June 1, 2013
May 29, 2013
Ever wondered why feminazi lesbians are grumpy
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Grapes, sultanas, raisins and currants.
Amazingly, or not, given the lack of culinary skills in modern wimminz, no wimminz I speak to today knows that the latter three all come from the first.
I thought of these, and prunes, today while reading a story, with pictures, in the MSM about some wimminz who had a gastric band and then surgery to remove the excess skin, naturally all the comments from wimminz and niggerz were supportive and full of praise…
The freak in these pictures is in her thirties, early thirties at that, and frankly the surgery was just as big a waste of money as the gastric band, she is still unfuckably ugly, as for the skank tats, well it’s a bit like graffitti on a particularly grotty public toilet, it doesn’t detract from the value, because there isn’t any.
It is absolutely typical of wimminz complete and utter failure to grasp the concept of consequences for your own choices and actions that lead to this wimminz piling on an excess 10st of blubber in the first place, WTF did she think would happen to her skin?
WTF did she think would happen to the excess skin when the gastric band went in, in place of a fucking brain and willpower?
WTF was the daily fail picture editor doing, blacked out nipples, but we can still see the rest of the skank… the truly mind fucking stuff.
Her nipples were probably one of the few parts of her body to not suffer the ravages of obesity and fugly.
Of course I am quite partial to the odd grape, or sultana, not too big on currants or raisins but I’ll eat em both in dough, so it isn’t a good analogy.
Of course the piercings and so on all indicate a wimminz into kink, which I like, but the general public toilet approach means a wimminz who is into kink because she despises herself, which I don’t.
I agree with her self assessment, which is why she is unfuckable.
As part of my work today I visited an area that I used to live in as a callow youth on a murdercycle, frankly I got out (of the area) and never looked back in one of those “this town ain’t big enough for the one of me” scenes, if I’d stayed I’d be doing double life for some atrocity or another, committed just to relieve the ennui… bit like this skank, the only acceptable way to view her is in the rear view mirror with the motor coming on song, and brother, no matter what lies ahead, never make the mistake of going back.
In fact wimminz are more than just a little bit like an episode of Storage Wars, an entirely fake made up show, in which the people pay way over the odds for someone else’s unwanted junk, and then, having bought it, BUT NOT SOLD A FUCKING THING, they sit there going through the shit, saying what each bit of crap is worth, and declaring they made a profit on the deal.
WTF?
The value of the skank above is sub-zero, and not in a good way, she would have to pay me to fuck her, and of course the parts of her with the greatest negative value are the parts you can’t fucking see in the pix, her attitude, her cock count, her hamster wheel, etc etc etc.
It’s like Obama claiming he is priceless, because his moral compass has never even been taken out of the box, much less used, this is not a gooood thing, Barak, it is a fucking baaaad thing.
The shit you should have used you did not, the shit you should have kept you squandered.
Thing is, when you look at this skank, remember this, for purposes of comparison to MANY wimminz out there, this skank would be a trade UP…
May 25, 2013
New menu category on the right sidebar
AfORisms, by popular request
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May 23, 2013
I see cunts everywhere
In some ways I must be careful what I say for obvious reasons, but in my day job I go to all manner of workplaces, from the local tyre fitters to government offices, and it was at one such quasi governmental office last week that I saw something.
A moderately fuckable late 30’s early 40’s slut, no bra and a gratuitous view of her cleavage as she bent over to grab the server room key from the bottom drawer and hand it to me.
She was dressed as all wimminz are at “work” nowadays, appropriately for being on holiday, or relaxing at home chilling with a bottle of wine, but it was when I returned the key after my work there was done that I noticed the bitch was barefoot.
It reminded me of a gig I had about a year ago where I was contracting for big blue at another office, this time a personal finance / insurance joint, again mainly staffed by wimminz, dressed like they were on holiday.
This dump had a “dress down friday”, so of course all the wimminz came in dressed like sluts, and all the niggerz came in feeling very rad in their stonewashed 501’s.
*my* job was humping desktops out of storage, deploying the OS and software bundle and adding them to AD etc etc, then putting them back into storage ready for install, some 2,000 desktops, boring repetitive work at minimal money but hey…
So one of these bitches dressed like she is on holiday pulls me about wearing jeans on a tuesday, I just looked at her and said “I’m a contractor, not an employee, and you know what you can do with your dress code”
Predictably, she didn’t like this answer, and made threatening noises, I told her straight, “There are 2000 desktops to build, the job is already 6 weeks behind schedule, and you think big blue are gonna delay it even further and can my ass for wearing jeans while carrying boxes?”
