Welcome to my new technology. It's actually not that new. It's a computer we've had for many years, but we had a fellow do everything you can do. It's got the dual core processor and 500megs of memory. It's got that new Windows 7 but most important is it is sitting on the shelf right next to my 42 inch television hooked up to the hdmi and gives me wireless connection to our other computer and the printer. I have a wireless mouse and a wireless keyboard, and this time a wireless brain. Absolutely amazing where technology has gone. When I started in computers it was back in the 1950's.

The first real computers I worked on were top secret part of the Minute Man Guidance System. That's what the air force first trained me to do was to repair minute man missile guidance systems. When they realized the mistake they had made that they were going to phase out the silos, and the minute man missile had no place in Viet Nam. Since I had a top secret clearance with crypto and Q access (about as high as you could get) they decided not to waste the cost of all those background checks and psychological evaluations they put me thorough to see if I was a threat to our country. They decided to train me in repairing tele-type and cryptographic equipment. We even fixed the neatest little do-dad called the teleautograph. It was a pad that used a stylus like a pen and whatever you wrote on the pad would appear in the command centers or wherever they had it going to. That way they could instant message in authenticated handwriting.

The main reason I ended up in Viet Nam was because they decided to phase out the Minute Man Missie and they didn't have any missile silos in Viet Nam anyway. Ergo no holes in the ground filled with rockets, no technicians to fix said rockets.  But they did need people to fix super secret code machines. Super mechanic to the rescue! If you have read some of my previous blogs you'll know what a wonderful position this was. I lived in officers quarters, ate in the officers mess, drank in the officers club, flew in the F4 Phantom jets, or flew in the bellies of the fastest jet that was going in the direction that had a broken code machine. I was one of the happiest guys in the world every time something broke down. That meant I got to put on a flight suit and nine times out of ten climb into the back seat of an F4 Phantom they call a jet. I called it a "rocket". That was the funest thing I have ever ridden in. And I have ridden in them a couple hundred times.

Well, not to bore you. Oh yeah, the great thing about this new computer is when I am not feeling well I can still write to you because it has a wireless keyboard and mouse and this great big tv screen. It talks to our wireless hub router and I could write on this computer with my head on my pillow. Talk about the epitome of laziness. Of course I have a feeling that even though my wife has her own computer in the office here in the house she is going to be enjoying the advantages of snuggling to my sleeping body and doing a lot of her computer work from a more comfortable position. Snuggled up to that wonderful me. Pretty neat huh?

Thank you all - God Bless - tell your friends to tell their friends to visit. We get new folks every day. To me it takes a brave soul to carry on a conversation and actually put it on paper for others to see. After all I am sure if they got their chance the shrinks would have a hey day with me. My only excuse is life should be fun. And happy. And fair. And shared with someone who shares their love with you.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

I would like to welcome Corky  to our growing group of frequent commenters. Not being the gentleman that i am i will not divulge her age that is sumpin that this Cajun can let the world know if she wants but you know since its coming from a woman there may and probably will be some discrepancy. .

sumpthing i need to remind those of you out there is that any comments or emails or guest book comments are published  UNLESS YOU REQUEST THAT SPECIFIC COMMENT NOT BE SHARED WITH THE THE REST OF THE WORLD AND THEY WILL REMAIN IN MY PERSONAL FILE AND NO ONE ELSE EXCEPT MY WIFE SHARON WHO USUALLY TYPES AND HANDLES THE KEYBOARD PORTION OF OUR WEB SITE.  AND WE WANT TO REMIND YOU ALL THAT THIS IS EVERYONES WEBSITE/BLOG AND IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SHARE WITH EVERY ONE  IT IS OK.

If you don't want your comments published please type "NOT FOR PUBLICATION" at the top of your comment.

Note: Ken started to write this earlier today, but wasn't able to finish it himself. He asked me to send it out tonight with his love to everyone.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Ken says hello to everyone. He has not been out of bed at all today and wanted everyone to know he hopes to write tomorrow. He is just tired, tired, tired and can't stay awake. So send a prayer or two his way and comment on the older blogs so he will have something to read when he gets up.

Thank you all for being a friend to my sweet husband.
I love you all for your dedication to keeping the dialogs going.

