Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
DRUNK HISTORY on Comedy Central...
...made me laugh so fucking hard I re-tore an injured Rib Muscle last night. It was worth it. Check it out Tuesday's.
Fuck Buying a New Radiator
It’s not uncommon to question the condition of something mechanical that’s over four decades old.
I have the original 22” radiator for my 72 Plymouth Duster. A replacement piece is $300 goddamn dollars.
I took the original piece down to A-1 Radiator for a flow-test and leak repair. For $65 they fixed two little leaks and told me she flows 22 gallons a minute. Not too shabby; should work for the open road.
Except when I got it back from the shop it looked like this:
Some sanding brought her back to the land of respectability.
Figured I would give this stuff a shot, Eastwood Gloss Black Radiator Paint, at $13 FUCKING BUCKS a can. Eastwood recommended two cans per radiator as this stuff is super-thin.
Regular high-heat paint isn’t wise to apply to a car radiator, as it’s remarkably thick in spray-form, and will prevent the key word of “radiate”.
After many, many coats and extensive coverage, I only used three-quarter of one can. Assholes.
Looks sharp though, and the car runs nice and cool with the factory piece. I need a burger.
I have the original 22” radiator for my 72 Plymouth Duster. A replacement piece is $300 goddamn dollars.
I took the original piece down to A-1 Radiator for a flow-test and leak repair. For $65 they fixed two little leaks and told me she flows 22 gallons a minute. Not too shabby; should work for the open road.
Except when I got it back from the shop it looked like this:
Some sanding brought her back to the land of respectability.
Figured I would give this stuff a shot, Eastwood Gloss Black Radiator Paint, at $13 FUCKING BUCKS a can. Eastwood recommended two cans per radiator as this stuff is super-thin.
Regular high-heat paint isn’t wise to apply to a car radiator, as it’s remarkably thick in spray-form, and will prevent the key word of “radiate”.
After many, many coats and extensive coverage, I only used three-quarter of one can. Assholes.
Looks sharp though, and the car runs nice and cool with the factory piece. I need a burger.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Hell Yeah Rat Tail
No, the humidity did not just go up in Pierce County; Panties just hit the floor across Gig Harbor in a phenomenon only to be described as THE PLAHUTA EFFECT. Scientist’s will forever debate such a marvel from this day forward…
Dimebag is smiling from Heaven.
Dimebag is smiling from Heaven.
Duster Grill Presto-Change-O
Eventually, when the Triple-Black Duster gets torn down for paint, I plan on stepping up to my aluminum 69 Valiant grill (arguably the bitchin-est grill in Plymouth history). Here’s an example of what the final product does to your boner-area:
A key item to acquire would be the 69 front valance, or modify the existing 72 valance (which is pretty tweaked after a Company Truck of some kind backed into me in the parking lot of a court-ordered AA meeting those asshole’s make you go to when you’re fighting DUI charges, but I digress...)
Until the car is disassembled, I need to live with a stock 70 or 71 grill I acquired, except it’s uglier than shit on a turd.
For some bologna reason, Chrysler cheese-dicked the be-jesus out of this particular grill with some gay-ass 70’s sparkle non-sense that made my soul cringe every time I looked at it
It’s important to get an idea of how these clips go together before everything gets taken apart, trust Daddy on this:
After five days of on-and-off sanding, I removed several years’ worth of Washington’s finest green algae scum from each plastic tooth, and got to see some primer soak in. (Note the very handy tool in the background. Fantastic for continuing paint progress in 50 degree weather)
I let her cure for several days while I turned my attention to the rusty upper grill mount.
Everything blacked-out and re-assembled with their appropriate shiny parts.
Much better. I can live with this for a while.
A key item to acquire would be the 69 front valance, or modify the existing 72 valance (which is pretty tweaked after a Company Truck of some kind backed into me in the parking lot of a court-ordered AA meeting those asshole’s make you go to when you’re fighting DUI charges, but I digress...)
Until the car is disassembled, I need to live with a stock 70 or 71 grill I acquired, except it’s uglier than shit on a turd.
For some bologna reason, Chrysler cheese-dicked the be-jesus out of this particular grill with some gay-ass 70’s sparkle non-sense that made my soul cringe every time I looked at it
It’s important to get an idea of how these clips go together before everything gets taken apart, trust Daddy on this:
After five days of on-and-off sanding, I removed several years’ worth of Washington’s finest green algae scum from each plastic tooth, and got to see some primer soak in. (Note the very handy tool in the background. Fantastic for continuing paint progress in 50 degree weather)
I let her cure for several days while I turned my attention to the rusty upper grill mount.
