Still down with a fever, sick as a wet feline, and wondering, could it be the Water in this old place?

 

When your consistently ill, and yet haven't been out much, have you ever thought, hey it might be the water? Seems I get sick after drinking a bunch of water whilest constructing my graphics and writing radio copy. It just dern near kills me. Glad that by end of this coming week, will not be here, but in Arco Idaho. Yup, guy who had the inexpensive place up there relented and decided to rent me a studio, for a tenth of what I'm paying now. Just got to sniff out internet and all, then its green, not lean for me. 

Looks as though our Wyoming Charter Prez, Rick, has got him a new squeeze. Hope it works out for him. Ain't my business, except I care about him, and the last one he had destroyed a newer model Chevy Impala my cousin gave me that was her Dads. Should have traded em the Stratus and kept the Impala. 

Having a fever of near 103 constantly with little of a break, feeling tired as a rundown car battery, able, just not as swooft. Between Goody's Powders, a few shots of Jack, and lots of sleep, is what has kept me alive. 

Now the big doins.

With a suggestion, from Jonny, He says why not look up the Dads Facebook page and you might find her. Of course, I'm talking about Peggy. 

I can remember her, from the word go. Just had transferred from Layton Elementary to Crestview. In Miss, Alex's classroom, and sitting way in the back, at a reading circle table, in the smallest chair was her. My eyes locked in on hers, and up until we moved here, we was dern near inseparable. Didn't matter what event, gathering, anything, if she wasn't beside me, I could hear that little cough she always had and could zero in on her, like Steve Austin The 6 Big dollar rip off. 

Ever since we parted ways at Snow College, haven't been able to connect, mostly out of fear of rejection, the rest, just not knowing where to look. Until yesterday. 

Here are the 2 High School, pics of her, 

 

and here is what she looks like now

That Angel just won't or can't get old or fugduggly. Once settled the old Wolf here is going out on the prowl. If, it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find her, and have a sit down with her. Of course, sure I know she's hitched and all, and considering my place in the race of life, I would never try to convince her to move in with me nor get hitched to me, but just to see her, speak with her and all. Once that's done, our dear Savior can then feel more than welcome to call me home and I jump off this miserable planet. I truly do not want to be here, I don't want to wake up EVER, but my mission of life won't truly be complete until I get to see her again at least once. 

L8R Aviators.

You know you want to, but could you?

 

Yes, you want to, but could you? Would you even get past their security team, let along kicking the butt of the hardly dry behind the ears, programmer who does not relish your conservative posture. Just like Tuesday, I guess it was Tuesday, don't rightly know as I went to bed and didn't wake up until just a few centons ago. Only then because I needed food. Two slices of pizza, and to work here at Dispatch. Any mile, so tother day I after trying to get the site to load, I flat deactivated my account with ole Twitter, and don't intend to reactivate it again, at least not real soon. Why? All you see, are pages, and pages, of porn both hard core as well as soft but still porn. And talking like a drunken soldier. This kind of chatter is not I really don't think, is being uddered from the lips of no woman. If it  is, a she it's being barked by a female that surely forgot she is she. Course now days, whose to know? People just messing around with their gender. No wonder God our Father in Heaven is pissed. Leave Godly things to God, and be content, that is what it is.

Sorry getting off vector here. Yet, you want to just take a journey, to San Fran, walk into Twitter, then Facebook, then and only then, walk into Google's HQ, take a piece of lumber and plant that big stick right the side of those idiots, in those places. Thing is, could you? Would you get past the security cop, with that wooden attitude adjuster? Don't know but I'd surly love to try. 

Of course, there's the local tech crowd. Hey, I'm not paying a heap amount for internet, but couldn't White Cloud Communications, do a bit better on mbps and bandwidth? I remember not too many years ago, whilest I was residing, in Evanston Wyoming. The telecom there AllWest, I thought was below parr. Except compared to White Cloud, they were light years 

beyond White Cloud, and that was fiber over copper. But it's like one of their techs said tother day, we can do that, just show us the money. Such is life and then you die. Or Do you? How do or would you know if you died? 

The lack of breathing? The silence? Now this may come as a shock to some of ya'll, but I can still remember, albeit just little bits, but the big wreck, I had when I was just 16-1/2. I remember smokies lights in the rear view, and waking up a month later, in St. Al's ER, in Boise, wanting food. The in between I conversed with our Savior, his assistants, and all. I know it was the prayers of two missionaries, from Hazzard, that brought me through that, some days I'd like to know is why? That said, I do remember. I bring this up, as I eavesdropped on the fuzz radio, of some teen, who wanted to jump off this 3rd rock from our solar star, by consuming, a bottle of hand sanitizer. I can think of a better way of kicking the bucket. All hand sanitizer would do is make you terribly wasted, and two being very sick to your stomach. 

