The one that was actually moving ran to the highway and resumed screaming from out there at a safer distance. The stationary jogger picked up momentum and screamed louder.

Gary? Uh... he got in his car and left figuring that he'd pretty much done everything he could to help 'em out and it didn't work out so hot and the whole idea of hanging out at a bunch of gas pumps while a car was being gutted by fire... didn't appeal to him too much. He met 2 fire engines within a 1/4 mile.



He said he always wondered how those 2 guys retold this story.








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A Good Boy....

I dunno. It made me laugh.


Carry on with your browsing of the internetees.

J.







.

Bow Your Heads...

As much as a shock as this may come to some... if not all of you, I have frozen to death. I am no longer among the warm and breathing. I am Ded.

D.

E.

D.

Ded.


The TOD (tractor of doom) has deceased once again, just like me. It's in the shop for it's seemingly bi-weekly overhaul. In it's place Uncle Satan brought over an even worse tractor than the TOD to use to feed the cattle. I honestly didn't think there could be a worse tractor, but there is. I drove it today and expired on the seat of it feeding hay to about 100 head of bovines in 10 degree temperatures with snow.

I spent 2 days getting this POS loaner tractor started in the freezing cold, with nary a plug in heater in existence on it... cause they normally don't need to plug in their tractors down in Hell. See it's really warm down there year round, though that'd be a crappy reason to vacation there. I finally got the damned thing started a few hours ago with much application of ether and hanging an electric heater on the side of the engine block, much like you'd see any other idiot on earth hang say... a live beaver on the side of a city bus. Awkwardly and unhappy.

I drove Uncle Satan's International 966 to the pasture without much damage, I fed the first hay only loosing the tips of my fingers and toes, but by the time I'd gotten finished it was somewhat more serious. My eyelids were frozen. One open, one shut. My lips had turned blue. I put them in my coat pocket for safekeeping just in case I wanted to play the trumpet later in life.

When I stood up to get off the seat of the tractor, parts of me did not. I turned to see the boys just basking there on the bright red, icy cold, hard vinyl seat. I bid them farewell and climbed down, realizing my shoes and feet were still in position on the clutch and brake pedals of the tractor.

It's just as well. I won't be needing any of those once important body parts ever again. I have frozen to death.

Sally will be raffling off my lips in the spring to help pay for tractor repairs I'm sure. Please send her your raffle entry in a timely manner.




Keeping "frozen" as the key word, I give you Vinnie(Todd) and Shaldeen in the frozen food section.







http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tncd84NYJ1Y






*sigh*





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It's Not Just A Rumor...

I've been Sassified.

My lil' buddy Sass over at "Are You Sassified?" bestowed upon me the most treasured and sought after award on the whole internetal thing.

Here. Look at it. Bask in the glow of my new found blogulatory omnipresence!






Heh. I rule.


And it's just like this all over the place.







Hell I even ran out and got me a new hat just because.







Thanks for making my day Sass. Seriously.
J.






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Sparkin' Fred's Keds

Today, in the middle of a deeply frozen January... we hit 63 degrees here in NEMO. I was outside traipsin' around like some kind of traipsin' fool, no coat, soaking it up. You don't get many days like this at this time of the year so it's a smart thing to wallow in 'em a bit, 'cause tomorrow it's probably gonna be back to something like 10 degrees.

Most of the country has been deadlocked in this insipid record cold and I got to thinking 'bout spreading my joy of today's heat wave by relating some facts about the 4th of July, when it's just hotter than a dutch rub on a buzz haircut.




Wait. This all made perfect sense to me as I went through my day thinking 'bout this... now I put it down in words and it makes 'bout as much sense as kicking an Angus bull in the nuts. What the hell. I'm marching on with it.

You knew I would.



I've got a little list of facts about the 4th of July that I comprised all before I was 18 or 19. I was kind of a July 4th prodigy. It's true. So without further ado, in the middle of winter, here's my fact list.