She stomped off, never did know if she took it further, but I never got canned…
So I was thinking about the barefoot bitch, driving home through my home town at around rush hour, and I notice something.
Most of the faces behind the wheels of the cars coming the other way are wimminz, and without any doubt whatsoever, all of them were commuting from “jobs” as valid as the barefoot bitch and the dress code nazi, in the economic sense I am sure they are a huge proportion of what passes for the economy, but it in the productivity sense you could line the lot of them up against the wall and shoot them, and then dynamite the offices they “work” in, and nothing of value would be lost to the TRUE economy.
I wish I felt at liberty to post pictures of the things I see at work, being an old hand, I take pictures of everything, as I found it, what I did, as I left it, because we all know the last bloke out the door was the one who broke it, and nothing covers your ass quite as well as extensive photographs and other stuff such as putty logs.
The reason I wish is because years ago you could gain some sort of notoriety for posting a pic of a particularly nasty and messy server room or cabinet.
Now, it is the norm, and the standards are dropping, FAST… so far in 2013 I have seen ONE properly done, neat, tidy, workmanlike rack, and bear in mine some days I can be at two or three sites.
Server rooms used as dumps for boxes of papers, tables, chairs, cabling like snakes on acid fucking, things just thrown on job of one another or leaning against other stuff, no power conditioning, no HVAC, sprinkler valves sitting DIRECTLY above racks, HVAC systems leaking water that is running across the floor…..
I can’t post the pics because sooner or later someone would identify the locations, and soon after that, me, and I’m out a cushy little no responsibility job.
There is something DESPERATELY fucking wrong when the average guy’s home setup is far more workmanlike and neat than a so called commercial installation, and no, the added complexity of a commercial installation makes no odds whatsoever.
Of course if you want to see a fuckup of things that barely work plugged in at random and so on then go to any wimminz house and look at the tangle behind the flat screen telly / sky box / pvr / etc
Pic above is a recently acquired second hand HP Media Smart EX470 NAS, I paid not much more than beer money for this, it’s actually a nice little bit of kit (which is why HP stopped making them, HP, run by a wimminz…) and runs WHS which again I have to admit actually works very well indeed, so I bung three WD 2 TB disks at it at 75 quid each (these old ones won’t run larger than that) and hey presto, it is a good little NAS box.
So, the past day or two I have been running freefilesync sync jobs between my older and more obsolete NAS boxes to this thing, so this thing becomes the main online NAS and the others are now snapshot backups that can go offline.
I am now where I wanted to be, which is a single small portable box that contains all my digital shit, for around 250 notes I have 6 Tb (expandable to 8) of fairly responsive NAS storage.
It’s not seven sigma / five nines or any of the other crap out there, but in sheer functionality terms, and indeed in terms of how quick and cheap can I get back up if it all falls down, it blows away anything I see at work.
My home network uses two cheap gigabit switches, neither is fully populated with RJ45 cables, and neither is cable of running the entire network of available RJ45 end points, but if one dies I can just move a couple of patch leads and everything essential carries on running, until I go out to the local hardware store and buy another cheapo gigabit switch.
Make no mistake, I have surplus Cisco kit here, ranging from obsolete 877’s (obsolete but still being deployed…lol) through brand new 887’s through 1920’s to high end stuff, but none of it is real cisco, it’s all made in china or eastern europe, and so 50 quid TPlink / DP stuff does me fine, and if / when it dies I pop out and buy another one.
See, my guiding principle, and I employ this at work as well as in my home, is before starting any task I look at what could go wrong, and take steps to ensure that in the worst case scenario I can roll back to where I started, not think I can, but actually be able to do it.
Put me on a job with cisco kit and the very first thing I do is take a copy of the running config and the contents of the flash (the IOS and patches in other words) and sure it takes a few minutes, but what the fuck, I’m not paying for the time.
Contrast this to some of the younger engineers, who buy into all the gung ho GO GO GO GO GO corporate wimmiz and niggerz bullshit, and they dive right in and do a write erase and then try to apply the new config, which just happens to be broken, or apply the new IOS patch, which just happens to be corrupted (yes, it happens) and suddenly they find themselves with a site that is hard down and no way to get it back up without looking like an asshole and involving others finding and sending them the required files, assuming they actually have them, often they don’t.