Love and Blessings,
Sharon (the real life wife)

I figured I should let you know that it's not a terrorist whose writings you read. My occasional reference to dynamite or other explosives go back into my younger years. I used to do some mining evaluation, which on occasion required blowing up some rocks. And I was recently asked what does it take to be able to buy dynamite. The last time I had any experience in this area was in the mid 70's and all that was required was a Utah drivers license and a place that sold dynamite. The place I chose was called Burt Explosives. Now it sounds like some type of a backyard operation. You would expect some fancy name like Petro Pyro Explosives Incorporated. But the most prominent one in the yellow pages was Burt Explosives. They would sell you any kind you needed. Dynamite in sticks, bags of slurry (usually called surfsize), and contrary to the name that it has it was not to see how big a surf you could create - it was used in the oil exploration and other geological exploration.

It's really fascinating how far we have come from black powder which originally was a mixture of what we call salt peter, that was usually in a crystal form that accumulated on the boards that created the stalls for cows and horses and pigs. You would combine this with a little charcoal (carbon) and sulfur. Grind it up gently and you ended up with black powder. The Chinese perfected black powder and created a whole science of explosives. I am not sure who it was that found when you mixed nature gases, sulphuric acid, and glycerin (as is used in soap), to make one of the strongest explosives in the world, nitroglycerin. One of the most unstable powerful explosives that man had ever devised. It was so sensitive that it killed an awful lot of people that were handling it.

Then along came a man, he was a noble man, and his name was actually Noble. He found that if you mixed nitroglycerin with sawdust and sand you gave it a degree of stability where it could be handled roughly and still be safe. It changed the applications of explosives drastically and the face of war even more. Today we have THE NOBEL PRIZES these include the Nobel Peace Prize. These prizes were created out of conscience. Mr. Nobel realized the ramifications of what he had done by making dynamite so easy to handle and such an intricate part of war. He made millions upon millions of dollars with his patents. And found he could not sleep at night. Plagued by the conscience of a decent man. Some say his conscience killed him. Others say he lived a longer life as a punishment by being made to observe the ramifications of what he designed to save lives gone wrong. As a reason he placed a large amount of money in the banking system to be passed out to the scientific community in different aspects each year with the proceeds of the interest his initial principal generated.

Now I have never earned the Nobel Prize. Though I am sure this was just a slight oversight on someones part. My use of explosives was for mining, but the largest application that I used Mr. Nobel's dynamite for was to reduce dead wildlife to smaller pieces. You see in the Uinta Mountains there are not large predators nor scavengers so when I came across or was notified of a dead moose, elk, or large deer I would usually use the two stick method; one stick down the gullet and the other stick in the opposite end tied together by a small piece of primer cord so they would explode simultaneously thus reducing this larger carcass into many small pieces small enough that the scavengers that inhabit the Unita Mountains to clean up otherwise a large carcass would simply rot and possibly pass on disease, pestilence, and foul odor. On occasion my job required me to blow up beaver dams. This is something I never completely agreed with but I understood the necessity of the process.

I figured I would write this blog just to set anyone's mind at ease that my experience with explosives and my motto, "there is no problem that cannot be rectified by the proper application of high explosives". I always liked firecrackers and fireworks. One must realize that while reducing the carcasses of large animals and rerouting beaver dams I had my own trustee steeds with me. They had to be climatized to the sounds of the dynamite that I had to use. I used a lot of fireworks which I found very interesting to watch my horses as they acted like little children once the first skyrocket went off they would all gather around and watch the sky for the next and the next. When I was through with their training and my fun I could almost sense their disappointment that there was not more. It really surprised me how much they actually enjoyed fireworks.

I send this in peace and love and assurance that I am not the mad bomber. I am just mad.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Hi Corky - in response to your comment -I am so glad that you had the opportunity to walk through Gods garden with them (him/her/other). I spent many years in those mountains each summer. Sometimes as a interloper other times as an invited guest. And other times as the only contract forest ranger in the US. While filling this capacity my job entailed picking up garbage along the trails and campsights (nothing stays buried). Believe it or not two of the main trash items were beer cans and feminine hygiene products. The latter was usually shredded and more than likely dug up by animals within hours of being buried.

The mountains are full of scavengers. Most people look upon these creatures with disdain and have no idea of the enormous role they play in the beauty that surrounds a person when in these mountains. People that bury their trash don't take into consideration the sharp keen sensitive sense of smell that the creatures of the wild have. A bear for instance can smell for miles the carcass of another animal whether killed by another predator, an accident, or illness - just like us all of God's creatures are prone to and victims of the flu, colds, measles, mumps, and the occasional emery. Well, maybe not the mumps. 

