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Honey Made A Friend

November 11, 2017

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hello my lovelies.  Your Queen of all I survey is at a bit a crossroads at the no kill shelter.  I still very much want too and have the inclination too write about the ridiculousness of the justice system, there is just nothing peeking my interest at the moment and yet I still feel compelled to write.  So, since really the only thing I do is be depressed or go to horse therapy, I’m going to write about that for a bit.  I hope you don’t find it boring and also that maybe for some of you that don’t really know horses you learn some stuff.

I am still dealing with the loss of Charlie.  That sucks if you are a person, to lose an animal that had come so far back to this side of the land of  maybe things will turn out okay.  It sucks way worse if the dead horse was another horses only friend

Charlie had a best horse friend.  Her name is honey. Honey is another horse that the owner of the farm took pity on and just decided to buy so she wouldn’t be meat.  He bought a spectacular Shining Spark Stallion that day and was getting ready to leave when Honey came up on the chopping block.  Meat horses do not go for large amounts of money.  Usually it works out to about 10 cents a pound.  Honey was a wreck, just like Charlie, only for different reasons.  Honey had caught strangles and whoever had owned her had gone to all the trouble and expense of saving her which is no joke and costs thousands which made me not understand why on earth she would end up at a meat auction in the middle of the United States.  Strangles untreated will kill a horse as fast as can be and it is a horrible death.  It is just exactly what it sounds like.  Whoever owned her had gone as far as to have a tracheotomy performed in order to save her life.  Neither the owner, nor myself understood what had happened between then and the auction.  My best guess is that she was stolen.  That apparently is a huge problem due to the market for horsemeat in other countries.

So, he bought the shining spark Stallion and was ecstatic about his purchase,  He cost a lot, like more than 20000 dollars, and he had gotten a deal at that amount of money.  he was just standing up when Honey came in.  She was skinny to the point where it was hard for her to stand on her own and she was frightened at all the noise and a ring full of people she didn’t know and the owner swears he could tell she had just completely given up.  She had gone form somewhere and someone that loved her to this and it broke his heart a little.  This man has a huge heart and I wish more people were like him about animals.  It speaks volumes about a person how they treat animals.  After spending over 20000 on his stallion he ended up buying Honey for 74.50  He told the barn manager that they could use her for a brood mare or something.

So after a vet check to make sure she had nothing communicable they got their paperwork to get her across the border and brought her to the farm.  She was quite a site that mare.  Nothing but skin hanging off of bone.  I’d got Charlie tamed down by then and she was with the other pregnant horses so he brought me this one and asked if I’d see if there was anything I could do for her.  There was lots I could do for Honey.  All she needed was a lot of food and the love I give to all the horses on the farm.  She was a palomino mare (on of those yellow colored ones with the white mane and tale).  She was shy, mostly because she had no idea what in the name of fuck had just happened, but honey didn’t have a mean bone in her body.  About the only thing on earth she wanted was to be loved like somebody used to love her and I was happy to do that for her.  I slowly got her weight up, starting with grass hay because second cut which is very high in protein would have made her sick and very little grain for the same reason.  I increased it slowly over time and she started to take weight.  She was sad though and that was a much harder fix.  I put her in with the brood mares once she was at a decent weight and they all rejected her.  They picked on her, they kicked at her, they drove her off the food and basically made her live miserable.  Horses have a definitive pecking order and Honey had victim written all over her and they all took advantage of it.  She refused to fight back.  Not once she kick back, or try and bite or even pin her ears in anger.  She just took it. I talked to the farm owner about it and asked if he thought it would be okay if I put her with Charlie.  He had his doubts, but I didn’t.  I knew Charlie well by then and she knew what it was like to be tormented.