Next Entry; Me and Emmy Picasso. 

Until then:

As a kid without sisters, I often thought of Pantyhose as something to just hold in a fat woman's blubber!

 

There are plenty of guys, including our WolfPack members, who grew up with sisters. For them they learned much about the chronic condition called human female. For some like myself the below panty line adventures and processes were and, in many ways, still are mysteries. And not to be solved by Nancy Drew nor the Hardy Boys. 

As for me I can amuse myself for hours and am fully captive watching a feminintile put on make-up or as Janice said it, putting on her war paint. What war? It's like someone saying, " now according to the book" What book? Who wrote that book? And how come I didn't read it? 

Any mile, all the ingredients of being female just to go out and get grub for the house. Something that sadly, us male corpuscles do not do well. 

Women have a better bit of control, when it comes to impulse buying. 

So, there's products, upon products, from hair spray to toenail polish, and much in between, much more about the party pelvic region, than much of anything else. When was the last time you heard an ad about nylons on TV?

Nor a Does, or Doesn't she? Only her hair dresser, knows for sure. That was Clarol, hair products. Or the cute jingle for women's hair grease called Dipity Doo. They were cute, finely acted and you remembered the product from the jingle. Pretty much the same went for TV shows. You knew what it was by the theme music. Like 

All you needed was about two notes to know it was Airwolf, much of our WolfPack world revolves around that old Bell 222A.

I'm getting off vector here.

So, when I got the stocking bug, still don't know where or why, I thought, here was a product that was turning chubby women into size 7's. Not that the material itself was perfumed before it was packaged. 

Yet today, because of much planting the seeds, people like Sweet, of Sweetnpantyhose.com B.A.B.S. and very few others, including myself, have popularized, the fashion, to where, many women, who showed their oyster, now show pheete.

In fact, as a rule here, I will not hire anyone, until I see, or experience or both the person is in nylons. If they can't take the time to buy, wear them, what other lazy things do they do on my time? 

A year or so ago, we floated an ad on facebook, for women, for military aviation pin up models. I wanted to show it all off as it was during the roaring 1920's, flapper skirts, and all. 

 

Now granted none of them could be of the class of such treasures as Myrna Loy 

She by nature was classy, sexy, and truly a Princess in anyone's language. She also was the originator of the aircraft nose art and pinup craze. That while condoned by the military, didn't do much to enforce a no policy against the practice. Again, I'm getting I'm getting of the Glyde path here. 

So, we here at this unit of the WolfPack, put up an ad on a few social media sites 

sites, looking for local honeys, to pose with our multi-million dollar restored warbird aircraft. Of a few, one arrived, dressed to the 9's. After a long conversation, I said, " let's see your phootsies." Of course, this was a no man zone. 

Shit, all I wanted was, was to see her pheete, making sure, that all there was in order, no pigeon toes, no bunions, etc. that would detract from the sitch of her being one to enhance of rather than the interruption, of the look of the aircraft. Talk about throwing a fit. She was on fb, and all telling everyone who would read, that I and our squadron, were worse than the second arrival of Lucifer himself. This was one of the burrs that started our relocal project. Question is why? Why show up with a teasing attire on, and get all tense that I noticed? Some people just don't get it, do they?

TTYLY

Can we just get rid of the Bots? And, if your sniffing her behind, its still going to smell like poop

 

Well then:

Compooter has been acting up something fierce lately. Don't know if it swallered a bad virus, or what, but might be time to get in touch with Ian at QuickSilver. With that said, can we flat get rid of the robots and auto rotation calls? If I wanted to listen to a fracking concert, I'd go to Ballet West and watch a performance. If I'm doing business, I want to chat with someone in the outfit I'm calling that hopefully knows more about the subject than me. Artificial Intelligence to a point is okay I guess, but if I'm getting a quote on insurance, for example, I want to speak to a genuine human. Just hopefully the person doesn't have a quarter size wet spot on the crotch of her yoga pants. What pants? Ain't nothing cept a covering of a set of legs and her pelvic region. Ain't no pants to it. The point here is they ought to be wearing some sort of under drawers, so that urine deposits and the like don't show through. Guess if she doesn't care, nither should I, except it's just not professional. Which brings me to another point of that neighborhood. There are more points to cover here to cover and all, but how many times have you my fellow Wolvez, thought, I wonder what that would be like to sniff and/or kiss that phanny? 