July 4th Fact #1. Sitting in the back seat of a '70 Pontiac Bonneville, if you throw a lit Cherry Bomb out the back window and it hits the top of the door frame and comes back inside the car and lands on the back floorboard.... when it goes off the carpet will have a big black, smoking hole in it. Most people are willing to hurl themselves out of a car still moving at 20 to 25 mph if this happens, except the guy in the front passenger seat, he will just snap off the door handle in his hand and scream like a little girl while he looks at it.

A little side note: The driver/owner of the Pontiac will be really angry with you as soon as he regains his hearing and will curse you loudly. At no point during this triage of language should you reply back "I don't think that's physically possible, Steve"

No. Don't do that.




July 4th Fact #2. Each beer consumed on the 4th (or any other day) kills about 500,000 brain cells. With this math, after your buddy drinks 8 beers he's at a 3rd grader level of smart. At this point it's possible for you and your other friends to convince him that it'd be great sport to stick bottle rockets in his shoe laces (I am not responsible for this logic now that I'm older) while his feet are resting on a cooler, and lighting off about 7 or 8 at once. The bottle rockets do NOT zip out of the shoes like you'd expect, in fact they just stick there. Watching a drunk guy try and run across the yard, shaking his feet alternately trying to make the bad bad bottle rockets go away and finally falling down and giving up while his shoes smoke and spark and pop WILL make beer shoot out your own nose.

We even named this one. "Sparkin' Fred's Keds"




July 4th Fact #3. The fourth of July does not give you special "Stunt Abilities" on a bicycle.




July 4th Fact #4. The waiting line at the Emergency Room is always a long one on the Fourth.



July 4th Fact #5. Roman candles are NOT weapons of war. This is especially true when you're 12 years old and you're playing WW2 and aim one at the neighbors pet milk cow and you yell "run you dirty Kraut, run!" and your mom and the neighbor witness this at the same time.



July 4th Fact #6. Your bedroom is a very sad place to spend the 4th of July when you're 12.




See? Now isn't that a nice break from winter?

Later,
J.








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What In Sam Hill's Name Is A Freakin Mini Enema?

I've got a folder in my bookmarks titled "other crap"... which is typed as "other carp" if you've been drinking, but my other carp folder is kind of my catch all for odd things. When I run across a website or a place to shop that just catches me a bit off guard, I park it there in other carp.

I bookmarked a site sometime back and never really took a good look at it, but I did tonite. Shopinprivate.com At first glance the stuff they sell is just the usual items that you'd think might embarrass someone to walk into a store and purchase. Condoms, sex devices and toys, that kinda stuff, but then you (or me as the case is) start looking at some of the stuff that must embarrass people to buy.

Alka Seltzer
Back Scratchers
Porn for Women (which is a book with pictures of men vacuuming the carpet and folding laundry)
Disposable panties Hellfire! I thought they ALL were disposable.

Now none of those items, and there's 100's more like 'em, seem particularly embarrassing to me to purchase, but they must be. There's even deodorant there for sale. What the heck is up with that? Really? There are people that can't buy over the counter deodorant?


And then... AND THEN... you notice some items that really get the old gears turning. Enemeez. That's pronounced, according to the guy in the video, yes there is a video, "Enemies" That's as in "The Germans were our enemies in WWII" When I saw there was a video I just KNEW that this was gonna be comedy gold.

Now wait, maybe this is a product that the mainstream constipated world knows about and uses often, and me... being me, know nothing of it. But I just discovered it so just pretend it's all a brand new discovery for you as well.

Anyhow I was sorely disapointed with the video... until I read the user reviews. There's some doggone happy folks that sure are glad to have old Enemies to stick up their butts. I don't quite understand the physics (pun intended) of how Enemeez and the whole mini enema thing works... nor do i really want to know, but I am amused by it, and you should be as well.




I'm really not bothered a whole lot shopping for most anything, I get a little nervous at a couple of items, but for the most part nothing much bothers me. Checkout can be a fun family time if you do it right.

