Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Once upon a time, in 1948...

...there was a construction worker.  Let's call him "Retarded Jackass."  

So, R.J. had done a fine job building a garage, with an apartment above it on Whittington Street in Bossier City.  All he had left to do was install the the tongue in groove oak floor in the bathroom.  

As he prepared to finish, he noticed that in the corner of the apartment was a 400 pound keg of nails.  He thought to himself, "Heh!  I've got all this extra material.  I may as well use it all up in this 7' x 8 ' bathroom!  I think I shall nail every tongue in groove plank with 70 to 80 nails.  And when I get finished, I'll go back over it with what's left, just to make sure that when Andy has to rip the rotten crap out in 2010 he will know that I really cared!"

I'm pretty sure R.J. is dead now. 

I hope he did not die a painful death.

But, I hate him...

Really, I do.


  1. Gotta love those people that grew up during the Depression. They never waste anything!

  2. I was a year old in 1948. I've been trying to tell everyone that they made things better back in the day . . .

    PS - what the heck is 'duceril'? Sounds like that stuff that makes Bob so happy.

  3. Father Paul, I certainly appreciate the theological instruction. I will try to avoid it...but I AIN'T KIDDING!

    I'll swear, I have never seen the likes of it!!!

    I mean, I am shocked that the floor did not collapse due to the weight. Of the nails.

    Heck, the 2 1/2 ton tub was nothing compared to the steel spikes in that room.

    Inno, Jim, you guys crack me up...and I certainly needed the grins.

    Jim...you didn't know R.J. did you? I hope he was no kin of yours, because I like you, and I would hate to think you were kin to the moron that drove 70 nails in to each plank of TONGUE IN GROOVE flooring, and really screwed up the excellent mood I had gotten in to by painting all afternoon.

  4. Heh. Some day I might... repeat... might... tell some renovation tales about my 1920s vintage home in Dee-troit. The problem is that I've purged most of those tales from my memory in the interests of continued mental health (such as it is). They DO make ya crazy. If'n ya let 'em.

    Shorter: I feel yore pain.

  5. I think your motivating me to give up on my search for the rustic farmhouse.

  6. Buck, and BR...old houses have so much "charm."

  7. Andy, Ditto to what the guy above me said. I think.

    Two years ago, over two days, I used a sawzall to cut out an old
    70's yaller gold (remember that color?) fiberglass shower/tub surround. I got so high on fiberglass dust that I thought about auditioning for American Idol. Since then I've used all our savings to pay for such projects. We're almost broke now and will be soon living on the streets, but at least I'm still sane.

    Bob Vitrol or whatever that guy's name was on that home remodeling show used to suggest that there was great joy in completing such projects. To me, and I think to you, it's more like stopping after hitting your head against a brick wall for four hours straight. Man that feels good. KnowwhatImean?

  8. I think RJ must've snuck down to New Orleans and stolen some of the nails out of the tongue-in-groove planks of our front porch. The part that warped after Katrina.

    Yuo don't have to give 'em back, though.

    Please don't.


Don't cuss nobody out, okay?