Next, we'll hear a story about the benefits of living in a 1986 Chevy Cavalier . . .
Whatever else he might be doing, I'm sure the brain-damaged primitive is eating his heart out, because of where franksolich is this week.
The brain-damaged primitive likes old classic automobiles, and has for a long time lusted for a "barn find," an ancient vehicle that's been stored and ignored for decades, and sold on the cheap. franksolich on the other hand has no interest, no interest whatsoever, in old cars; to me, a car is a car is a car is a car.
Guess which one of the two of us is up to our neck in perhaps the biggest "barn find" in history.
It's all over google; any link tells the story:
https://www.google.com/#q=pierce+car+auctionAnyway, even though the auction doesn't start until Saturday (inspection is available beginning Friday, though), there's already circa 20,000 people there. clogging up a town of circa 1,600. All the campgrounds, the motels and hotels, and private homes with spare bedrooms to rent, are packed.
Even though I live some miles away, I still got two recreational vehicles from Texas, one pickup truck with a camper from Illinois, and one tent on the ground from Alabama, right here on this property. They're strangers to each other, but they all seem to be getting along, and assure me the accommodations are good.
I was in Pierce yesterday (Tuesday) on other business, and it's remarkable, that so much of the world's come here. There's for example a guy from Norway who's a fireman over there, and who couldn't find a place to stay here for the sale. The fire department in the big city nearby made up an extra bunk for him at the firehouse.
Germans, Australians, and even one--thus far--authentic Brazilian.
License-plates on vehicles from all the 48 continental United States and Alaska (I saw none from Hawaii, but I suppose it's rather difficult driving from there to here) and all the provinces of Canada, and plenty of Mercedes-Benzs and Audis from Mexico.
And much to my amazement, I saw an old stereotype I thought had evaporated circa 1950 or something--a bunch of short little guys from Japan wearing suits and eyeglasses, with buck teeth, and cameras hanging from their necks.
I remember them especially because one of them, upon seeing me, excitedly hollered to the others,
ni amerikan, ni amerikan!, and they wanted their picture taken with me.
I dunno why they picked me; there's tons of people there dressed in either farm or ranch attire, while I was dressed in my usual tan bush helmet, tan shirt, and tan shorts, looking like someone out of British East Africa of the 1920s.
(I dress this way around here, because in jeans and a cowboy hat, I look as stupid as the Bostonian Drunkard or the late Chief S itting Bull, the "Redstone" primitive, look in western attire; and besides, other than in winter, nowhere in the world resembles the former British East Africa than the terrain, climate, and flora of the Sandhills of Nebraska, so it's utterly natural.)
Add to that, these Nips were, like 5'1" or 5'2", and here, I'm 6'3"; I towered above them.
But whatever.
The brain-damaged primitive should die of jealousy, that he's unemployed and so can't be here.