When my daughter was a baby she had a high fever from respiratory infection and when I called the doctor he said to give her an enema. Well hell, I didn't know an enema from a hole in the... I didn't know much 'bout 'em. So I waltzed into the local mom and pop drugstore in town and was standing there looking in a case holding all sorts of bags and hoses and mysterious looking devices and a young, plumpish female employee asked if I needed help.

Was this her lucky day or what.

I broke the ice with...

Me: I need an enema.

Her: *blank expression staring into the case with me*

Me: *letting a little time slip by* Well not for me personally. My baby daughter has a fever and this was prescribed by our doctor.

Her: Well, we've got single use enemas, we've got a middle priced enema and then the top of the line with rubber bag and douche applicator.

Me: Douche?

Her: *regretful pause* Yes.

Me: Boy I bet that thing comes in handy!

Her: *Picking at a sticker on the case with her much chewed fingernail*

Me: *waiting for an answer*

Her: Uhmmm....

Me: So if you were buying it would it be worth the extra 5 bucks for the fancy bag and the douche thingamabob? You sure that's what that thing is?

Her: Uhmmm... A lot of people buy this one.

Me: So it's your best selling enema?

Her: *trying very hard to be professional* I'd guess so, we sell a lot of them.

Me: Do you gift wrap?

Her: What?

Me: Nothing. I'll take the middle of the road one, I can't imagine me needing the douche unless you can flush a radiator with that thing.

Her: *checking her watch and ringing me up*



Anyhow, the website is good for a little entertainment and I guess if you're looking for a place to buy a nose hair trimmer, a "personal massager", or maybe some disposable tongue scrapers, throw the plastic down and wait for the UPS man.


Later,
J.






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Nightmares and Playground Fights

I dunno what the heck is going on lately, I very very rarely remember any of my dreams but for the past couple of weeks I've been having some pretty wild nightmares that for whatever reason I'm waking up with full remembrance of. No meds... nothing different that I know of. Just instant blecchh.

Along with the nightmares have been a few pretty bizarre dreams tossed in just to make it interesting. The night before last was a dream 'bout a big argument with my buddy Gary. He said gas was $6 in town, I said nope, it's just $1.70. He said well it went up to $6 today. We went back and forth with that a bit and then I woke up... in that sleepy, confused state where you suddenly feel the need to work it all out in your head if that was real or a dream or something you just watched on TV.

Freaky stuff.

Sal is amazing, she can wake up and give me a verbatim play by play reenactment of her dreams. I'm always kinda jealous that she can do that... it's pretty weird, but entertaining at the same time.

A few nights ago I had one of those fights where you're swinging at the guy that you're wanting to punch, but you can't swing hard... it's like slow motion girl swings, so when you finally connect with the dream butthead, it's like you just hit him with a pillow... and he laughs. I woke up and was all loopy and mad and stuff, but it reminded me of my very first playground fight when I was in the 3rd grade.

Arnie Whiphnel. Arnie and I got along great until that fateful day on the merry go round. Back in the day we had this monstrous old iron and wood merry go round on the playground. There was a kid mangled in that thing on almost a daily basis, but this was before everyone was struggling to keep all kids safe and unharmed. There were plenty of kids back then and most folks didn't seem to mind if a few were missing appendages or limped for the rest of their lives because of a merry go round ride from hell.

Arnie and I was on the merry go round and someone was giving it the "slap and death spin" where they just stand beside it and give it a slap as often as they can to speed it up. We were hanging on for dear life, 'cause that was the game, hang on until you were either flung off or drug on the ground to your death because your foot got caught on some piece of iron as you went off of it because of centrifugal force.

Arn took me by surprise, turned loose with one hand and gave me a shove. I flew offa the merry go round like a stunt double and did a backwards somersault that did about 10 rotations and ended with me lying in the dirt by the Barbie Girls, missing my shoes and bleeding asunder.

