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mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 30, 2015 - 05:11pm PT
The Dance of the Free and the Gnome of the Brave.Jack-daw singing Zippety-doo-dah..."Heal these broken wings and I will fly,
Weeping tears I've climbed in the sky,
Many years back in the days gone by.

Blue ice guy, you were only waiting
For this gully to come into blue condition.

Standard deviation for Cavers, VO-wise, zBrown?
Carlos C., flying free Meso-American hairways, applies just a little tab now and then, I've heard.

Speaking of ice and noted Alta Californio New Age Brujos,

OP/ED Page, south bay edition of The Torch, a Flames publication


Pope Francis has determined that Junipero Serra is ripe for sainthood. Francis has gone over the line and this is not the beach softball game, either.

This is not a popular move here In Middle Earth, one of California’s most liberal areas. It’s well-known that Father Serra was put in charge of the missions north of Mexico City and that he established nine of the twenty-one missions in California, starting with Mission San Diego de Alcala in 1769. San Diego is the first European settlement in Alta California.

It’s also well-known that California native culture suffered terribly under the mission system. I won’t go into that, so go Google it. It’s too horrible to think of this early in the morning, or even late at night. I think of it whenever I pass a Taco Bell drive-thru.

The pope has decided that the Franciscan friar, who was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1988, meets saintly standards, that he is standing near the Almighty, and has His ear. Pray to him and he’ll relay your message to the Man. Jesus can’t handle all the traffic, so saints are useful, if you believe in them.

In the process of saint-making, the person whose life is being held under a microscope by church investigators is first given the status of being “venerable.” The Venerable Bede is the one ninety percent of us think of in connection with venerabilty, I’d be willing to bet. Brother Bede was Anglo, not Latino. He never made it past stage one and unless a miracle can be attributed to him, the case is closed on him.

But the Blessed Junipero is set to become Saint Junipero Serra in September and the pope is planning to be in Philadelphia anyway, and so he may well come to California for the bash, er, the sanctification. Knowing the Hispanic population will be enthused, I can’t wait for the results of Serra’s upgrade.

Will there be Junipero burritos and tacos? Will the Junipero taco be followed by the SuperJunipero? Will there be a rash of expletives entering the language, such as “Holy Junipero Dog, BratMan!”? Will we see the release of a movie on the life of Junipero? Will it be like KPAX, with the missionary man telling the locals that in the place from where he comes everyone is subservient to the wishes of one man who never is wrong on matters of faith and morals? Will the Halo Hat be the new craze? (I favor Serra’s straw hat, myself.) Will the tonsure make a comeback in barber shops around the country? Will the Franciscan cincture cord become the new accessory in boutiques from San Francisco to Carmel, where the man’s earthly remains lie?

God, let us hope not! It’s enough that there will be churches named for the man who crapped all over native California, isn’t it? We don’t have to go to church, but we do need that taco now and then from that damned bell-ringing fake Mex taco shop. I admit to a fondness for the venerable Enchirito, which is no longer offered, damn them! It’s mainly why I never go there to eat any longer. While I’m on my white horse, Taco Bell has some of the absolute worst ads (thereby becoming GOOD ads by sticking in the outraged viewer’s mind) ever shown on TV, in my opinion.

Someone give me an “Amen!”

Says here, too, that Father Serra never bothered to learn to surf, even though the beaches were wide open. When they say he was a man of vision, they lie.

I’d say “Vote NO” on the Serra initiative, but it’s not a political thing but a draconian move by the papacy. Religion, in spite of “free will,” is not geared that way. No one knows right from wrong better than the popes in Rome, or so the church asserts in the face of common sense and decency.

Genocidal practices are mortal sins, dude! What the hell are you thinking, Francis? Or are you just California dreaming?
As they say down at the Pump House, “So it goes, flow with it.”

Thump them with the Bibles,
Prod them with the swords.
Catholics or Muslims,
Give them God’s own words.

And maybe a read-through of Barb Tuchman's Bible and Sword.

Pope Francis, eh? Imitation has its limitations, I suppose. St. Francis is my kinda saint.