Which all brings me neatly back to the barefoot bitch and cars full of wimminz driving home from the McJob at rush hour.
There was an old axiom that was drummed into me in my engineering days.
The differences between theory and practice
are far greater in practice than in theory.
But it doesn’t just apply to engineering, it applies to everything, except we now live in a world where thanks to the wimminz and niggerz, everything is theoretical to them, when it comes to practice and something fucks up, well, you make a support call and I turn up, and you STILL DON’T FUCKING GET IT, because you haven’t been made to clean up your own mess.
I can remember being about 6 and playing with a penknife, my dad warned me, “all knives are sharp“, which is theory, practice was me being a smartass and saying “this one isn’t” and proceeding to prove this by running the blade across my hand, only to find out that it may not have been sharp, but it was sharp enough to break this skin and draw blood…
Dad just looked at me and shook his head.
I’m sure my lip trembled a little and my mouth scrunched up, but you DO NOT CRY OR SHOW IT HURTS when you fuck up like that in front of your dad…. because you didn’t want him to see you as a baby, or worse still, as a girl, bad enough you just made yourself look stupid.
Bitches be protected from ever coming into contact with practice, they live in a world of theory, a world of make believe, a world of no consequences, or if there are any, it ain’t your fault baby.
I work for a company that is starting to disappear up it’s own ass with paperwork and tracking of this and tracking of that and forms to fill in, so I fill em all in, and bitches in the office send me an email asking me shit that was written on all those forms and photos I submit at the end of every job, not every day, every job, because it is fucking easier than looking at what I have sent in.
Then when my (eventual, I feel no sense of urgency) response points out that all they had to do was look at what I sent in already, they coo in wonder about how I am all organised and shit.
Cunts
May 17, 2013
May 12, 2013
Sooner or later…
… wimminz always revert to form.
There is an English comedian called Jack Dee, he specializes in a dry delivery, and 99.9% of his material I can take or leave, but away back when bungee jumping was the new rage and everyone was doing it, Dee made a very funny (to me) comment, it boiled down to “fuck bungee jumping, I wanna see bungee climbing, where they climb as far as they can up a cliff before the elastic yanks them back down.”
It made oi larf… indeed.
And I was reminded of it last night, when the latest wimminz, who had been putting on an act of reasonableness and sanity and sexual submission in a bid to ensnare me, reached that point where the tension on the bungee cord exceeded her ability to maintain her grip on the cliff face of the façade she was presenting, and snap, runaway hamster wheel accelerating away at ever increasing RPM towards bursting speed.
The process as usual is characterized by the wimminz reverting to type, and me feeling like a rather stupid and crazy four year old child was trying to manipulate me into doing buying them the ice cream, or whatever it was they wanted.
Of course me asking pointed questions like “What part of this insane behaviour do you think any man anywhere on the planet will look at, and decide he needs more of it in his life?”
Of course the “out of control” tantrums are anything but out of control, they may involve risky and stupid and asshole behaviour, but there has been an innate risk assessment performed, so inevitably it looks like what it is, very bad acting indeed.
Of course at this point lots of readers are going all oh noes, wot iz he doing, these wimminz be crazy, why doesn’t he stay away, no cunt is worth it.
Yeah, except these crazy bitches don’t vanish off the face of the planet if you refuse to have anything to do with them, so unless you are going to be hermit, you are going to have to learn how to deal with them.
There is world of difference between drawing a line and saying at THIS point I am no longer a participant bitch, just a fucking observer, and being INVOLVED, and it is the being INVOLVED that the above lunatic behaviour is, by some fruity wimminz logic, supposed to trick you into…
Think of a vehicle with a diesel engine starting to eat it’s own lube oil and run away…
Those who are INVOLVED in that vehicle stand waaaay too fucking close, and put themselves in harms way attempting to interfere and change the outcome, while those who are merely OBSERVERS distance themselves and digitally record.
So the bitch’s hamster wheel revs up to eeeek speed, and she plays the “you don’t want me to stay / appreciate me / look after me / love me” card, instead of saying “No baby please stay and I’ll make it up to you” I just give the shrug and say she is an adult, if she wants to go, go…
Bluff called she goes, only to engineer a reason to come back 10 minutes later, but of course, being a wimminz, this isn’t coming back calmed down and lesson learned, oh no, it is coming back doubled down on the crazy shit.