Charlie and Honey bonded instantly.  It was immediate and it was strong.  Then I put Charlie and Honey back in with the rest of the brood mares and boy things changed fast.  The first mare that went after Honey was thoroughly trounced by Charlie just to let the who herd know that the days of picking on Honey were over.  She would stand over Honey and make sure she got her fill of hay and grain even before she’d take it herself.  The herd now accepted Honey because they did not have another option.  Charlie wasn’t playing around when it came to Honey.  If a horse messed with her they were in big trouble.  When Charlie got sick, I had to bring Honey up too, because they would not leave each other.  Honey had a complete and total meltdown when I tried to lead Charlie away.  I brought her because I thought it would help Charlie and because I was afraid that Honey would try and go through the fence to get to her friend.

And then Charlie died.  Honey changed in that moment.  Every ounce of joy she had managed to regain left her the second Charlie did.  And she has been despondent ever since.  She has been in the main barn since Charlie because she foundered and also because we knew the herd would turn on her now that Charlie was gone.

I had another idea.  My farm owner didn’t like it, but was willing to try for Honey and because so far I was batting a thousand with the idea’s.  I suggested we put her with my mare Scout.  Now Scout is not a fan of other horses.  She is the most unherdlike herd animal I have ever seen.  She likes her solitude.  Unless you are a cow in which case you are tolerable and she will be your friend.  I knew Scout wouldn’t hurt her, my worst worry was that she would totally ignore her.  Seems my horse Scout has as big a heart as Charlie did.

Scout spent a little bit convincing Honey she wasn’t going to hurt her, and once that was established, she proceeded to begin to stroke Honey on the back the way horses do to comfort each other.  It is like a light bite, not to hurt it actually makes the horse on the receiving end feel accepted and comforted.  By the end of the day Scout and Honey were best friends, a thing I would have never believed had I not seen it with my own eyes.  My horse just does not like horses. Period.  She just seemed to know that Honey needed somebody, anybody to be her friend while she mourned Charlie.  Scout made it so that she did not have to grieve alone.  She led Honey around the paddock, slowly because Honey is still foundered and her feet hurt her quite badly.  She led her around and showed her where the best graze was, she introduced her to her cow friends who truthfully could not possibly have cared less about the new horse.  She showed her where the water was, and she kept up a pretty constant horse conversation which Honey responded too.

Then night came and we had a problem.  Scout is completely barn sour.  She completely loathes being inside the barn.  She kicks at the walls and screams her anger at everyone and does other stupid things like refuse to eat until you put her back outside and Honey was still not well enough to stay outside all night.  If there were coyotes or anything Honey would be unable to run away or defend herself.  So we decided that Scout would stay out with her cows and Honey would come in for the night.  And Honey ATE.  Like she hadn’t seen food in months she ate.  She nickered, she didn’t pace and most importantly, she didn’t look sad.  He head was not down so low her muzzle was dragging the shavings.  She called out to Scout periodically  and Scout heard her and called back just to let her know she was there every time.  Honey had her first decent night since Charlie passed away.  So, we are going to move Scout up with the brood mares along with Honey once she is well enough to be up there and hopefully that should solve that because while Scout is no more mean than Charlie was, and Charlie was not a mean horse,  I have a feeling she will not take any shit on behalf of Honey.

 

RBMD peacing the fuck out.

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Charlie, I’m Sorry

October 29, 2017

I cannot carry on with what those fucks did to that poor baby.  I’ve tried.  I have nine, yes nine different drafts of things I was going to say but fuck it.  My blog, my perogative and I guess I really just can’t when it comes to kids.  Sorry.  Lets just get to the point succinctly.

The boy is dead.  He suffered unbelievable pain and degradation before he died and all of you thank whatever god you believe in that he was finally and mercifully released from the hell that was his life.

I hope the pieces of shit that did it get the death penalty and I hope they somehow fuck the drugs up and they feel immeasurable amounts of pain before they die a thousand years from now because the justice system is a piece of shit.  It’s all we’ve got, on both sides of the border, but it’s a piece of shit.

Instead, I’m going to tell you something personal that happened over the last couple of days.  I don’t want sympathy, I want you to understand why my psychiatrist hooked me up with therapy horses and why sometimes even the best intentions are not enough. Not by a long shot.