Now get up off your sore knees, children, and dance.
[Click to View YouTube Video]

Ice climber
Brujň de la Playa
Jan 30, 2015 - 05:33pm PT
Though I always preferred the long version of Light My Fire, I prefer my Junipero (or should we say Juniperrito) in short installments.

I cannot recall what year it was that Fra Serra freed the slaves and Juaquin Murrieta, but it doesn't matter now does it? Dylan dug him, even wrote that song about him, "Sara" showing that even the Catholics and the Jews can get along if they just stay away from Gaza.

Bless me father Serra for I have sinned, but then again so have you.

[Click to View YouTube Video]
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 30, 2015 - 05:59pm PT

Pagans round the fire.That's one un-hip cat, man, like, you know?
Nice photos, Gnome.
And the Old Camp4 Photo thread is in full bloom.
It's great to see there's a Gypsy still roaming in a sense, and some folks' bad weather leads to others' immense
A Hammster and a rodent and a muskrat and a gnome and we gotta think about the badger.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 30, 2015 - 06:55pm PT

Yvor Winterswife

Some results of contemplation in the garden. One supposes the presence of gnome as spider hangs contemplating fly in its silken coffin--

The path
The Spider makes through the air,
Until the light touches it.
The path
The light takes through the air, invisible,
Until it finds the spider’s web.

Fossil, being wondering at, calls forth a description of great age--

In quiet dark transformed to stone,
Cell after cell to crystal grown,
The pattern stays, the substance gone....

Not quite so old, Tiny Anasazi Woman’s mummy greets her--

How, unconfused, she met the morning sun,
And the pure sky of night,
Knowing no land beyond the great horizons...

Old gods and new abound--

Men of Awatobi,
Killed by men of the Three Mesas,
By arrow, by fire,
Betrayed, trapped in their own kivas.

The men of the Three Mesas,
In terror for the peace of the great kachinas
who hold the world together,
Who hold creation in balance,
Took council, acted...

And wind cries “Janet”--

The sunlight pours unshaken through the wind...

Navajo thinks like Eskimo:
Singing in duet, water and snow demand their due vocabulary--

Tsaile, Chinle,
Water flowing in, flowing out.

Slow water caught in a pool,
Caught in a gourd;
Water upon the lips, in the throat:
Falling upon longhair
Loosened in ceremony:
Fringes of rain sweeping darkly
From the dark side of a cloud,
Riding the air in sunlight,
Issuing cold from a rock,
Transparent as air, or darkened
With earth, bloodstained, grief-heavy;

In a country of no dew, snow
Softly pile, or stinging
in bitter wind...

The earth and the sky were constant,
But water,
How could they name it with one name?

Quebec falls and Sun rises over British Empire--

That September day the English appeared so suddenly that they seemed to have dropped from the sky; appeared, and fired. A warm rain fell now and again upon the troops, and the smoke from the rifles [muskets in fact] lay in long, white streamers, dissipating slowly. The noise of the rifles, reflected from the running water and from the cliffs, was something like thunder, but the rain was too quiet. And running, for the French, had become almost more important than fighting.

“The head of Montcalm lay upon the breast of Ma-mongazid, the young Ojibway, the dark sorrowful face, with its war paint of vermillion and white, intent above the French face graying rapidly. Presently they took the Marquis to the hospital in St. Charles, where he died. Ma-mongazid with his warriors in thirty bark canoes returned to pointe Chegoimegon through the yellowing woods and increasing storms of autumn. The rule of the French was over, the province of Michilimackinac had become the Northwest Territory. The Ojibways called the English Saugaunosh, the Dropped-From-The-Clouds, and regretted the French."

Abraham cries out
Angel grabs the knife
Hands it to Yvor’s wife
Granting her long life
Amid a jungle of words
While roller skating the buffalo heard
She placed each just so
So snow and Navajo
Become friendly
With Eskimo and ice
Sun comes up
Water runs off
Makes canyons in the plains

And along came McMurtree, a big fan of Sutree
Sacajawea/Janey/Mrs. Cherbono/The Squat/Myth-Woman/Pomp’s Mom

Speaking of whom...
Shaqua Jawea was a first string guard for the Mighty Mandans Female Lacrosse league team. She knew very little besides weaving in and out, everyday weaving, corn-pounding, skin dressing, tipi construction, cooking, plus she had experience at babysitting, having been with TaoSaint Cherbonno, rather a clown in buckskin, if you believe Clark and Lewis. She happened to be married to this man who was hired to guide the Corps of Discovery and was swept along upstream as they left for higher elevations in spring of 1805, using their boat--sometimes propelling it upstream with wind, dragging it along with ropes, and most other times using only their hands and their feet and long poles, all the time being told to put their backs into it as well.