And yet at that moment you're not thinking of where that can has been. Nor do you consider that that rump roast, might and mostly will smell or have albeit faint, but still will smell like poop. In reality it does. Not that it would matter much. See-in as if you're into the below panty line snacking, your nose is only millimeters from her anal canal. Yes, your nose will get brown, quick if you're not keeping at least one eye open. 

The only part of a human female that does not smell foul, is her pheete. Oh sure, there's the musky aroma of worn leather, and such, but her stockings and her phootsies, will smell nice and pleasant. In short:

Women's Pheete Do Not Stink.

My lunch time, see ya'll after hours.

What you see is just superficial, its what's not seen that will get ya'll

 

It's not what you see that will come up and bite your behind, it's that element of stealth, that will cripple you and leave defenseless. Some people who have no idea, of the undercurrents of Government, the hand holding of big tech, with that very government, that is about to catch most, if not all social media consumers by the crotch. There is a bill in front of Congress that will be a consumers nightmare. If you do a double click to send a news story from a major or even a local one with something from the wire, without permission, or copyright look out for Mr. Attorney. That's always been the case, however freedom of speech is not protected, and all social media, has been immune from this. Not any more. If the Current Social Media Responsibility Act is passed, Not only you, as the relayier, can be hammered, but a heavy fee to the Social media services. From Google to Lycos and in between, including Facebook, and Twitter. As the proposal goes, those social media services are going to be required to collect money from you, just to post otherwise copyrighted content. Guess who they will charge? Yup you and me. Unless you're a press agent or broadcaster, this will bite your hind end like nothing you have seen before. 

Was hearing this on Ben Shapiro's show the other night. I'm not a big Shapiro, fan, I think he sounds like he needs to blow his nose, and talk slower, so you can at least climb on board his train of thought. But this got me going. Thinking that all that stuff people share, from porn, to movies and such news, are going to get a rude awakening. Another point here, is never judge a person, by what he wears, or the shine or not, of his shoes. Nor the fact he has scars, and Callases on his hands and think he ain't got money. Fact is there is a lot you can't see, and that person, may have more going on than what you think. Example, met with two property brokers today, on our new sites for the radio station. Right away from one was a billion questions. Things that didn't pertain to property to build the new facilities, on. Really? An example of such a person. Jack, Simplot, worth tons of billions of dollars, was the happiest, in his bib overalls, with a shovel, and in an old pickup, irrigating a tater field. If you didn't know better, you'd think just another old sod buster. In reality, one that owned the better half of much of Idaho, and western Oregon. Without digging a bit under the surface, and taking in consideration the fact that person, with age and experience, might have more going on, and be a heap amount of intelligence and where for all, than what you see. You know that little statement on the surface of your right-side mirror, that reads; Objects are much closer than they appear? Keep that in mind, the next time you're speaking to a rider, a Knyte, or a member of the WolfPack. 

Have an early day of it, so its lights out.

L8R Knytes.

Ever feel like doing a Bufford Pusser action on the tech companies?

 

There are those who will not have the slightest idea, of what I'm saying here, and a few that just might get a grip.

Most of ya'll have no doubt noticed a serious change in TOS and security on most websites. These high-tech carriers are walking on very brittle eggshells these days. 

See ever since the Kavanaugh hearings during Trumps rein as President, and tech getting grilled over election ROE, that's, Rules of Engagement.

Most in the Senate, and the House of Congress, have no real experience on tech, and the older members from Biden to Palosi, and many in between, are being watched. It's an election year. Nobody wants a repeat of the 2016 elections of voters being influenced by Russia. Russia is going to stick its beak in any way, Puntaine don't like us. 

So, getting any assistance, from Twitter to Google, to Facebook, will not immediately respond to a ring at their doorbell. Twitter has had my account fuggled up for nearly two years. Oh, I can catch the messages, and can post, but only from my phone. Can't do shit, with Little Compooter, or the high end compooters we have at the office/studio. Try to get Twitter's attention, with a human from there, and no way Hosey. Facebook is about the same. Of course, when I flag an ad as being like a diaper, full of shit, and always on my butt. Facebook comes back with a action alert, but go to the threat department page of Facebook, and all I get, is a blank page with two words, error and state. What the hell is that? Now let, one of us Confederate America Military, wolvez , do anything, and either the page or a group is shit canned. 