A7221 came in the second day I was at the farm.  I remember  because I was giving a sorrel mare a beauty treatment at the time and was told to put her away and clear the aisle for this mare coming in.  And boy did she come.  That girl had murder on her mind and she didn’t care who it was. She had come in, in foal.  Newly in foal but in foal.  Now, the owner of the farm is a good man.  A genuinely good man.  He has human faults like every other person, but he absolutely hates to see an animal in distress.  In the day I had been there he had seen me calm a very freaked out horse and asked if I thought I could handle A7221.  With all he confidence I could muster, because being that the farm owner is a man I was afraid of him, I said sure.  He gets that I can’t be around people, he has never been weird about it, he always makes sure I have an out somewhere and that he is never to close to me and he just gets it.  He also gets that I am some weird fucking horse empath or something.

Well, the very first order of business once I got her into a stall was a name because I am not calling a horse by a number like it is in Auschwitz, and after watching her for a bit I called her Charlie Brown.  Charlie brown because she had obviously had the football pulled out from under her one to many times.

Charlie had been bred and born to be a show horse.  Unfortunately she did not have the look and she had long cannon bones and a popcorn lip.  None of these things are good if you are looking for a show horse.  I have no idea what went on in Charlie’s life up to the point she showed up at the farm.  I can tell you that she was so afraid for her head that she would get violent if you tried to touch it.  That tells me she was hit about the face, a lot.   Her skin would actually walk across her back if you managed to touch her without getting swung on in those first couple of days which tells me she got hit about the body a lot.  the scars on her flanks told me she’d been spurred into submission when being ridden as did the scars at the corners of her mouth.  The farm owner picked her up in the states at a meat auction because she was pregnant and he just could not bear it because that is who he is and luckily he can afford the largess of being that guy.

Now, I can come and go as I please but once “Charlie showed up I found myself spending hours trying to get her to just take a piece of apple out of my hand.  The owners wife, who is another wonderful person commented on it, wondering out loud if she ever would trust me enough to do it.  I had my doubts.  I’d just hang in her stall for the first while, far away from her and talk.   I told her I got it, that I knew what it was like to be that afraid, that sometimes the only thing you could do was fight, but that she didn’t have to fight with me because I wouldn’t hurt her and if she’d let me I’d protect her and the little life growing in her.

I told her about my life, told her about you guys and the no kill shelter and how you had helped me come back to myself at least a little and that everybody needs a friend.  Maybe not a lot of friends, but just one that you could count on no matter what.  I told her about my dogs and my kid and that there were lots of other horses she could hang out with if she would just calm down a little.  I never faced her when I talked to her.  I made sure I could see her out of the corner of my eye just in case, but I never looked at her straight on.

So one morning I was telling her about my car being a piece of shit and acting up and I suddenly felt a muzzle on my hair and I thought fuck she’s gonna take a bite, but she didn’t.  She nuzzled my hair for a second and then she just stood there.  So I turned about an eighth of a turn and waited for her to bolt to the other side of the stall.  But she didn’t.

I fished the fresh piece of apple I brought every single day and put it out flat in my hand.  Charlie contemplated that apple for probably five minutes and then she looked into my eyes as she took it.  And ate it.  Her eyes were not bulging like they had been since she came, and she had he softest eyes.  and the saddest.  Like she was waiting for me to pull the football away.  I reached a hand out close to her neck, nowhere near her face and she let me pat her neck.

The next morning I went back.  I said good morning to all the horses and was greeted with the nickers of hello which is how they talk.  Charlie was way at the other end of the barn so it took me a minute to get there and she stood facing the rails for the first time since she’d come and she nickered at me.   This horse had not made a sound since the day she’d come into the barn and she had just said good morning.  I opened the door to her stall and instead of heading to the back corner with her back to me like she always did, she stuck her face into my sweatshirt to see if I had another apple.  Of course I had an apple and that day, she got to eat the whole fucking thing.

