Moles, You Are Gonna Die!

I am beginning a new stage in my mission to destroy the mole/vole population in our yard. They are waaaay outta hand at this point. The front is currently under assault, and that's the last straw. I've worked too hard creating a beautiful lawn to put up with this shit any more. I've spent mornings and evenings crushing tunnels out back. I mashed at least 30 feet of tunnels just this morning in the backyard where the little bastards have run wild for months. It's over. They are going down. In the recent past I've run a hose from my truck's exhaust pipe into tunnels to no avail. I have poured gas into them. I have flooded them with rushing torrents of water. I can't use bait out back for fear of harming my dogs and it's failed miserably out front.

After exhaustive research I have ordered this product: Mole trap Amazon

Read some of the first review of this product. The guy is hilarious. But more importantly, it appears this trap will get the job done. The reviewer has become a mole serial killer. I wanna be like him. I wanna be the John Wayne Gacy of mole killers. The Ted Bundy. The Henry Lee Lucas. If I fail to wipe out our clan, I will hire that guy.

It's on, folks. The moles are going down.

Stay tuned. I will report on the efficacy of this trap. The Ray Charles, Jose Felicianos, and Stevie Wonders of the undergound are doomed.

Running the Stadium Steps

Ford must be proud.

Stanhope Elmore's mascot.

The new fieldhouse from the stadium.


About two weeks ago, I embarked on a serious exercise program . The purpose is to see if I can muster the discipline to stick with anything long enough to actually see some results. I'm doing 600-1000 of my modified crunches daily and I run the stadium steps at the nearby high school as often as I can get over there. On the second day that I ran I saw a guy in the school's tee shirt mowing the football field. I figured I should ask him if it's alright to be running up his stadium's tiers. He said, "Sure, knock yourself out." I told him that was exactly what I feared most.

Yesterday, I pushed it. I know it doesn't sound like much, but there are 34 steps which I take two at a time in my rush to the top. Generally after 4 trips, I can lean on the railing at the top and feel like I'm going to either explode or flip over the top. Look, I'm freakin' 56, almost 57, and I spent a lot of years abusing every organ, muscle, and joint in my body. Well, yesterday, I made 6 trips to the top row.

I woke up in a crumpled blob this morning. I was laying at the bottom row of the upper level of the stadium. Apparently I fell and passed out. No one spotted me, or, if they did, they laughed at the old man and went on their way. I was awakened by a chicken. It licked my face, I got up, ran the steps again, and hustled home to shower and get to the office.

It seems that, in the short time I've been doing this new batch of exercises (as well as eating so much lettuce that I crap every 15 minutes) my belt has already moved over a notch and my jeans are saggy. Between the crunches and the steps and the salads, I may get rid of this gut. I thought I saw a muscle in there this morning, but it must have been the outline of my liver throbbing from past abuse.

Barney and Mom and Horst

I believe it was around the time of my dad's death that I became aware of Barney Cargile. Mom must have shown me his gravesite in the small, rural cemetery where we buried my father. Turns out Barney was the love of my mother's life (I found this out years later.) They grew up near one another and were crazy in love with intentions to marry when he got back from the war. I found a few pics of Barney a long time ago and became interested in him.

Just recently I found a nephew of his. I sent the pics to him and he responded with a few shots of Barney's funeral. He knew very little about his uncle and nothing about Mom. Barney had attended school at Auburn and done officer training at Notre Dame and Columbia. Apparently he was a pretty sharp dude. On Barney's headstone was a ship and mom told me he'd been killed in WWII off Anzio during the invasion of Italy by the Allied forces. His ship was actually an LST, which sailors said stood for 'Large Slow Target'...and it was an easy mark for the Germans. 

Noting the headstone's ship had a number on it, a friend and I wondered if it was actually Barney's ship designation or maybe a generic image used on lots of sailors' headstones. Simultaneously we Googled the info and were stunned with what we found: scads of information on the sinking of the LST, the rescue of survivors, and the German sub that sank her.

On the 20th of February 1944, Barney Cargile's LST was about 44 miles off Anzio when a German sub commanded by Horst Arno-Fenski fired a torpedo at 1:57 a.m. The torpedo ripped the bow off the ship. A second torpedo 20 minutes later split the LST in half and she sank to the bottom. 24 men on board died...Barney among them. Most of the 75 or so survivors were badly burned..

So the man my mother intended to marry wasn't going to come home. Since mom's death I've learned of how severely this affected her life. I guess we all wish we'd known more about our parents when we could have talked with them. Regardless, Barney's death apparently was absolutely devastating to my mother. 

Now the part of this story that gave me chills: when I was checking out info about the submarine commander, Horst Fenski, who sank the ship and killed my mom's husband-to-be, my eyes bugged out when I saw where he was born: Konigsberg, East Prussia. That's the home of my granddad. My father's dad came from there. The city is now known as Kaliningrad and is part of Russia.

Let me make this real clear: the German who killed the man my mother was to marry was from the same town as her future husband/my father's dad. At 2 in the morning, in the dark and the cold, a German who was from the same town as my dad's dad was slipping around under the waters of the Mediterranean Sea and torpedoed the ship that my mom's husband-to-be was on. Clear?.

Holy smokin' penguin balls! How the hell does something like this unfold?!?! Now, do I owe a debt of gratitude to Fenski? If he hadn't killed Barney Cargile, I wouldn't be here. Yet I have this admiration for Mr. Cargile.

http://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?13741

Horst Fenski.

Fenski's sub in northern Italy.

Barney and his brother, Robert.


Fenski (center), 25 years old...captured.

Potential Demise From Food Tampering

Not that the cereal itself isn't capable of causing a painful death (or at least so many bathroom visits that you'd wish you were dead), please be aware of the following incident:

I grabbed my just purchased box of Kellogg's Fiber Plus Berry Yogurt Crunch about 30 minutes ago. Upon opening the cardboard box's sealed top, I noted that the inner liner bag was wide open. There was/is an odd crumby patch at the top on both the front and back of one corner. Hmmm...I suppose the prudent thing to do would be to return this to Wal Mart. However, the line at the customer service area is generally 20 deep and populated by people returning everything from Kleenex to lawnmowers to DVDs they've just finished ripping. Screw it...how much cyanide could someone dump into a box of cereal when Wal Mart's aisles are teeming with munchkins knocking box after box of Froot Loops onto the floor? So, after debating: painful cyanide death/going to Wal Mart...I opted to risk death.

I sampled a flake. The cereal was perfectly crunchy and fresh, so I ate two large bowls of my possibly tampered with Fiber Plus. So far, so good. However, if anyone finds me writhing in torment on the kitchen floor, please either drag me into the bathroom...or call the morgue.

NOTE: As I am adding this info today, apparently the tampering involved either a very slow-acting agent...or there was no tampering at all. I have survived and will continue to chow down on the contents of the box.