Though her main usefulness was to be interpreting with the Indians, Saxawajea knew some of the route they needed to follow to get over the mountains. It turned out she was good for about enough “local knowledge” that it saw the corps through approximately two or three days worth of travel. That was a minor discovery of some moment. They had been conned by a young Indian’s trick. They were stuck with her and the baby, who grew to be a favorite of Clark. He was known as Little Pomp.

Gotta keep on polin’,
Keep that corps a-rollin’,
Up the Mighty Mo we will glide--
Through rain and snow and sagebrush,
We’re in no big old gold rush,
And let’s all keep this hush-hush,
Till we are by the oceanside.
Jaw hide!

Add to their burden the labor of collecting Indian dialects for President TJ, in addition to the facts-gathering, plus stepping carefully around Sioux feelings, and the sum of their efforts seems high. We’ve double-checked that with our patent-toed calculator, which only uses fingers and toes--and does so in base nineteen, so it’s a little skewed but still more than acceptable for gov’t work.

I’ll bet it got hectic, every sew often. The name of the plains warriors, the Teton Siow, gave William Clark fits, like the name of Chernobbo. He used an old Indian trick, one perfected by the Navaho and the Esquimaux, where he just spelt it like he felt it, like.

As in:
Soues, Sous, Sisouex, Soues, Seoues, Sciox, Sciouxm, Sioux, Seaux, Sieus, Scouix, Seauex, Seauix, Souix, Siaux, Sious, Sceoux, Sieuex, Sceaux, Shoe, Soux, & Souis.

“Sue me--I’m an American enjoying his right to do as he damn well pleases.”

These versions of the tribe’s name were all in the expedition’s journal, according to the eminently voluminous Mr. McShoetree. It seems all were in agreement on the word teton, though some may have used words like “boob,” etc.

“See that buck? His name’s Thunder Bubbies. And there’s old Two In The Hand.”
“Either of them related to Tipi Tops?”
“That boob Sioux? I hope not!”

Easterners adapt to the Mad Mad Wide Wide Wild World of the Wacky West.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
There is no mention in the journal or anywhere else in the literature of the Latin Indians. Nor one iota of the less-famous-by-far Greek Indians. The expectation was that they might run into a few wandering Creeks, but no mention of them, either.

And so it goes, moving west.

Sacajawea, or Janey, was in fact a captive who had been shuffled from one group of Native american nomads to another and ended up with Charbo.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 31, 2015 - 01:23am PT
For those suffering weather miseries.

Thawing Out the Pump

A young man realized that certain jobs were part of his work on the farm. He couldn’t expect to get out of turning the grindstone; in season he expected to weed the strawberries and thin the carrots. But on a winter’s morning when the red line in the thermometer was below the zero mark, he wished that thawing out the barnyard pump was not a regular chore. Sometimes, of course, the pump at the kitchen sink caught, but that pump was usually open to reason and quickly responded to a dipperful of hot water.

The barnyard pump was a stubborn affair although long experience had taught him the technique of thawing it out. No use trying to hurry things. Inanimate objects can display an unconscionable amount of patience-testing perversity.

Before a boy went out to help with the morning milking, he put two copper ketles over the front covers of the stove and stoked the firebox with oak and maple. After breakfast he took the boiling water and went to work. Too bad the man who wrote the ad in the catalogue didn’t have to thaw out what he called the “new pattern, close-top, antifreeze lift pump” himself.

One went at it carefully. Just a bit of the got water. Work the creaking handle up and down. A little more water. Work the handle steadily. Not too fast. More water. Still that raucous, hollow, gawking noise. More water. More handle pumping. Pour water with one hand; work the handle with the other. Second tea kettle almost gone. Would the water come? Suddenly a welcome sound. A deeper, purposeful gurgle. More hot water. The feel of weight as water started. Then one could relax. He could feel the water on the way up before the cold, crackling liquid splashed into the trough.