Everything blacked-out and re-assembled with their appropriate shiny parts.
Much better. I can live with this for a while.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Been Good Lately
For those that remember, I was shot four times in late-Spring 2010, resulting in a C2 spinal-cord injury that I not only survived, but have lived long enough to see life on my feet as well.
Learning to breathe again was serious bullshit. It took 24 days while in the ICU that Summer; one hour off the respirator the first day, two hours the second day, three hours the third…
If you haven’t used your lungs and you’re forced to think about pulling each-breath-in and pushing each-breath-out, every second of every minute for hours on end, don’t be surprised if you begin to freak out, totally normal reaction...
I can successfully admit that I beat the stranglehold of pain medication. Although not one milligram has passed through my system in over two years, there was the arduous process of working through the pain, depression, and bullshit that only mother earth’s “natural green medicine” could carry me through without dangerous, long-term affect. I owe a lot to the Devil’s Lettuce. Thank you old friend, you will be missed.
It has been 14 months since I shed my electric wheelchair. I was three-hundred fucking pounds.
Homebrew and Taco Bell really sink their fat, fucking greedy teeth in when you aren’t moving and you’re stoked on how things taste because they aren’t being squirted through a tube in your nose that leads to your belly.
Getting out of the wheelchair was unavoidable, literally. On April 20th (or some shit) 2012, this little guy came home and running him over was out of the question:
My Doberman: “Judge”
A couple months later:
At five months:
And at one year, and 90-fucking-pounds of crazy:
Judge may be single-handedly responsible for my recovery to this point. I’m down to 215 pounds and dropping. Hey Single Ladies out there, you all like guys with scars?? I know you do. BLOW
Since I’ve been blessed with the gift of Walk, I do as much as my current physical situation will allow.
I can use an angle grinder for almost eight minutes. I can wash a car in 89 minutes. I can change an intake manifold in three days.
These are huge accomplishments.
As a man, Accomplishment grows way down in his Ballsack and can only be unleashed if you have the balls big enough to do so. On the other end of the argument, a real man has humility, and that grows in his heart. You aren’t a real man if you can’t admit that. So what if it takes an hour to clean an SKS? Fuck you. Physical Therapy works. If you’re supposed to go, and you don’t, you’re an asshole.
Mad Max got by just fine with just a dog and a car.
It’s good to be back, Motherfucker’s.
Learning to breathe again was serious bullshit. It took 24 days while in the ICU that Summer; one hour off the respirator the first day, two hours the second day, three hours the third…
If you haven’t used your lungs and you’re forced to think about pulling each-breath-in and pushing each-breath-out, every second of every minute for hours on end, don’t be surprised if you begin to freak out, totally normal reaction...
I can successfully admit that I beat the stranglehold of pain medication. Although not one milligram has passed through my system in over two years, there was the arduous process of working through the pain, depression, and bullshit that only mother earth’s “natural green medicine” could carry me through without dangerous, long-term affect. I owe a lot to the Devil’s Lettuce. Thank you old friend, you will be missed.
It has been 14 months since I shed my electric wheelchair. I was three-hundred fucking pounds.
Homebrew and Taco Bell really sink their fat, fucking greedy teeth in when you aren’t moving and you’re stoked on how things taste because they aren’t being squirted through a tube in your nose that leads to your belly.
Getting out of the wheelchair was unavoidable, literally. On April 20th (or some shit) 2012, this little guy came home and running him over was out of the question:
My Doberman: “Judge”
A couple months later:
At five months:
And at one year, and 90-fucking-pounds of crazy:
Judge may be single-handedly responsible for my recovery to this point. I’m down to 215 pounds and dropping. Hey Single Ladies out there, you all like guys with scars?? I know you do. BLOW
Since I’ve been blessed with the gift of Walk, I do as much as my current physical situation will allow.
I can use an angle grinder for almost eight minutes. I can wash a car in 89 minutes. I can change an intake manifold in three days.
These are huge accomplishments.
As a man, Accomplishment grows way down in his Ballsack and can only be unleashed if you have the balls big enough to do so. On the other end of the argument, a real man has humility, and that grows in his heart. You aren’t a real man if you can’t admit that. So what if it takes an hour to clean an SKS? Fuck you. Physical Therapy works. If you’re supposed to go, and you don’t, you’re an asshole.
Mad Max got by just fine with just a dog and a car.
It’s good to be back, Motherfucker’s.
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