No guy ever EVER went in the Barbie Girl zone on purpose, it was like... it was like trying to run your way out of a molasses tub being chased by saber toothed bobcats.

When I opened my eyes, all of the Barbie Girls, as if on cue, simultaneously put their hands on their hips and yelled for the playground monitor because I was "bothering them". Gah!

I hauled myself up, strode back to the merry go round where Arnie Wiphnel was still riding, spinning, and laughing. I set my little Chuck Taylors in the dirt and waited for Arn to come 'round and I snagged him by his belt.

Arnie came off so fast he got the ol "foot caught in the bowels" trick and he dragged around for about 2 spins or so before he came loose. He got up madder 'n hell but dizzy and fell back down. I knew this was my chance and I made a flying leap and landed in the middle of his back and proceeded to pummel the back of his head with the fury of 9 year old fists.

Those back of the head shots are deadly.

Arnie, being bigger than me, kinda stood up with me on his back and I fell off onto the ground while he gave me a good kick to my foot. I jumped up and lunged at him just as he lunged at me and we both got a handful of each others shirts and started the old windmill routine.

Lord.

We spun and spun and spun and spun, inflicting all sorts of dizziness to one another. That was the main purpose of the windmill I think. Just when I was trying to think of a move to make to end Arnie's life the playground monitor's whistle blew about 3 feet from our heads.

We both stopped windmilling, turned loose.... staggered sideways rappidly in opposite directions... and fell down.

We got hauled up by our arms and made a tiptoe speedwalk across the playground, while the monitor kinda shook us like little tennis shoed bath towels, straight into the school and directly into the principal's office where we got a stern talking to about citizenship and the army. That's how I remember the talk anyhow, but it sure doesn't make much sense now.



I had more than a few playground and locker room scuffles after that first deflowering, but probably none so exciting as getting dizzied up with Arnie Whiphnel.












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PaPa Magoo, Fred Flintstone and Mr. Peabody and Sherman

Friday randomonsity (cool word eh?) and stuff. First I've got another piece of artwork by my other Grand daughter, Emma, age 5. This is proof that she is truly my granddaughter.

This is a portrait of me that she drew about a week ago, I think Sally named it PaPa Magoo... but the thing that's important here is the Hitler mustache that I'm sportin'.










Now I spent most of my free time from the 3rd grade until the 6th grade, drawing Hitler mustaches on just 'bout every picture I came across. I took it upon myself as some weird sort of Hitler mustache crusade.

Emma doesn't know this little bit of history I just gave you.

Look at my mustache.

The kid is a genius and is getting a head start on a gratifying and pleasant hobby. I'm expecting big things out of her, artistically speaking.





Next is an old commercial that has nothing to do with Hitler, or mustaches... but is heavy on Fred Flintstone and Winston cigs. Let's see 'em do a commercial like this now days.

Ah boy... nuthin' like sitting in the living room watching cartoons with the old man and flickin' ashes on mom's carpet. Good times, good times....












Lastly I ran across this video the other day. Mr. Peabody and Sherman and the Way Back Machine were one of my favorite cartoons and also the biggest reason to watch Bullwinkle and Rocky.










Have a great weekend folks!
J.




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Segway? I Laugh.

I just read in the news a day or 2 ago 'bout how that fella that invented the Segway is starting to get concerned that it's just not gonna catch on as the new mode of transportation for the 2000's.

I looked around on the world wide web a little bit and hell... there's folks all over the place unhappy as a wormy turtle. I would be too if I'd paid 6 or 7 thousand for one of those things and I just ended up pushing it home.

I'm gonna let y'all in on a little secret. I was in Orscheln's Farm and Home a while back and they had 'em for sale in there. $39.95. Yup.

I got all bundled up and Sal got a shot of me speeding down the driveway today. 'Bout froze my segway juniors plumb off. The pics a little blurry... man it's fast.












Remember... Orschelns. $39.95 Runs like the wind.






