I'm still at the practice chanter now. I'll get a real bagpipe once I've learned some tunes. We learn everything on the chanter anyway. First tune I'll learn (in the coming weeks) is gonna be The Rowan Tree.

My pipemajor and the pipesergeant (his daughter) have begun learning Piobaireachd last year, it's amazing to watch and to grasp how something that looks the same, gets played differently each time.

I am, so far, the only person that the Arch-Bishop of the Diocese of New York has called a "fucking cunt-rag".

Yay me.

I had one in my finger... it was very cool.

I once spent 3 months living on a 44' sailboat, sailing around the Bahamas. Most of that time I was naked.

:lol: C'mon...spill it. You must tell us that story...yes, you must.

Well, if I must.

-- I preface this story with the fact that my oldest brother was a Catholic priest. --

I was about seven or eight years old.
My mother dragged me to my brothers church in Brooklyn (St. Martin de Porres) because the Archbishop was going to be there.
I was suffering the effects of salmonella - my mothers cooking left everything to be desired.
A kid, in a car for an hour, going somewhere he didn't want to go, while trying not to erupt with explosive diarrhea is not a pretty sight.
When we got there, I ran to the first unlocked bathroom I could find.
It happened to be in the office.
Said office was lacking in toilet paper.
I reached into the closet and grabbed what I thought was a towel.
It wasn't.
I found out later that I had wiped with what was the Archbishops chasuble. (The chasuble is the outermost liturgical vestment worn by clergy for the celebration of the Eucharist.)
Not only was it the Archbishops chasuble, he had gotten it blessed by the Pope when he was in Rome.
Needless to say, I was informed that I was a "fucking cunt-rag" by the unhappy owner of this garment.
Oh well.
Sucks to be him.

i wish i could do that

Thank you. I wish Bob Dylan would write an Alice's Restaurant type song about that.:lol2:

I can't STAND Hanging Dangeling stuff!!!!!!!

Examples:
1) When I was in the USMC we would go on these 30 mile hikes , if the dude [b] in front of me had straps hanging from his pack i would say Twice " Dude , you NEED to tie up those pack straps " , if he had NOT tied up his pack straps after that I would CUT THEM OFF !!!!!

2) my wife has learned not to have shit hanging off the rear view mirror , I CAN"T STAND IT !!!!!!!! , and I will eventualy RIP IT DOWN !!!!

I love Barry Manilow.

You are welcome.
And if Dylan writes a song like that, would we be able to understand "His Mumbliness"?

I wear glasses.

Well it was about thirty years ago that I was in the office of, in the Archbishop's office, and I was using his toilet...

Hm, I can't see Dylan doing it, sorry.

That is the worst childhood story I have ever heard.


....Sooo, this is the demon scar you hold close and divide your characteristics by?

I am Just wondering because of your signature line.
I am sure alot of us have wet our pants as kids.
Just because you pooped on the guys churchy garb dosn't make you 'demon seed' does it?

I might be over reading. I'd tell you my story but I don't think it can compare.



[quote-Crimson Ghost]I'm so terrifical, I even have my own toll-free number: 1-800-UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.[quote]

You're triggering a myriad of memories...

I once peed off a balcony in Spain, right onto the head of a gardener.

I clobbered an Algerian over the head with a metal tipped umbrella while screaming obscenities at him, at a photo booth on the Ave. Wagram in Paris. He and his buds were bothering me and my friend while we were in the booth. I was twelve years old. I ran out, found a cop, described what happened and he said, "Well, seems like you took care of it", then chuckled and walked. Goddamn Parisians.

A group of friends and I scaled the reservoir fence on McArthur Blvd. outside Wash. D.C. to go skinny-dipping. The cops arrived lights and sirenes a-blowin'. We went back over the fence a lot faster and man did we run.

Wasn't the first time I scaled a fence: went to an international school in France that was surrounded on all sides by a tall chain link fence with barbed wire across the top. Entrance and exit was through one electric gate controlled by the "concierge". The only area where the fence was shorter and had no barbed wire was on the playground. I made a break for it, and spent the afternoon swinging on swings in a nearby park, admiring the beautiful fall day. I wrote an essay about it for writing class and won 1st prize.

And now my head's swimming with this stuff...seems that nomadic lives bring some strange experiences...of course they weren't at the time, but looking back now???? Bit of twilight zone in there.