Thawing out the pump is still a morning chore on northland farms. A lad doesn’t pretend to understand atomic fission, but when the new power is under control, he hopes some of it will be hitched to pumps beside the farm watering troughs.

For those lucky enough to live in close proximity with nature in some of the older regions of the country.

Granite Steps

There is meaningful history in worn granite steps.
For two centuries and more they have served their purpose.
Some are the round, flat-topped granite stones at kitchen doors.
Others have lain, little used, before the front doors that lead to the small formal parlors
with their horsehair sofas and intricately carved whatnots.
Big granite rocks have served as stepping stones to the doorsills of ells and woodsheds.
One sees them slanting up to the big barn barn doorways and at the entrance to the tie-ups.
Many an old time barn had a stairway made of steps for the cows
to go up and down from the barn cellar.
Far back on abandoned country roads that wind along hillsides and dip into hollows
there are abandoned old cellar holes.
The granite steps that led into these homes of yesteryear are appealing reminder of the days
when children’s voices echoed over open fields—fields long since reclaimed by nature.

These granite steps are the natural stones left on the land or in it
by the slow-moving glaciers of long ago.
One can imagine the work involved in bringing them to places
where they would serve the needs of man:
a pioneer driving a yoke or two of oxen hitched to a stoneboat,
the farm boys, the huge chains, and the heavy crossbars to help in their removal.
When the clearings in the woodlands became fields and the log cabins had served their purpose,
a man built a frame house for his family.
Mothers and wives probably searched the fields and pastures in advance
for the flat-topped rocks that would serve as doorsteps.

The era of the natural stone steps, before man learned to split granite for his needs,
was an integral part of a new nation’s development.
Solid granite steps were part of the homes of long ago.
On many farms they still serve.
They have known the footsteps of past generations;
they will know the footsteps of generations yet to come.

All photos by Haydn S. Pearson from his book Countryman's Year, Whittlesey House, 1949.
Gnome Ofthe Diabase

Out Of Bed
Jan 31, 2015 - 02:29am PT
Try as I may z , then switcher Roo
[Click to View YouTube Video]
caught in factby the fact that no such sadness should be forgot the making of zaintz seems more like pointing out the frailty fail Éé ness of the church to it own flok.
That strident adoration to the tenants, of any one belief system over another , to the total demise of any other beliefs or culture surrounding those other beliefs is the standard by which the Abrhamic religious cultures mesure their success.. Total domination of or the assimilation of 100% of a indigenous population.

The real artifact would do, if the new holy man could best the world and live in the wilderness then God loved him for spreading the word, his life was validated by his drawing breath and the lord venerated by his pressing the flesh? ?

western wilds are haunted by the tens of thousands of souls that died at the hands of the white godly race?

Hey that is as cool as usual unless you knew that I climbed a bit with Kamps.!
He was very much a late 80's mentor , another pure ground up no preview climber.
Not at all anti bolt but highly anti easy out, slippery slope, issues guy.

Whanna bet? Patzs or Hawkzs ? I think it will be a fun game that is a kin to the end of the why holy why Roman Empire not Greek? so to speak
speak badly of religion at my own peril but I can. and do all the time, seems Mrs Oblahme, thinks it is the wiskey or with out the E
hell is I like to stay just off not on all the tome of golden bells , hear em
did it strike that heel first then knee elbow knee face hair covered in blood
line me up Scotty beam be to Christ I survived fourteen! and you too!

. . . . . . that saidness of the first, original true people has always been a thing that I wish more climbers would respect. as to the genocide in the name of the cross God.
I played with the raw deal that them 'Merican's got
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 31, 2015 - 03:14am PT
Love for the Kampfire.
Love for camping in general.

Hold your tennis racquet with both hands on the backhand.
Hold the climbing rope with one hand.
What if Bob Kamps had held climbing camps, mush as Robbins had his trips into the yonder mountains?

Bob was one of the greatest of 'Mericans at climbing rocks.
I think his contributions deserve much greater recognition than he has so far received.
the BE-ee coming attitudes are taught,along with the rules, of grammar,at this minique camp, much tenants elbowing as basic tenets are taught to likely gym ratz.

