Raccoon Stuff – Page 7 – Tacky Raccoons

3,000 COMMENTS! YAY!

Don’t know exactly who did it, but after careful consideration, we’re gonna award the most likely candidate: The lovely and talented Crystal!, known elsewhere as “Summergurly.”

Crystal nailed it with this great comment on this great post:

“Ahhhhhh! RUN for your lives! The giant angry insanely freakish wooly bear caterpillars are coming! Head for the hills! Ahhhhh!!!”

Congrats, Summergurly, wherever your are. Your knack for commenting surpasses my knack for nought. Feel free to roll around in your newfound glory, and be sure to brag about it to your peer group. You deserve it almost as much as we do.

Cordially,

Bunk

The .Gif Friday Post No.102 – Rooster Cat Fight, Splash Kangaroo and a Very Tacky Raccoon

Cat Bird_Your daily gif blog

Kangaroo Puddle_4gif 091006

dancingraccoon_Your daily gif blog 090928

Dang. I’d love to take credit for that last one, but it ain’t mine.

[Update: Apparently the last animation is by HappyToast.]

[Found here, here and here.]

Stump Bunk

800px-Waschbaer_auf_dem_Dach

We’re up to about 17 regular viewers here after thousands of hours of effort, and it’s starting to pay off. As we drift aimlessly into Our Third Annum of existance, our Crack Team of Webminers suggested another poll. It’s a very simple yes/no thingy, and it’s free.

CTW thought we might want to venture into the realm of comments, i.e., post nothing of substance, but use the post itself as a comment generator.

We’re gonna ignore the poll for now, but leave your pertinent questions in the comments section and we’ll respond after leaving the toilet seat up and flushing with our feet. Depending on the volume (of questions) we may answer all in one post, or spread them out over the lawn to hose ’em down later.

Urban Hunting

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People like Mr. Beasley amaze me. Here’s a guy who grew up in the poverty-stricken rural south who knows more about basic survival than almost anyone reading this post. He’s carved himself a niche, trapping urban raccoons, cleaning them, and selling them to folks who enjoy this delicacy — IN DETROIT!

“Coon or rabbit. God put them there to eat. When men get hold of animals he blows them up and then he blows up. Fill ’em so full of chemicals and steroids it ruins the people. It makes them sick. Like the pigs on the farm. They’s 3 months old and weighing 400 pounds. They’s all blowed up. And the chil’ren who eat it, they’s all blowed up. Don’t make no sense.”

–Glemie Beasley, Urban Hunter.

I don’t agree with his argument against raising corn-fed animals to butcher, but consider this: If all of a sudden there was no food at the grocery stores and money became worthless, how would you feed your family?

You’d do it just like Glemie Beasley does it… or starve.

The video is interesting, but the “host” is a smarmy condescending dorkboy with a “soul patch” under his lower lip.

Finest point about capturing and butchering game such as possum and raccoon is to leave a paw on, so that folks can tell you’re not selling dog or cat carcasses. The video is graphic in as much as a cooking show shows a skinned chicken; but it also instructs on how to prepare small game carcasses.

[Full story with video here. Related stuff: I mentioned before that James Burke’s Part 3 of Episode 1 of his excellent Connections series is a must see. Be patient until 4:30- that’s where the meat is.]

OH NOES!

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TALK TO THE HAND! This is Terrible news!

[Image from here.]

Let’s Get This Party Started!

Ok, for all of you who do not know me, I’m Finicky Penguin, administrator extraordinaire of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Soda, and I only have 3 things to say now…

First off, I have the keys and I’ll gladly pass them to the highest bidder.

Second, once I’m done here, this blog’ll most likely look like this:

Thanks.

Lastly, you all must vote in this poll:

Saturday Bonus: Tacky Raccoon, Sticky Blonde, and BART

Raccoon enters through pet door. Scopes out the kitchen.
Will he go for the cat food? Nah.
Will he go for the dog food? Nope.
This one knows exactly what he wants and knows how to get it.

She’s obviously tech support for Microsoft. (To be honest, I’d prolly be doing the same thing if I hadda work in a cubicle like that.)

Nancy Cartwright’s 2004 interview in Australia.
“I’m Bart Simpson, man. Who the hell are you?”

Happy New Year 2008! A New Century!

New Year’s resolutions. Hmmm. Good God there are so many to choose from and so many to ignore and reject. Okeh, I got a couple:

I shall endeavor to be more ascerbic.

I shall wake up when I want to, not when electricity tells me to.

I shall quit giving the cat rides in the dryer if it hasn’t gone in there voluntarily, and if it does, I shall provide a blanket to cushion it.

I shall stop complaining about cat hair on my chonis.

I shall personally snag the livers from the huge turkeys my lovely wife purchases only two times a year for the holidays and I shall cook them up with butter and eat them in private without telling anyone.

I shall not feel guilty when I snicker to myself.

I shall briefly consider presidential candidate endorsements from Chuck Norris, Oprah Winfrey, Barbara Streisand, and whatsisface (you know, that guy, the funny one who doesn’t write his own material) and ignore those endorsements altogether as idiocy, and shall vote for a candidate and issues that they do not support.

I shall continue to combat the forces of evil, and shall pay my bills on time, with the understanding that giving in does not equate to surrender.

I shall fart when and where I want to, and not when or where others think I should, because it’s none of their business, and it’s completely out of their control anyway.

I shall relieve stress, in the aforementioned way, and other ways that I’m not inclined to let you in on.

Those are way too many resolutions for me, but I’ll keep them… to myself.

Wish y’all and yours a prosperous New Year from Tacky Raccoons.

–Your Pal, Bunk.

[Image from here via here.]

Finally a Raccoon Banner

Middle of the night. Tired. You just passed through the woods from Gramma’s house, and crossed over the river. You see him in your headlights. He’s there, standing in the middle of the road. He dares you to hit him, knowing that your wife and kids are in the car, not quite asleep. You slowly brake to a stop, wondering what to do next. Defiance charges the air with electrical impulses unseen in the damp humid darkness, felt only by the hairs on your unshaven back. You can’t back down, yet you recoil after coiling. That haunting apparition…

[Good God. Will Someone PLEASE finish this in the Comments Section? Otherwise it’s just gonna get worse, and I don’t wanna take responsibility for what might happen next.]

[Image source here, via Your Daily Awesome.]