Although they have no neon signs I have found in observing the animals in the mountains, that they do have regular areas where they would congregate and socialize. I often wondered how many were meeting to pass on the Lord's word and pay their tithe, how many were there with their guarded partially fermented pine or scrub oak nuts, or a little stash of fermented berries. Sharing with their friends the stories of their close escapes from the "big bad wolf". And how but by the grace of God they're bear-ly there. Or the narrow escape from a hawk or eagle and how at the last moment they found a low branch to dive under and laughed about the hawk and his headache from colliding with that perfectly placed low branch.

I wonder if mama ground squirrel goes to their little bars and drags papa home by the ear. Or if she humiliates him by sending the eldest of her youngsters to retrieve him and let him know "boy are you going to get it when you get home". It was much better I am sure to be retrieved by a youngster than mama squirrel because it gave papa a little time to ruffle his fur, run around in a few circles, enter the tree rapidly, a little ahead of the youngster, throwing his back to the door, wiping the sweat from his brow and saying, "thank the Lord, I just barely made it by the skin of my teeth. That fox almost had me" Quickly taking the glance around and sharing his concern, "Where's little Bucky, I sure hope the fox didn't get him. We didn't stop to speak for fear of being caught by that big bad fox." In other words they are no different from us.

In watching those animals I saw they had rituals they followed and did not deviate from. One of my favorite camps was a small lake about three miles north and east from Red Castle Lake. It's what is called a "dead lake". The only water that flows into it is the rain off the hills around it. There aren't any streams out of it and it supports no fish. But usually surrounded by willow and tall sweet grass and succulent underwater vegetation which the moose just love. I had one of my main camps set up there and probably spent half of each week camped at this one. Each night the largest bull moose would enter from the north and browse his way across the lake. The lake was probably ten or twelve feet in depth which to them was like walking through a bath tub. The first time I ever heard the sounds I threw open the sash to see what was the matter. What was causing all the clash and the clatter. and I watched as the bull threw his head in the air with the water rolling off his antlers and his nostril's dispelling large volumes of water and air. Munching a few moments on the succulent he had just browsed. He would take a step forward and his head would disappear again. They can hold their breath for several minutes - ten or more - picking around for their favorite weeds, filling their mouths and trying to fill it some more. And their head would come up, the water would rush off, the snort and the bellow, the breath of fresh air. He would do this a dozen times from when he entered the lake until he was on the other side where the willows grew thick. Their favorite food was the willow.

This particular lake was where the largest bulls congregated and for many years there were only four. My last year up there they had added a newcomer. It was interesting to watch the ritual that year they were very picky accepting a new member into their little clique. That appeared they were careful in which newcomer they picked. The largest bull was first in each night. He would come across the lake to his willows. A little while later the second would arrive and the great whoosh from his head rising and the clearing of his nostrils reminded me of the breathing of a whale. After crossing the lake the second bull would amble over by the first. They would each give a couple of grunts, a snorkel, and a fart. The second one would munch on the bush the large one had picked out for the night. This process was repeated until all four were together. They spent a bit shooting the shit and munching on the same willow tree. They would then wander around where their favorite tree they found and spent the night peaceful and all by themselves. Should an interloper arrive and not know the rules like nibbling from the same willow as the "king", the rest of them would turn and chase him away letting him know he didn't belong.

These bulls had accepted me and my horses also. We spent many summer nights with them. They got familiar. I have a picture of the face of a moose that fills an entire frame of a 35mm camera and his face fills the whole complete frame. I could get within four or five feet. I never pressed it beyond. They tolerated my horses that were on what we called a "long line". I took a one hundred foot piece of hemp rope and every twenty feet or so I tied a piece of one inch cotton rope and attached to each one of my horses halter. This let them roam through the meadow so they didn't trample any ground into mud. I am sure you have seen pictures where people tie their horses to a tree. When this happens the horses walk round and round eating and killing off any vegetation that may be there, all withing the drip ring and damaging the roots close to the surface. By using a longline my horses were fine, they didn't tear up the earth. If they were to wander it wouldn't be far. Picture six horses tied to a rope a hundred feet long and spaced out every twenty feet. I never had trouble finding them all. When you have that many animals they all want to go a different direction. They are bound to find a tree or shrub they would wrap themselves around, making it easy for me in the morning to know that they would all be found.