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The Artistry Of Killer Sheep

I'm no fan of sheep, 'cept for Ruby. She's probably more dog than sheep, but she can't fetch. Older than any sheep I've ever known... we've sorta lost count to how old she is. Somewhere in the 14-15 year old range.





I'll run that pic again just 'cause she's so dang cool.


Anyhow, Shelby, my 3 year old grand daughter knows and understands killer sheep and that most, if not all sheep are not like Ruby. Most are blood thirsty killers that wish to draw loot out of your wallet to heal them of some unknown sheep disease bleeding you to death financially... and then die before you get to actually apply the miracle ointment/injection/pill/whatever.

She drew me a picture of one of the other sheep here, either Dummy or Stupid... I can't tell which it is and it doesn't matter. I think this is my new favorite piece of artwork.















Is that freakin' awesome or what? I swear it belongs on the ceiling of the Pristine Craple or something.

I can't wait to see what she draws when she's 4!







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Yeah They've Come To Snuff The Rooster...

Firstly, I've added one of those "blog followers" things over there on the right side of the whatchamacallit. Everyone seems to be doing it and of course heeding OR ignoring the words of my mother "If everyone jumped off a cliff would you jump too?"... Well... probably if it looked like fun and I wouldn't get hurt too much. So where it says Happy go lucky sonofaguns, click the "follow" words and you'll get to put your picture up there and I'll be sending you a kitten or a diamond ring or something even more specialer at Christmas or on your birthday.

Just do it. I've got like 4 outstanding human beans following and they need company. It's the truth.




Okay, I've been puny for about a day. I've got the man-cold. I've been hovering near death for the past 12 hours. This of course is Sally's version. My version is, I just feel crappy. I even passed up playing music last night so you KNOW I'm sick if I do that. This is my last "allowed" day of man coldness so tomorrow, bright and early I'll quit coughing, my raw throat will be healed by a miracle and I'll want to go cut a load of firewood.

Gah.




There's an awesome old Alice In Chains song titled "rooster" that has nothing to do with todays blog other than I stole a line from the song. You can look it up on youtube if you wanna listen to it. Anyway, a buncha years ago we had some chickens that ran around outside and for whatever reason we ended up with a bunch of white roosters. This is all good, I coulda cared less except for the fact that at dawns early light they would all pick a basement window to see their reflection in and then spend the rest of the day.... until dark.... crowing at themselves. It was cute for awhile and guests were always entertained by it, but a man can take only so much rooster crowing, and 12 hours a day of it, from all corners of the house was just a bit too much.

My daughter Nicky and I grew to hate the roosters. We seriously had not a touch of love whatsover for those stupid roosters... and a person can only have so many roosters. "So Many" is usually 1.

I tried getting rid of 'em by giving them away. Anyone that stopped I tried to give 'em a rooster or roosters. I finally pawned ONE off to my neighbor Virgil. No one wanted the dang things.

I honestly don't remember what precipitated the event of "snuff the roosters day", other than we were both having a pretty rotten day and were sitting in the living room trying to get one another to show pity on ourselves. While this was going on, there were 4 roosters posted at various basement windows crowing their stupid little chicken brains out at their reflections.

Nicky and I paused in our pity wallowing. I said... "lets kill the roosters". Her face instantly brightened. She said "You mean it?" We grabbed a 12 gauge, walked out in the yard and went completely Rambo on the stupid roosters.

It was mayhem.

It was also one of Nicky's most hysterical and happiest childhood memories. :-)

Maybe you had to be here. Maybe you had to hear the crowing cacophony for 12 hours a day, EVERY day... non-stop.

Silence was golden.


I ran across this video of this rooster... This ol' boy would last about 30 minutes around here.









What can I add?



One more video that totally breaks the boundaries of WTF. A Japanese game show contestant, dressed in blackface, doing an impression of Louis Armstrong, phonetically singing "what a wonderful world" and then playing a pretend trumpet... to the audiences apparent great pleasure.







Amazing 'eh?




Have a great Sunday evening.
J.