I went and grabbed some grooming supplies because she desperately needed to be groomed but it was with much trepidation because Charlie had been hit by things and I had no idea what those things may have been.  I let her see the brush and smell it and bite it and when I thought she was ready I but it on her side.  She flinched but she allowed it and I brushed her till she glistened.  I brushed her to sleep actually.  Now, Charlie was never going to win any beauty awards in the horse world but she was far from hideous.   A little muley in the face maybe but in a cute way.

I’d gotten her tamed down enough so that it was safe to move her to the pasture where the pregnant mares go and I did.  we had some geldings out and when they ran the fence to see the new horse she freaked a little and gave me a scar on my Achilles tendon I will have forever, but it was fear not maliciousness and I limped up the rest of the way to the paddock with my heal bleeding pretty good and when I got there I told her what a good girl she was and patted her neck which had become her favorite thing.

Charlie had to have needles sometimes and the first time I had to catch her to give her one, it took me an hour and seven minutes.  I had done something stupid and let her see the needle.  I might as well have shown her a harpoon.  She thought I’d let her down, I know it.  But I caught her eventually and calmed her down and she never even knew she got the needle.  After that it was cake.  She came when I called her and she always got her apple when we were done doing whatever.

There is a picture on one of the owners phones of Charlie with her head on my shoulder standing in the middle of an acre of paddock.

Charlie turned up sick Friday.  Colic.  Pretty much a death sentence but I tried.  I tried, I swear to god.  I walked Charlie for hours and then I walked her some more.  I never stopped talking to her,  I never stopped praising ever step she took.  And the whole time her belly got bigger, and bigger and I knew it was a torsion but I refused to let my brain process that information.  I told myself it was food colic and we could oil her and get stuff moving and she’d be fine.  And the vet did.  The farm owner was beside himself and said do whatever the vet could do to save her.  She stood for me while we tubed her and poured a gallon of oil down into her stomach, she stood for me while she was injected with pain killer, she stood for me resting her head on my shoulder so she wouldn’t lay down because she really wanted to lay down.  I was still walking at 830 Saturday night.  The owner spotted me and said he and his brother would take the night shift and if I wouldn’t mind coming to walk her early in the morning they would appreciate it.  I was there at 6:15 am.  Charlie died from a torsion soon after I left her.  There wasn’t anything I could have done or the vet could have done or god himself if he was a thing could have done, as soon as her gut twisted, Charlie was on borrowed time.  She hung on long enough so that I didn’t have to see her die and I believe that as much as I believe I am sitting here writing this blog.  She walked for me because I asked her too.  She hung on for me because I asked her too.  And she was still walking so that I could see her walking when I left so that I would leave and I didn’t have to watch her die.   I found her of course and I gently wrapped the chains that needed to be wrapped around her hocks so that we could get her out of where she was.  Someone else offered but I refused to let anyone else touch her.  I did it and made sure it was right so we could get her up into the bucket without banging her around to much because even though I was well aware she was quite dead, I didn’t want anyone to hurt her ever again.

I hope where ever Charlie is, there is a nice woman who looks like me that brings her apples everyday and tells her not to listen to the other horses if they say she is ugly because they are just jealous.  I hope she get brushed to sleep a lot and gets talked to all the time. I hope she follows that woman around a field and as often as not puts her head on the woman’s shoulder and that she nickers hello because she wants to be friends with people now.  I hope she gets told how awesome she is, because she was.  Awesome.  Broken, but awesome.  And I hope that fucking number is no longer on her beautiful haircoat.  She isn’t A7221 she is Charlie Brown and wherever she is, they better remember that.

 

ReallyBigMeanDog Peacing the fuck out

 

 


Thank You Mama and Twister For The Smack Upside the Head.

July 16, 2017

you are both right.  If they person I wronged can forgive me I guess it is okay to forgive myself, so I take it back.  I will be back.  I love you all.  Sorry I made everyone worry.


I have to take personal inventory of some things, I will be gone for a while.