So I stand in the doorway and shrug again and ask her why she thinks any man in his right mind would let some crazy acting bitch into his home, this is of course met with disbelief, I am sooooo NOT responding the way all “good men” have been trained to respond to a pwincess in a tantrum, so she stomps off again, in even greater disbelief that I will not wescue da pwincess from a situation entirely of her own making.
“You are an adult, you are capable of making your own decisions, and suffering the consequences, if you choose to act like an insane bitch, it is your decision”
So she stomps off, proceeds to ring me every ten minutes for the next hour and a half, no worries it all goes to answerphone and when a sufficient quantity of calls have been received the number gets added to the reject list.
I chill some, get in to bed and sleep the night through, untroubled by dreams or drama or conscience.
The moral of this story, she was on a bloody good deal with me, but instead of seeing all the good bits, all she could see were the missing bits, so she focused on them, and kept doubling down in an attempt to manipulate me into doing them, result, she is back to no man, minus all the bloody good deal stuff she was getting, and I didn’t lose a moment’s sleep over her transition from current squeeze to history.
Impatience, an inability to sustain the course or play the long term game.
This is what wimminz ARE
This is why you don’t let them in to your lives, you don’t introduce them to your circle of friends, you don’t tell them who your employer is, you don’t tell them your personal history, you don’t introduce them to your own family… these things by definition make you INVOLVED, not an OBSERVER.
This is why you pay no heed whatsoever to all the stuff people look at, she is old enough to have learned these lessons, all that jazz, wimminz are NEVER old enough to learn any lessons.
AWALT motherfucker, everything else is just a fucking act.
If people wanna go bungee climbing, fine, they are adults, their decision, just DO NOT GET INVOLVED.
You can fuck people without getting involved.
ALL WIMMINZ KNOW THIS
You can’t fuck someone and then do the insane pwincess, wescue poor widdle owd me, stunt with someone you are INVOLVED with.
You can’t make false accusations of rape and domestic violence against people you are INVOLVED with.
You can’t bail out of marriages and take people to the cleaners that you are INVOLVED with.
Sooner or later, ALL wimminz will pull this shit on you, and there is a 99.999% chance that it will happen right after you (accidentally) do something reasonable and treat them like a rational human being with feelings, and not a feral wild animal, and they will pull the epic shit test on your ass, as this psycho skank ho did to me last night.
I’m sorry (no, I’m not), you appear to have confused me with someone who gives a fuck whether I ever see you again or not…
She got it, you know, she really did get it, in the end there when the shit test failed epically and the tension in the bungee cord had just snatched her away from the cliff face, in that Wile E Coyote moment..
She said I was a stone cold bastard with zero feelings for anyone and an empty space where my heart should be.
Yeah, whatever, bitch…. I’d consider that high praise indeed, if it had come from someone I could respect.
Sooner or later… it’s not a lesson you can unlearn, thank fuck.
May 7, 2013
Totems
With age and experience (can) come wisdom, so they say….
Plenty of red pillers will tell you to dump emotional and mental baggage, but something else is coming to pass in my life, I’m getting back to that stage where I am feeling the need to dump physical baggage.
Now, my trade was originally engineer, so I am not talking about throwing out my last 1/2″ AF spanner, but I am talking about a bunch of the other shit, some really cool, shit, but really cool shit that in reality I almost never use, really cool stuff that in reality, with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I only got into in the first place as a sort of comforter, because I knew the train I was on was destined for a slow motion wreck somewhere up ahead on a curve.
I use this same analogy when it comes to people and their data, if you have data stashed away on disks or backups that you haven’t even accessed in 12 months or more, chances are you are never going to actually NEED it, but unlike data, physical shit is a whole other ball game.
Let’s take my lathe, for some years now I have been going to convert this to CNC, as I did with the mill, and basically back along the way I bought it to do a specific job, and figured that even if I only broke even on the job, I got a free lathe, so the job paid for the tool, a thing I did many times back when I was engineering.
I have now had that lathe 6+ years, and apart from that initial job, I think I may have used it all of six times, all for pissy little do nothing jobs that I did in a lathe because it was there, but which I would have done by a different method if I did not have that lathe.