Remember, Gene Tenace of the World Champ Athletics. Now there was a belayer!
He was a hall of fame catcher in that respect, but his climbing career was kiboshed by Charlie Finley, who said he was risking the team's success. Good point.

He had a mean backhand as well as a deadly throw to second.

The Ace caught Vida Blue's no-hitter in 1970 against the Twins, 6-0, when Vida became the youngest pitcher since Paul Dean's no-hitter on the same date, Sept. 21, 1934.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
The role of the catcher in this no-hitter must have been that of the wily vet and the new kid, who never used a lick of VO, most likely.

Football is like religion, being played mainly on Sunday. Throw in golf, what the heck.

We like the Seahawks in straight sets.
Brady's footwork on the backhand has not suffered over the years, but his sideline game is hinky, and his lobs haven't been winners as much as in the past.

Over on the other bench, Wilson is half-black and is looking for a trip to meet the president. Brady's been there several times. Coach Carrol, too, as a collegiate national champ. Wilson's passing game is peakining. He has younger legs than Brady and is able to avoid the rush at the net by setting up faster.

I also keep getting over the computer's speakers, due to the adware virus, an audio, which repeats, "He's gonna go! Touchdown, Seattle!"

TOTALLY looks like the Super Bowl Loser, Ronster!
The Born Loser.ur not gonna die on my watch.--weedge


Social climber
Jan 31, 2015 - 08:14am PT
Gypsy has NOT left the building...
Gnome Ofthe Diabase

Out Of Bed
Jan 31, 2015 - 09:17am PT
I awoke to sniffl out that I've got a cold boo hiss !

but returning with no time right now
Christ, Chuck - stop kicking and screaming me me and stop drinking.
I am all in for YA man so if you can get in to a program
button up and send the runout three weeks is bull,

you got princess eses to raise !!
lov YA though!
[Click to View YouTube Video]
I was always mad at bobby for being a dog , then at the telluride shows in '87 Phill and I said as much I hopez to ?? what , Phill thought to cut down on drama but really it was just watching was hard or made phill hard? any way latter it was pointed out to me that those that can do
Do do they do it for us who get very little to no groupie, so that the vicarious living is rewarded by hero worship , to which B Wier Has A weege like addiction to.

IAlways wil be mad at Phill for not being a better brothers keeper to Gerrball, who was much more pet like in his needs after the Coma. Not that any blame lies at anyone's feet, but captain Tripz, Gerry also could not stop and so his hart did
Rest is the l. . . .left is the legacy of the Greatful Dead.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 31, 2015 - 02:10pm PT
Lady and the Tram
20,000 Leads Under the Sea
Davy Crockett King of the Wild Front Points
Around the World in 80 Pitches
Old Yeller
The Bridge on the River Kwai at the Center of the Universe

These are some of the cinematic offerings at the Village Theater (a mere twenty cents, soon raised to a quarter) in Sacto.
Lucky Market, Rhodes, JC Penny with 40' plate glass windows, Rhodes Department Store with escalators, Walgreen's...all these and many more at North Sacto's Country Club Center.
We lived about a half-mile from this shopping center at what some call the Four Corners, at Watt Ave. and El Camino. The land was originally horse pasture purchased for a drive-in theater, which was changed for the better. They held sports car races in the rear parking lot every so often.

When it was clear, when you bothered to look, you could see some Sierra Nevada skyline from these shopping centers. We took up residence here in 1954.

My sister Lenna found these on GI.

I did not get to see The Abominable Snowman, the best of the Yeti movies.

Joe Dante is wrong, however, there are no Ab Snowmen in the Alps!

Hammer Films. Ha!

[Click to View YouTube Video]
[Click to View YouTube Video]

Ice climber
Brujň de la Playa
Jan 31, 2015 - 03:14pm PT
Which team is going to win the SupaBowel and how confindent are you of your prognostication? Dollarwise.

Gnome Ofthe Diabase

Out Of Bed
Jan 31, 2015 - 03:30pm PT
trying real for real not to go iceklambering or gambling, same thing.

Ice climber
Brujň de la Playa
Jan 31, 2015 - 04:23pm PT
The team with the most points at the end of the game,

This covers many situations, except that one annoying instance where no team scores any points, that is to say, the null game.