June 26, 2017

I have fucked something up quite badly.  Maybe irreparably I don’t know.  And I will be back at least one last time to tell you why and what I did about it, but as of right now the blog is gone.  I can’t get into it right now it is too raw and much too humiliating and horrifying and what it says about me as a person I don’t know.

Please don’t comment.   I will be back with an explanation.


For The Best Brother A Person Ever Had

June 24, 2017

Just realized the date my lovelies.  This explains a lot of things.  If you are me.

So, today is the day my Brother, my favorite brother decided he’d had enough and punched his ticket to get off the ride.  And I get it and I got it when he did it and I don’t hate him for it and I don’t think he is a coward or that he went to hell or any of that bullshit.  I believe he just got tired of all the memories, he got tired of looking at all the scars, he got tired of all the scars nobody could see and he said Fuck it.

Since I am still the owner of this blog, I figure I can write what I want and this is what I am writing about today because I have been having a shitty time of it lately and I am hoping maybe vomiting this up will help me a little.  Who the fuck knows. If you don’t want to read it don’t, if you do, then please do.  This is not me looking for anyone’s sympathy it is simply something I feel compelled to do.

I miss you Bobby.  You were my only solace, my saviour, my surrogate Dad and my best friend.  I would give anything I have just to be wrapped in those strong arms one more time and hugged and told how much you love me.

I get it.  I always did, but you took such a big chunk of me with you.  Since you  always knew  I didn’t  believe in a higher power I’m not expecting to see you once I die.  Call me a pragmatist.  What I do hope is that we somehow come back.  I will look for you brother.  I will look forever.

I know life was a shit show, but even still we had so many good times.  I will remember till the day I die even if I get dementia or some shit you sneaking me out of the house and across the boarder to a Kiss concert of all things.  And being the most caring brother on the planet you even made sure I had hearing protection.  You held me on your shoulders for the entire thing and you made me feel like a princess.

You are responsible for my life long love affair with rock music, Kiss, and Rush.  They opened and nobody knew who the hell they were.  But we did because they were ours.

I remember all the rides in the get away jeep and you, even being so much older than me not being to old to pretend we were Adam 12 or the mod squad or whatever, playing along with whatever I wanted to play.

I remember A&W when the waitresses came out to the cars and they were on roller skates.  So fucking cool and only our thing.

I remember my first dog, a gift from you and one that served me well.  I loved that mangy snaggle toothed animal like crazy.  And even at that age I knew why you gave him to me and he did exactly what you wanted him to do.

I know leaving was the hardest thing you ever did, I know how hard you fought to take me with you and I watched as you broke when you thought you were out of the line of sight of the house.

I remember you rushing me to the hospital when one of my other idiot brothers convinced me I could fly off of the garage roof if I just flapped my arms hard enough and I remember the very first signature on the cast.  It said “repeat after me, people cannot fly” and you ruffed my hair and you made me laugh even through the pain of another broken bone.

You were the best brother that ever lived Bobby, and you were gone way to soon but if you are now someone else out there maybe reading this, it is me your little blonde haired princess, your best girl, your little miss sunshine.  I love you Bro, and where ever or who ever you are I hope you are the happiest person.   And I will look for you forever.

 

 


The State Of The Shelter Address.

December 24, 2016

Hello everyone. It is me, your dean of fuckery, Dr. of Doctoring, dog lactation expert, honorary DVM, newborn puppy resuscitation expert, horse whisperer (we will get to that) and Queen of all I survey.

I thought since it has been a while I would break my own rule and let you all know what has been going on with me in the great not so white north.

This has been a particularly bad year for me pain wise but it has also been the year of behold all the fucks I have to give. I decided that I am no longer being ruled by how much pain I am physically in. Just no longer going to happen. I decided that if I let physical pain dictate whether or not I am going to be able to do things, I might as well just as well ask to be put out of my misery now. Actually, funny story, I did but not for the physical pain reasons and my doctors all said they were conscientious objectors to assisted dying. Does anyone besides me find that strange.