I have put that lathe into storage once, when my psycho skank ho ex first kicked off, and paid for storage for 2+ years, and I have moved it twice.
In addition, because I have a lathe (and other machine tools) I can’t just rent a small pad, instead I basically go looking for a small workshop with attached accommodations, and so in the end live in places I would not normally live in, and pass up living in places that I would otherwise be quite happy to live in.
Sure, you can say the lathe is an asset, but it is an asset that has cost me real money to keep over the years, and which has materially affected my lifestyle and accommodations over the years, and which basically has not earned me any fucking money on anything even remotely approaching break even for those expenses over the years.
Of course the old adage that if you want to buy X it will cost you a thousand bucks, but if you own X and want to sell it you’ll be lucky to see two hundred holds true.
Fact is, it has cost me more to KEEP this lathe than I paid for it, or than I would get selling it… and that is not a cost that is going to go away.
Frankly speaking I haven’t had any jobs that ___I___ wanted to do, that these tools allowed me to do, that otherwise I would not have been able to, what HAS happened is I have used them to do cheap ass jobs for friends and relatives, who would never pay full price for those jobs anyway.
So, in a real sense, the lathe is a Totem, it is a symbol of what I was trying to hold on to, back before it all went to shit… and like all symbols, they have a real and significant cost of upkeep.
In English culture there is a thing where someone with money builds a pointless and useless structure on their land, these were called follies, and it’s where the word comes from, it is a folly for a red pill man to hold on to and maintain totems, shrines to a former life.
The red pill is in reality much deeper than many people assume at first, you can’t take the red pill, look at all the shit you have, and NOT see that everything that you own can be taken away from you on a whim, with the stroke of a pen, by the same sorts of assholes that populated the secret family courts.
Nice lathe you have there man, say the bailiffs looking to collect cunt tax the courts ordered you to pay your psycho skank ho ex, and sure, you can go down the whole shit route of having that lathe owned by a company that is owned by a company that is owned by a company you own, and you just rent the fucker from the last company in the chain, but you’re just feeding the machine that fucked you over in the first place.
The red pill in reality is you just can’t own that much shit, the only thing the system doesn’t bother fucking with too much is the proverbial man of straw, and we already found out the so called protections from iniquity you were expecting to benefit from as an upstanding citizen were largely illusory anyway.
If it does not ALL fit into one load on a rented Ford Transit van, then brother, you have too much shit…
If not being surrounded with your shit leaves you with vague feelings of unease, insecurity and discomfort, then brother you haven’t fully absorbed the red pill into your system and psyche.
“Owning shit” and being a man of substance with a nice house full of nice shit was all part of the big con game anyway, just ask the people of Cyprus today, or anyone else in Europe later this year, whether by inflation or taxation or government decree or court order, it is all stripping you of your assets, and you get 5 cents on the dollar credit for it.
I guess that’s why I took so long to actually sit down and look at all my shit and do some sums about what I paid and what it cost me to keep and what it earns me and what I could sell it for, it took so long because I knew I wouldn’t like the answers.
Not because the answers were that I have already lost money on all that shit and it is never coming back, but because the answers were that it was all just a set of Totems, and if I actually intend to move along and continue to survive in this life, I have to quit worshipping the totems, and cut em down and roast some marshmallows.
It’s time to keep moving, stop being a slow / stationary target.
May 6, 2013
Living on a prayer
This story
It won’t be news to any father reading this story that psycho skank ho mommy got custody of her own kids back along, no matter what daddy tried to to… it probably won’t even be news to any father reading this that dad and the kids now wish psycho skank ho mommy was dead.
This piece isn’t about that, it is not even about how psycho skanko ho mommy managed to do something so evil, setting fire to another wimminz and her kids in the flat upstairs (oh, and that wimminz’ beta male) killing them all, that the cunt pass couldn’t be invoked and she had to go to jail.
If isn’t even about the fact that one skanky old welfare queen killed a younger and fatter welfare queen and her womb turds.
No.
This piece is about all those cunts whose job basically depended on pandering to the psycho cunt’s feeeewings at every opportunity, no matter what the cost to anyone else or society, so police, secret family courts, child welfare, social services, social security, the whole fucking works.
Collectively, we all know this.
Which is why collectively, nobody actually believes in anyone or anything any more…. which is why the wheels are falling off the wagon.
