3/25/13

I.  Feel. Like.  Crap.  I was starting to get a cold last week but thought I'd fight through it without making a fuss.  Well, it has sunk into my chest so… waaaaaaah!  I'm sick, pity me.  Waa waa waa.  Ok, enough of that.  So Saturday morning I go to bleed and pee for my annual physical.  I'm hoping the place opens at 0800 h so I won't waste too much of John’s time.  No, it opens at 0830 h instead.  I sit in the parking lot waiting for the doors to open.  Oh, as I walked out to the car to go do this chore, I send John a text saying, “It appears as though its ass is being rained off.”  I knew this would hamper the removal of the rear axle from the Chickenhawk and make loading Super Karate-Monkey Death-Car onto the trailer a bee-otch as well.  I pressed on.  Ok, so now I'm in the waiting room of the vampire office as the fourth name on the list.  Eventually I'm called back and sit down to bleed.  The phlebotomist does the little tourniquet thingy and wipes my elbow-pit with the alcohol swab.  I literally look away and right back to see the needle in my arm.  I felt nothing!  I said, “Wow!  You are GOOD!”  She thanked me and said she’d been doing it for fourteen years and had it pretty well down.  I'll say!  She took the samples, taped a cotton ball over the hole in my arm, and sent me to pee.  I filled the vial and walked out the door just as John sent a text saying, “It looks like the sun is coming out.”  I replied that I had noticed the same thing before heading to McDonald’s to say the last three words that the English language ever needed mashed together, and yet describe the most delicious things ever invented: McDonald’s breakfast burritos… as in, “Two ‘McDonald’s breakfast burritos’ and a medium Diet Coke, please.”  I ate them as I drove to the shop.  Now, I am expecting John to be knee-deep in the mud out back yanking the axle out of the Chickenhawk when I arrive.  Well, it turns out he was running late as well and had just arrived right before I did… well, I assume that since he was sitting in his car when I pulled up.  Oh, that sounds like I'm ragging on him for waiting on me.  I am NOT.  I'm just… I don’t know what.  Leave me alone, I don’t feel good.  We start by looking for the dash with Super Karate-Monkey Death-Car's VIN plate.  We find it and take it to the car.  I call Florida dude and am told the uncle will not be coming and that I am to just take the car to Arlington and collect my money.  I was hoping for a reprieve but it didn’t happen.  I asked John how long he thought it would take to swap the junkyard car’s steering column for the one in Super Karate-Monkey Death-Car.  See, Super Karate-Monkey Death-Car has a quick release steering wheel adapter welded to the column.  I know the guy in Florida wants to restore this car and that will be a PITA for him… not to mention I kinda wanted to keep the QR.  We got to work removing the column from the junkyard car.  When that nearly kicked our asses I said, “We’re just dripping this shaft in the car for the dude to use.  Fuck the quick release.”  Yes, it did waste a few precious minutes for no more profit.  Sue me.  We loaded the car and then discussed the axle situation.  John assured me that “we” could swap out the axle in the car for the axle under the bench before noon… it was 1045 h.  I was skeptical.  We, and I do mean John, cleared off the top of Lil' Wiggly and rolled it outside.  We, and I do still mean John, ran a hose out back and aired up the Chickenhawk's tires.  We, this time I do mean “we,” rolled the car around front and swapped a good tire for the one which went flat again in the time it took to roll five feet.  With a full tire, the car rolled right into the bay and we chocked the front wheels.  John jacked the ass-end up and got cracking on the removal.  I don’t remember how long it took, not very, but he had the axle out and made some smug comment.  “Don’t get cocky,” I said.  We then dug the other axle out and got to work installing it.  It went in pretty easily I'd say… of course I did very little of the actual work.  I removed one front spring hanger and installed it again on the new axle.  With the car back on four wheels, we rolled it back around… well, back.  Lil' Wiggly went back inside and we washed up.  We loaded the axle into Fifi and then I guilted John into following me to Arlington to drop off Super Karate-Monkey Death-Car.  We stopped at Campo Verde for lunch and then dropped the axle at his house.  I then went back home and picked up the 7.62x39 Saiga and headed back to the shop.  I had to go back to drop off the trailer, and I knew mom wouldn’t be home, so I grabbed the gun.  After parking the trailer, I disassembled the Kushnapup stock and removed the side-mount scope thingy which was causing some interference.  I sprayed a little flat black paint on the side of the receiver and got to work trimming the last four thirty-round magazines to fit the gun.  Of course I couldn’t tell how much to trim until I had reassembled the weapon… so I did that.  With the gun back together and all the magazines trimmed to fit/work, I racked the action a few times to make sure the drill swarf didn’t get into the works.  It apparently had not.  While I was swinging the gun around, I noticed I was singing along to The Carpenters’ “Yesterday Once More” on the i-Pod.  I had to giggle at the juxtaposition.  It was one of those times when I wish I WAS on one of those “reality” TV shows… like that one with Drew Carrey where he didn’t know he was the subject of the TV show.  What was that called?  One of the presidents… “The Eisenhower Show”?  “The Roosevelt Show”?  Something like that.  I never saw it.  Anyhoo, it would have been funny had the whole “Singing with The Carpenters while whipping around a Bullpup AK-47” thing been televised… sort of thing.  Shut up.  Leave me alone.  I don’t feel good and think I might be a bit delirious.  In fact, I think I'm done for today.