Mentally, I think I am getting better. At least the blackness no longer lasts as long and I have been able to go out where there are people a bit more. I’ve had panic attacks a half dozen times. I had a very, very bad couple of days last week but again, behold all the fucks I have to give because eventually they went away and I came back out the other side.

I have started horse therapy. I used to be quite the equestrian. A million or so years ago. My invisible psychiatrist thought it was a wonderful idea and supports me whole heartedly. Mostly I am mucking stalls and washing horses. Since my Orthopod said riding ever again in this lifetime or any other was not going to be possible I was content with just being around them. Until I wasn’t. I just got it into my head one day that doctors can be wrong and next thing I knew I was cantering a big old mare named star around the arena. I felt like Leonardo Dicaprio on the front of the titanic yelling about being the king of the world. I rode for about 20 minutes or so and was on cloud nine for days. The owners have been very kind and allow me at the barn whenever I want. They don’t care if I want to roll up there at midnight if that is when I need to hang with the horses for a while. They have caught me with my head buried in a horses neck bawling my face off because I needed to do that and have been so kind about it all. Such nice people. Of course, I guess they get something out of it too. The horses help me, and I help the horses which helps them. Mrs. horse farm owner has offered to talk if I ever need to, yet understood that maybe me crying on a horse was better for me than all the talking in the world. They have even offered me a yearling and said they would allow me to make affordable payments on it if I wanted. I do, but I could never afford it and why do I need my own horse when I have a whole barn full of them at my disposal. I have stayed away from horses because I thought it would hurt me to much to be around them. I was so very wrong. Wrong on a magnificent scale.

My invisible Caucasian Shepherd is going to be the biggest dog I have ever had by far. He is now 14 weeks old and is as big as Starsky. I think he may have been exposed to radiation or something. I would not even be remotely surprised if he sprouted wings. I will repost the invisible picture in case you missed it.

My son turned 16 yesterday. He has already picked out the college he will be attending, continues to work hard at school and he makes me proud every day.

I have developed some very serious tendonitis in my elbows, or maybe they are finally just disintegrating. Whichever. I’ll find out in January. My invisible orthopod keeps bugging about replacing the knees, but I’ve been there and done that and have an awesome video so I’m good. I’ll put up with the pain like I said until I no longer can. I realize I sound flippant and I probably shouldn’t because that day is coming fast, but there are so many people in the world that are in such worse shape than me, who the fuck am I to complain. And more importantly, who wants to listen to me bitch. I even get sick of myself.

Dahlia Dipshit got a mistrial and so there is another trial coming up for her and since my new years resolution is to stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with it, I will be writing again.

This would normally be where I would probably apologize for my extended AWOLS but I can’t control depression or how long it lasts. That being said, I seem to be in a pretty good place mentally as far as the depression goes right now. So please do expect your resident sarcasm expert back in form in the new year.

I am hoping I get what I want for Christmas and the zombie apocalypse starts tomorrow or anytime before your president elect takes the oath of office. I actually hope Obama is the first one to get it and he bites Drumpf. Since the four horsemen of the apocalypse have already appeared and seem to have taken up residence at the white house, or are at least poised to, maybe my wish will come true. Just think what it would do for our overpopulation problem as well. If that actually happens I have a really good plan so just come here and we can all fight zombies together. It will be sick.

I miss all of you in case you were wondering. I hope each of you are thriving, or at least hanging in and counting on the fact that eventually it does get better. Something I would not have believed myself a year ago. But, it does.
Twister, thank you, you know why.

I’d like roll call please. We haven’t had one in a while so I want the whole shelter to sound off.

I love you all and I would not have made the progress I have without you. Take that to the bank.

I hope all of your Christmas’s or Hanukahs or whatever are exactly what you want them to be.

Expect me back soon.

From My Countrymen and I

Much love
RBMD peacing the fuck out.


It’s The End Of The World As We Know It And I’m Surprisingly OK With It

June 17, 2016

Hello my lovelies. I know it’s been a minute, I’ve been busy trying to get a bunch of stuff done around the house. I’ve decided that it needs to be moved around, painted and I have to get rid of several tonnes of stuff because apparently I keep everything. I have boxes from video games I bought when I was like 30. Why? Because I might need it. I also have not been especially well, nothing to worry about, basically just trying to do to much to fast.