I’ll be the first to admit, in many ways, since my of psycho skank ho ex threw me into the meat grinder of the secret family courts and false rape and DV allegations, I have been like Monty Python‘s norwegian blue parrot in the parrot sketch, lying on the floor of my cage, either stunned or dead, depending on your perspective.
Partially this is because of the trauma itself, it takes time for the brain and body and soul to heal, but partly because the trauma itself is like waking up on the operating table, waking up in the twilight zone, waking up in the matrix, it forces you to see a lot of the shit around you in the world.
And seeing all THAT, that takes some more time to assimilate and percolate and absorb…
Got a “friend”, not a good buddy or a bro, just a guy, but he’s ok, works in a local harley dealership… now you gotta remember I have been riding HD since back along, on and off, shovels and pans, fairly factory stock FXE to fairly radical only factory thing remaining is the motor and trans hardtail chops… always coveted a WLA and never had one, came from the school of buying an old harley and taking shit off until you had the bike you wanted, but nowdays HD is like Mercedes, everyone and his dog owns one, and they come from the school of buying a new factory bike full of bling, and then ADDING shit from the CC catalogue until you have the bike you wanted, more bling than a chrome factory, and then not riding it more than 2,000 miles a year because it ain’t sunny and it don’t handle no more and you can’t fuckin’ ride anyway.
My friend is seeing it, far from shifting 2013 stock, they are sitting on 2012 stock they can’t sell, and lets not forget ALL vehicle dealerships became nothing more than the front office for finance deals where the vehicle was merely the method by which a finance contract was sold.
So there are, in real terms, some really good deals available on unsold new 2012 harleys, assuming you are faggy enough to even consider riding something with a 103 cubic inch engine and electronic fuel injection and engine management system that was made by the lowest asian bidder… I’m talking showroom fresh big twin soft tail 2012 models with single digit miles on the odo and a three year parts and labour warranty for 10 thousand pounds and some change, or if you prefer 500 quid down and 300 quid a month for 4 years…
75 quid a week, just over a tenner a fucking day…. national minimum wage for a 21 year (or older) is £6.31 an hour….
… and this is, in itself, yet another canary in the coalmine, when you can’t even sell THAT shit, well a part of me welcomes the demise of all the fucking posers trying to buy cool, but a part of me sees that when you can’t even sell on good terms one of the fundamental long standing dictionary definitions of cool and aspiration, (he rides a harley) then shit is getting serious.
500 down and 300 a month for 4 years = 500 + (300 x 48) = 14,900, on a cash ticket price of 10,900 this represents approx 36.7% interest over 4 years.
36.7% over four years = 8.12% per year compound… fuck, back when I was a lad coming out of the mid seventies recession and OPEC crisis HP was fucking hard to get on a motorcycle, and I can remember being quoted 36% PER FUCKING YEAR by a finance arm of what was then the Midland Bank.
36% per year compounded for three years (you couldn’t GET 4 year vehicle loans back then) is 251%, so your 10,400 loan becomes a 26,104 repayment, over 36 months = 725 a month
Also gotta be said, back then you could buy two of anything else in a bike showroom new, for what a new HD cost.
So in real terms with current finance it has never been easier to sell, but even so, one of the most aspirational things you can lay your greasy little hands on simply is not selling…
Maybe, HD are just making the wrong bikes, again, same as the AMF days, maybe, they should go back to an 80 cube, or better still 74 cube evo motor, ditch all the bling, ditch the 6 speed tranny, electronic ignition is acceptable, but back to a carb, ditch all the running boards and faggy panniers and wheel guards and running gear…. try to get closer to 300lbs dry weight than 300 kilos, try to get back to a bike that will pull 70 miles out of a gallon of gas (I used to fairly regularly run a 2,000 mile trip across europe on my old 74 inch shovel with a 44t rear sprocket, and I would average around 67 mpg on the journey) and try to get back to a bike that did what it said on the tin, eat miles and needed 6 AF spanners to strip and rebuild.
The Harley “prepper”, the Harley “post economic meltdown”, the Harley “mad max” would all sell, I’d smack down 300 a month on the mobility equivalent of a rucksack full of .22 long rifle on easy terms, doesn’t matter which way the wind blows, it’s win-win.
http://www.autoevolution.com/news/harley-appleson-and-the-factory-of-dreams-58572.html
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