Example: Remember the Bullwinkle Moose and Rocky the flying squirrel? The package had Mr. Peabody, and Sherman and the way back machine, the program package group was called Fractured Fairy Tales. Well fired up a Facebook group, remembering Fractured Fairy Tales. Guess what? Yup the nonconservative left winging malformed idiots, at Facebook, canned the group? Why? It's about an old cartoon series, nothing to do with LBGT+ community. But Woke culture said nope can't call it that. Again why? But this is not the only AI goof up. Naw. Google flagged one of our posts saying it was Spam, here on Blogger. So, I looked up the post. There wasn't a smidge of spam, it was stating the obvious, that I couldn't do what I do, have done, and in the future to doing, without both the Hazzard Knytes, and or the WolfPack or both. Without ya'll there wouldn't be a Hazzard County Choppers, HazzardAyre Radio, HazzardAyre Media, or my ends, AyreWolf Aviation/Cooter's A1 Toewing. It's your support and all that has made us who we are. But apparently that was too much for good old Google. Of course, when I replied to their notification, they looked it over and discovered, Hey- no Spam. So I wonder. If one were to venture forth, drive, fly or otherwise to Tech Con bay California, with a ball bat, went in and crunched a few brainiacs at Twitter , Facebook, and of course Google, would it change anything? the only thing I know is we'd be arrested for severe battery, and that is if you could con one, to let you on their campus' and or the door to some of those outfits' offices. With it I wonder, but I sure feel like it. Oh forget it, but I feel like it lots of days, and forget their campus' security guards. They may have fenced in campuses but The Lady, can fly right into their facilities' center courts, and then let the attitude adjustment activities begin.

Keep It Tween the Ditches,

Let's play the Hazzard County Trivia Game?

 

Now there will be some out there, who know me really good, who will get this the first time, but let's see if the imbuscles who won't catch this. Now then:

What does the letters B.A.B.S. stand for?

Just who is B.A.B.S.? 

And finally who introduced me to Emmy, Picasso, and Haylee? Okay ready for answers? 

B.A.B.S. stands for Becky's boutique. Located in grand New Jersey and elsewhere. The goddess regardless of all things on the succulent menu of us phoote and pheete smorgasbord. B.A.B.S. runs a successful, helped in part by replay, a video show on YouTube. What impressed me, was that she explained, that you absolutely were not a freak if you are into toes and pheete. Of course, I snagged 

onto the thing as, this is a toe,

this is a tow truck, 

brought together you get a TOEW TRUCK 

Now I'm not the only one that took it to the extreme. First, a newsrag type of publication of and for us in towing started in about 1990 somewhere called, Phoote(foot) Notes. They sold out to Truck Trader, making T.R. FootNotes. With this who better than the toew and toewing conisouer, namely me. So originally PhooteNotes Radio was created. However back in 1974, with all the big truck radio shows, few if any radio shows existed for us toew truckers. So in 1978 between the time I had to report for basic, and my Dad's death once LexiBelle 

 was purchased and all, a small radio station came belting out of the then Hagerman later to be called the Hazzard Valley, radio station KTOW, or KAY tow(e). So a full gun promo project was launched and whilst I basked in the sweltering sweat of San Diego, in basic, the crew here, brought KTOW from being lukewarm, to a full-on scalding boil. By the time I came on my first leave, we had a radical, rebel station, that none in the valley, scared of the provincial Church. would try, we did. Long before Dr. Demnto, Long before Stern, there was I the ye ole RodeWolf(AyreWolf) howling up and down the interstate. And now you know, it was sweet Becky aka B.A.B.S. which stands for BadAss Becky Show. 

Who for once told me I wasn't crazy, insane, or just plain mentally challenged that I preferred the beauty of tiny toes, in stockings, and not so much breasts, or butts. I owe a lot to that lady. And she is by far more of a lady, than many I have met here. B.A.B.S. is not porn, butt there are tons of women here, and I mean tonsButts. Or as we say it on two levels, I'll let you pick the choice, Thunder Butt, and Thunder Thighs. And as B.A.B.S. said on her show once, loving pheete does not make me a freak it makes me unique. Plus and this is the bonus here. Ever hear of loving pheete being against the proverbial, Word-Of-Wisdom? Or getting a gal PG, or catching the creepy-crawly, STDs? 

More in the morning, on my major meeting with the Bishop, and the religious progression, of regression.