Bob Guccione RIP

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stove

The one I have is the same make and size but has a wider top for two lids and a heat shield around the sides. It is awesome but Fatsco from Benton Harbor, MI says it should only burn coal or charcoal. THe bottom is more for air and to get the ashes. You load coal from the top. IT is built like an enclosed charcoal grill with a grated platform at the bottom. I think it could handle wood on the very bottom but research suggests the heat will bust the seams in time, which I believe. I don't want to heat my van with charcoal . that's crazy. Maybe the Chicken Man can hook me up with pipe and stove etc. see the bird like my soul chirping songs to the white wolf.

ponderous.

Wood stove in Van

Following my unconventionality mandate I will be installing a vintage cast iron stove in the van to dry out my Burt Bacharach songbooks and to keep my spiderman underoos dry. But reading about this process on the magical information portal known as the Internet (that Oggy is continuously supporting with his ion implanter safety harnesses and webs of Faraday fiberoptics) I see that people think this is a bad idea. Like, "A wood stove in a van? Sounds dangerous. You could die!"

Well, someone should tell the Sherpas who packed them up Mt. Everest during the first ascents. Or the Russian vets who survived the siege of Leningrad by sleeping in tents heated with a wood stove. Or hell, is driving with 8 cylinders exploding highly volatile gas in a pressurized steel case safe? Is it?

Anyway, I'm freezing to death every night without some heat and I'm a caveman at heart so in spite of the carbon creating effects of burning my paper waste I will survive the cold Labrador nights with the wood stove. My only problem is where to put the thing. There's not much room in the 9 X 5 space. But that also means it won't take much to heat the thing up. Of course, the mini hot tub is going to much harder to fit in...

advice?

this is how it turned out

Is this crazy enough for you?

Not long after this was recorded I was escorted off the property following my calistenics routine in the middle of the parking lot. I was yelling, "IS THIS CRAZY ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

The problem is I'm not content with the status quo and am trying to get to Labrador but am being delayed by mechanical upgrades.

The hypocrisy is this: I say the deepwater horizon spill is a calamity that can not be ignored. We have to change our ways yesterday. There is no five year or ten year plan for the cormorants and dolphins of the Gulf of Mexico. They are suffering today. And the casual response is, "What are we gonna do? Mankind will eventually go extinct when we poison the ocean and acid rain makes all men impotent and women are either forced to pay a Tom Cruise clone (alien invader) to impregnate them or else remain barren."

But for some reason my personal emotional decay, one person out of 7 billion, is cause for concern. Uh, what kind of priorities are going on here? I'm talking about the species of the wolf and people are worried I sleep outside in a storm that poured gallons of water on my bed and I spent all night protecting my Lionel Richie songbook. Who cares about me? The wolves are in deep trouble. The whales. The damn Manta Rays. If you're going to worry about something pick a real cause. Oggy Bleacher's fate is already sealed. He only wants to make a grand exit.

Cute kid becomes town menace...

Those pants are awesome!

In the toes of my left foot is a dandelion. Those very same toes are now crippled hopelessly by arthritis. Coincidence?

I'm surprised I didn't turn out gay by the looks of me here in 1975, 1976, 1977. Yes, that is a Thor underoos shirt at the bottom. I didn't mind hamming it up for the camera. There were a few years there where I danced spontaneously and sang for no reason and had all the making of a flamboyant stage actor, someone who would prance around in off Broadway productions of Cats or Grease. I taught myself to tap dance and gave grand bows whenever exiting a room. It was odd looking back. Even in High School I paid more attention to my impromptu monologues and theatrically farting than to quadratic equations and how to add protons. I belonged in a performing arts school and ended up in the bowels of Somerville grade school where creativity was locked in the milk locker along with the tin foil containing our meatloaf. I learned to bounce a ball against a wall and add numbers.

I guess this is a note to all parents out there that one day your kid might delve into the memories you are creating and reflect on it all...and yes, even judge you publicly.