Tear up the card, smother in peanut butter, and feed to Clarence.
I like our little corner market. It’s been there forever. I think I saw a photo that shows the building in the '50s. But they don’t let customers use the toilet. There’s a porta-potty (circled) in the side parking lot.
Leave it be. And I wouldn’t worry about the crows. In other spiritual contexts than voodoo (and I’m not even sure there’s a problem there to begin with), they can be quite auspicious.
If you really want to get rid of the card I’d bury it.
“Much like rabbit’s-foot keychains, it certainly wasn’t lucky for the alligator.”
'D’ja ever notice how that Tolkein “ring of power” didn’t really do a lot of good for the folks who had it?
I’m told burying it might open a portal, or some such nonsense.
I’m pondering the garbage disposal.
Do NOT, I repeat NOT, put it down the garbage disposer! Egad, you’d risk getting a haunted septic tank!
<>
~VOW
Sorry, Stephen King already did that one; involved a finger coming up the drain.
Oh, god.
I’m doomed.
Second curse, worse than the first:
I made biscuits for the crew this morning. The grand kids and all the animals were hanging around drooling.
( Hey my biscuits are good)
I was getting the pan out of the oven. I had a hot mitt, not the kind you put your hand in a flat one. I raked my thumb on the top of the oven. I immediately stick my hand under the running faucet and (sorry kids) I uttered a few sentence enhancers.
I wrapped a wet paper towel around it. Fed the troops and went to see about my thumb.
Now, this may trigger some peeps. So if you’re sensitive DO NOT keep reading.
I peeled the paper towel off and a thick layer of skin and tissue came with it. Even part of my thumb nail came off.
It hurt so bad, it looked worse.
We went to ER
2nd degree burn except the nail part. 3rd degree.
Here I sit. Cast on my right forearm. Bad burn on my left hand. A PICC line on my left shoulder. Port on my left chest area. A pump, a pod and a glucose monitor.
I’m a mess.
Dirty, dirty Voodoo priestess.
I’m lucky to be alive.
I guess the name “Beckdawrek” is appropriate!
Could change it to BeckDaCyborg - shorten that to BeckBorg.
I’ve got an idea for getting rid of that card - give it to Bigfoot!
So are mine. And so easy to make! Just tear off the label, whack the tube on the counter…
Becken of Nine.
Why are there no Borg named Warner?
Or Bjorn?
Bjorn Beck?
Yep. My Daddy named me that when I broke my leg, aged 4.
He had a little ditty he sang:
“Beck the wreck from Georgia Tech, she fell down and broke her neck!”
He put me in ballet lessons so I’d quit falling off the curb.
I’ve been a klutz my whole life.
Go back to Pitstop and leave it in the outhouse.
That’s really a good idea.
Think I will do just that.
Ooh, I likey. What must I do to my head to get that metal thingy implanted?
It’s the 23rd century treatment for a bite from a rabid opossum. 