tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804114935312811175.post7984129756291190814..comments2024-01-27T20:32:17.610-05:00Comments on Pinchgut: There was a loud ploomfpBadgerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11283813317560446754noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804114935312811175.post-52650642824288786642010-05-10T17:51:04.749-04:002010-05-10T17:51:04.749-04:00Wow. I can tell you are not in America. There was ...Wow. I can tell you are not in America. There was absolutely no talk of a lawsuit in that post. You and he just dusted off and went about your business. If you were here, both of you would be suing each other for millions.Katiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05528484098724947814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804114935312811175.post-37920390676066141602010-05-10T12:52:57.556-04:002010-05-10T12:52:57.556-04:00Maybe from now on you should try to only run over ...Maybe from now on you should try to only run over smokers. You shouldn't lack for targets.Wanderlusthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12099758957492165428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804114935312811175.post-10594962878227895772010-05-10T09:54:30.488-04:002010-05-10T09:54:30.488-04:00Once upon a time I hired one of those yellow city ...Once upon a time I hired one of those yellow city bikes sponsored by one of the banks and cycled around the ring. I had some near misses, but not so near as I have had as a pedestrian. It took me a while to understand that a cycle path is not for walkers.<br /><br />That market sounds a bit like the Christmas markets but I suppose the wine is not heated.Maaliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13444125754967223180noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804114935312811175.post-86105931859146828052010-05-10T08:02:20.846-04:002010-05-10T08:02:20.846-04:00I never thought I'd be one of those reformed s...I never thought I'd be one of those reformed smokers who seconded your feelings on other people's smoke... but I seem to have become one.<br /><br />Glad your head's still attached to your neck.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804114935312811175.post-48649137079177978492010-05-10T05:22:19.644-04:002010-05-10T05:22:19.644-04:00Mini-tale from the Vienna Woods
For the last few ...<i><b>Mini-tale from the Vienna Woods</b></i><br /><br />For the last few months, since his sight started to diminish, Grandpa has no longer been able to read or watch TV. So, these days, his only enjoyable pastime consists of going out for strolls in the nearby park, on the edge of the Wienerwald. Since he knows the park like the palm of his hand, ever since his childhood in Vienna, he seems to find his way around by smell rather than vision. The blossoms of such-and-such a tree or shrub inform his archaic memory of his exact whereabouts. And, when he happens to get too close to the roadway that runs along the edge of the park, Grandpa can't actually hear the traffic (because his hearing gave out long ago), but he can smell the fumes of the vehicles.<br /><br />Now, this sense of smell is all the more remarkable in that Grandpa, during these park excursions, spends his time lighting up one cigarette after another. That's his innate respect for Viennese traditions. God only knows how he manages to distinguish between the aromas of the vegetation, the fumes of vehicles, and the interior pollution caused by his constant smoking. In any case, when Grandpa returns home, he always takes pleasure in providing us with a detailed description of his itinerary, and the varieties of spring fragrance that he encountered.<br /><br />Yesterday afternoon, the kids were upset. When they got home from Sunday School, they found Grandpa lying flat out on the sofa in a most distressed state. The visible parts of his body were covered in bruises and blood stains, and he had weird tire marks—indeed, rubber skid marks—stretching from his head down to his toes. He was incapable of telling us exactly what had happened. Instead, he kept getting back to the aspect of the mysterious accident that seemed to annoy him the most. The vehicle that had hit Grandpa (no doubt, judging from the traces of the impact, a powerful motor cycle traveling at high speed) had run over his shirt pocket, crushing a new packet of cigarettes that Grandpa had just purchased, before setting out on his stroll. He was furious.<br /><br /><i>"The guy stopped for a moment. He could have seen the damage he had caused, and given me his own cigarettes, to replace those he had just destroyed. But no, he just buggered off, as if the destruction of twenty brand-new cigarettes is neither here nor there."</i>William Skyvingtonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10052367756561555096noreply@blogger.com