Lovely to see Casa Azul coming together so nicely. It was actually mama who motivated me to make some much needed changes to this place. I am taking a huge step and moving my bedroom downstairs where I am only behind one lock and I’m pretty fucking proud of myself.

That however, has nothing whatsoever to do with todays post. Today’s post is brought to you by the letters W E I S F U C K E D.

Whatever the fuck is in the water in Orlando, don’t let the army take it and weaponize it. I am so sorry for the victims of the shooting, their families, the officers that had to respond to that carnage and us. I am sorry for us.

Now why is a Canadian sorry for you all, being as you the greatest nation on the planet? Because you are like our big brother in a good way and you have been grievously injured which injures us too. Targeting the LGBT community is just so fucked up I can’t even.

I don’t care if you fuck women, men, blow up dolls, an apple pie, or your malamute as long as he or she is into it, it is flat out none of my business and that being said I probably don’t give it any thought Until something like this happens. Then I think about it a lot. And it makes me very angry.

Then you have Adolph Trump fanning the already huge flames about Muslims who are not are radical assholes and building a wall to keep out Mexicans and just arbitrarily deciding that immigration needs to stop. Never mind that his 14 year old wife is an immigrant. I guess the pretty ones will get a pass. Adolph Trump is a worry, just not even close to my biggest one.

What is it with you all and guns? How fucking many people have to be mowed down by crazy assed crazies before you all figure out that your right to bear arms flies in the face of the right to go to school and not get shot, or go to a club and not get shot, or go buy a pack of smokes and not get shot? I’m not talking about taking away your guns, but who the fuck needs military grade weapons for anything other than war? If you are hunting with one you are a coward and or a shitty shot and if not what the fuck are you doing with it? My question is this. What is the number of dead wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, children, pets etc that will make you say “you know what, we might have a problem here?” ten thousand? twenty thousand? I’m really curious about that.

Now we have this new lovely thing called Zika virus right where all are Olympic athletes are going to be and they have finally found the elusive super bug that not even our antibiotics of last resort will kill.  Have I mentioned we are fucked.  In case you missed it, we are fucked.

Up here in Canada land the Trial for the murder of Tim Bosma just finished with a verdict of guilty and two life sentences with parole eligibility after 25 years. Which in Canada means see ya in 25 years.

We got the right to die bill put through this week but just like I said when it was first discussed it is just a big pile of shit with a bow on top. The big contention was the wording of foreseeable death. Well, I have a shocker for all the big shot muckity mucks on the hill, EVERY DEATH IS FORSEEABLE. I’m pissed off because I have never believed that the government should have any say on when you as a person have decided that you want off this ride and want to punch your ticket. You shouldn’t have to blow you head off or whatever to do it. You should be able to have access to the drugs necessary to make the transition from life to death as easy and pain free as possible.

My plan should the time come is to find a dealer of Heroin since they must be out there somewhere, and I’m gonna ride me a dragon right into the sunset.

Oh yeah, I have decided that besides Queen of all I survey I have also crowned myself Queen of Scotland. Please don’t forget to curtsy.

Note to Pesky, one of your cousins keeps teasing my extremely large puppies and you might want to send him a letter or text or something that they do not appreciate his shenanigans and he looks mighty tasty.

I will be around sporadically, I’m just crazy busy right now.

RBMD peacing the fuck out.


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Behind The Words... With Kim

Examining the minds and actions of female killers

Varmt News Network

It's the Internet.

Just Da Truth!

musings of a dangerous mind

peskyvarmt

Just another WordPress.com site

Asleep in Left Field-My Life

4 out of 5 Friends recommend this WordPress.com site

Out in left field

(Totally fictional) Drama Queen Stories

CALLS FOR JUSTICE

sometimes, there are monsters walking amongst us