So there’s this guy. He’s under a block of buildings he owns. He wears only shorts, and a hard hat. He doesn’t say why he’s digging. He doesn’t say where he’s digging. He’s just digging. He date stamps his videos, and appends little notes from time to time, like, “Concrete for days.” Occasionally he stops digging, and does a little jig to techno music. He never says anything.
I love rally cars. They sound like a hive of angry bees making their way through the woods. They do the one thing NASCAR and Formula 1 cars avoid at all costs: Leave the ground. And drift. OK, two things.
So he made a squirt gun that shoots molten metal. This is the Borderline Sociopathic Blog for Boys. He’s welcome here. He belongs here. But I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that my first reaction to this dude is, “That boy ain’t right.” Not that there’s anything wrong with not being right. Not being right would make a perfectly acceptable slogan for this blog. I imagine they said the same thing about Enrico Fermi or Butch Cassidy. But the resemblance stops there, I’m afraid.
Man, the things people will do to avoid lift lines.
Check out these two guys. They’re not waiting in line behind ski bunnies trying to get to another lift line halfway up a mountain. They’d rather rent a helicopter. They’re ski riding.