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Beavers And Ducks

I hesitate to even relate this story, but then Humiliation is my middle name. My parents thought that was real funny when I was just a baby. On the bright side, you won't run into many others with that middle name.

Okay, there was a movie a few years ago called "Bandits" with Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thornton as bank robbers. Not a bad movie but definitely not a great movie. As with 'bout any movie ever made there's one line that you can pull outta the flick and use it.

There's a scene where Billy Bob's character "Terry" is asleep and he wakes up in a panic and blurts out "Beavers and ducks!". It cracked me up then and it still does now.

So our friends Gary and Jolene were over here the other evening, we had a couple of drinks and were just sitting here visiting. For whatever reason the TV was on as well with the volume low on something benign. The conversation had moved into politics and.............. I drifted off to sleep. More like that state of mind where you *think* you know what's going on in the room around you, but there's some confusion with what you're hearing on the TV, the conversation, and some old dude that's moving the furniture around in the room in your little dream that you've moved into in your sleepy little punkin.



I snapped into consciousness and with all my might I said loudly... "FENG SHUI".


The conversation stopped and the other 3 people in the room all spun their heads to look at me. I tried to make a save.

"You know... Feng Shui. Where every object has a correlation to every other object in your being and the arranging of 'em to affect your life and stuff. That's the thing you're trying to think of right now."


They just stared at me with their mouths open 'cause no one was trying to think of Feng Shui. Not in that conversation... possibly not ever.

Finally Gary spoke. "Did you just have a stroke? What the hell?

To which I replied once again. "Feng Shui" 'cause I just couldn't give it up and my brain wouldn't fully engage with the mix of a couple of cocktails, sleep and etc.



For the past few days now I can just be sitting here minding my own business and Sal will walk by me or stop in front of me, say "Feng Shui" and walk on... giggling at what is evidently the funniest damned joke of the century.


I bring it all on myself.





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Engrish, Some Vids And A New Blog Roll...

I love fortune cookie fortunes, there's always some good entertainment value to be had in 'em, usually by accident, but that's the best. The most memorable one I ever had was probably 15 years ago. I cracked my cookie open and it read...

"You like Chinese food"

I couldn't breathe for 2 days.

I've had a couple of doozies in the past month, I save 'em now. The first one here is from just about a month ago. Somewhere, someone got this fortune and ran with the ball. To quote Mr. T... I pity da fool.







The timeliness of this fortune is uh... unfortunate.



Just a couple days ago we were down in St. Louis and my friend Gary and his daughter was with Sal and I, he insisted that we eat lunch at "THE BEST CHINESE BUFFET IN MISSOURI".

We did.

It was awful. When they say "The General's Chicken" they mean the original batch. Holy cat was it a bad deal. The fortunes slightly redeemed the crapfest that we called lunch. Oh and Gary felt so bad for leading us there he picked up the tab. There was no tip.

Anyway these 2 fortunes, one out of my cookie and one out of Sally's cookie. Both the same fortune, both in broken Chinese "Engrish" but screwed up on different words.







What are the odds? It almost made belching bad eggroll for 6 hours worth it.





Okay a couple of vids. The first is some dude playing Rush's "Subdivisions" on 2 guitars, on a rooftop, using a loop machine part of the time to loop his own playing in "on the go". Also a bass pedal and an incredible voice. Definitely worth the watch.





Here's the link if the embedded video doesn't show up for you.



The second video is Jerry Miculek, an amazingly fast and deadly accurate handgun shooter. I met Jerry a number of years ago at The Masters and ran into him at other matches after that. Real decent guy with a whole lotta skill. There may be faster than him, but add in the accuracy and he left 'em in the smoke. As amazing as the video is, it's even more so in person. Anyway, here...






And here's the link if the embedded video doesn't show up for you.



Over on the right side of my blog, there's been some new additions to "the cool list" of blogger buds. Read at your leisure... but do it now!



That's that! Have a great weekend, don't forget to brush twice a day. Wipe real good and wash your hands when you're done.




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