Is confindent a word? What happened to The Flames spellchecker?

Gnome Ofthe Diabase

Out Of Bed
Jan 31, 2015 - 04:47pm PT
I will, under protest, choose a team to win.

I hate Paul Schaffer the piano player, Late nite show side kick,for personal reasons, he still
plays music at the drop of the hat, like Brady he can play.

so I will take them east coast Patriots and take seven points.

One touch down is a close stupor bowl score history being the tallywacker!
[Click to View YouTube Video]

Hangin' Judge of milk ball flats the malted kind from Leaf Candies, once a subsidiary of Grace

That would be W.R. GRACE the company chart on the nysexc, as one of the all time most stagnant stock or down trending
of any,... why do I care or know I have no idea?
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 31, 2015 - 05:55pm PT
Go Go Go Lax


Ice climber
Brujň de la Playa
Jan 31, 2015 - 06:36pm PT
Back before the advent of gay pool, there was only straight pool. $3000 a game.

-Fast Eddie, Flo & Eddie, Eddie Haskel & Minnesota (don't call me Joe Montana) Fats

[Click to View YouTube Video]

In the immortal words of Junipero Serra (no not que sera, sera) GodDamn

[Click to View YouTube Video]

Ice climber
Brujň de la Playa
Jan 31, 2015 - 07:53pm PT
Steve Miller, 1968, live from the Northface, where Berkeley and Oakland collide.

[Click to View YouTube Video]

Gypsy Joplin. Before the Matrix got reloaded. This is good.

[Click to View YouTube Video]

mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 31, 2015 - 10:11pm PT
Nahuatlbee will bee, Brujozee.

Aztecan from the Florentine Codex.

Aztec Warrior

I zicka zimba, zimba, zimba
zicka zimba, zimba, hey
I zicka zimba, zimba, zimba
I zicka zimba, zimba, hey

Hold him down, you Aztec warrior!
Hold him down, you Aztec chief,
Chief chief chief...

I kamma zimba zimba zi-yo
I kamma zimba zimba zee
I kamma zimba zimba zi-yo
I kamma zimba zimba zee

See him there, the Aztec warrior!
See him there, the Aztec chief,
Chief, chief, chief...

Zee what'll be next...during the next sing-a-long at The Flames All & Sundry Campfire, girls and boys. (Not affiliated with Campfire Girls & Boys USA, but with strong ties to NSARA, DHOA, and the Gang of Three or More.)
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Feb 1, 2015 - 01:16am PT

[Click to View YouTube Video]
Arrival in Seattle of Four Fabs.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Feb 1, 2015 - 04:47am PT

We strive to give you the best advice, hence the name “Acme.”

The best advice is none, they say.

We agree. Take all the advice you want from us--it’s free.

The preceding sentence is meant as an offer, not as advice. It is a free offer, however.

We advise you to use it at your own risk, and that’s all the advice we have.

We have no other advice.

If we did, we might sell it, but no one buys advice except from paid consultants, who are merely tax write-offs at best; and they have been known to have miserable track records, though some must be insightful and wise.

And as for cheese, cheese is where you find it.

We have a special today--all cheese in the shop is free.

Eat it at your own risk: We assume no liability in case you get sick from not eating cheese you don’t have that may or may not have gone bad.

I should have mentioned we haven’t any cheese today.

Sorry, my lad; my bad.

Cheese seldom “goes off,” but what do I know? I’m not an expert on the subject of cheese “going off.”

I simply have this cheese shop which is really just a front for giving advice I don’t have.

Why do it? It makes me feel wise.

There once was a film crew here,
the interviewer
quizzing me
as interviewee
about did we
or didn’t we
here in this establishment.

Wheel, sez I, let me see.
I dodged into the back.
I let on that I was fumbling about.
Then came out
with some Jack O’Monterey
and I made them a present of it.

And they went off happy as can be.

We know how to handle the roughest customers.

When a man thinks he’s got the better of you, he’ll likely be a repeat customer.

We keep a block of Jack in the Back in a Box, you see.

We’re thinking of starting a drive-thru, on the advice of that same crew.

We are Acme, and we ARE the best.

We listen. We care.

You should too.

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