Please tell me more about your trips to the Uintas. Which places did  you go? I spent most of my time on the north slope. From Gilbert Peak in the east to the east fork of the Blacks Fork on the west. From China Meadows and Henry's Fork on the northern boundary line, and to the south was Kings Peak. Everything within this semi-square was mine to take care. A steward of the land God smiled on me. As I sit here my wife glances over to see what my next word will be and I am sure that a smile with my eyes closed a little and a calm demeanor about me is all that there is. Because she knows I can see every rock and every tree. I love my mountains, my mountain loved me. My heart and my soul dwell there. Just as you I cannot travel there anymore. I am on fifteen liters of oxygen per minute. But I have my memories. Thank you for bringing them back to the forefront today. 

God Bless You Corky - thank you for giving me such a beautiful day. I was going to answer you with just an email, but others know me and my mountain, so I felt I should share because there are others that care and know that God is there. It's where he takes his vacation.

and God Bless you all,
Ken the afterlife messenger

I'm not sure if I forgot my taking complete advantage of my secret ability which I am sure that I have. So we'll change that now. And throw it in. At the end of this mind altering saying, "If you don't have something nice to say about someone, it is not appropriate to say anything" Now I don't know who it is in this world but important to the point that they would be blasted from the window I have in my side or to use old style English, my shingles. For those of you who ask, "what the hell is a shingle?" Should maybe ought to enroll in a night course in flamboyant writing.

Though a few of you should apologize once they reach the bottom of their travel or their rope. I am sorry I wasn't able to save them from the nasty note that I have sent them. About this time my father walked in, noticed me thrown on a cement floor before my mother came and I've told you that her condition of environment is much larger. So to those of you that have made one scintilla of the artful language contained in this apology your welcome for a drink. And for those that were too apprehensive of joining it just goes to show you that not all of us of a group that is enlightened far beyond the rest. Basically to those of you that did not understand I pray that you achieve enlightenment very soon. Because it is so necessary. So just bring it back and I'll throw it on the grill for a few minutes more time until it's hot enough to meet your needs.

For the rest of you that are already aware of the degree of concentration and cryptic prowess with which I write just hang in there and do not discard it, but save it for the day that you can understand it and simply walk up to your child with a folded box that you maintain my blogs in and thank your child or partner for not taking a promise contained within. Both sides of your trusty sword. Providing who have not just watch someone that could not afford but appreciated the great value of this small writing.

No I am not drunk, I do not drink. No, I do not drink. And third there have been times though rare in existence that my mental facilities have failed me miserably. Why don't you chew it over and see which category you feel that I belong in at this time.

God Bless you, each and every one
Ken, the afterlife messenger

PS If you don't understand this be patient. I don't either, I just type (?) Sharon

Hello everybody, I have been overcome by the great response that I received from all of you. Apologies are due to each and every one of you. As I eagerly and hopefully check for comments more than once each day I have come to realize how much each of you mean to me. And also how much I have taken for granted the thoughtful comments that you grace me with.

With it being over two years since I was placed on death row. The mental picture that I have of that day of myself is sitting astride "Old Bawly", one of the finest, noblest creatures (my mountain horse) that chose to share his life with me. I guess the reason that the first thing that came to mind when told my life was coming to a sooner end put me astride this rare and wonderful soul to remind me that no matter what small role everything and everyone has played in my life has meant so much to me. Having such disheartening news delivered to me my mind went to that place of peace where me and my God were able to carry on such beautiful conversations and giving me clarity in understanding my purpose for being. 

I would find myself taking advantage of my noble creatures that allowed me to become one with them as I sat astride their body. As he carried me through the forest, across the rivers, through the meadows, or to show my appreciation I would always linger long enough for them (when I say them, I usually had six animals with me in a pack string)  to taste some of the variety of God's glorious grasses with each and every one of them showing their appreciation in the love that they returned to me. For each of the meadows offered them not only some of their daily sustenance but allowed them to take in the beauty each vista provided. At the same time appreciating a different flavor of their appetizer, their meal, and to equate the cool clear waters to a fine wine with their meal in the ambiance that each meadow (fine dining establishment) of which there was such a great abundance. 

When it comes to showing appreciation the pet dog or cat and the antics which I know a lot performed purposely as their way of thanking me for realizing the noble selflessness that they had shown me in appreciation for the love and appreciation I have shown them. I find this true and important with my human friends as well. I thank God each day for all the love and kindness that is directed my way by all I know. I find that I am relying more on my companion of half my life to share our life (in the blog) with stories of our blessings, our appreciation, friendship and love, not to mention our calamities, successes, failures, and catastrophes. Of which there are not enough waking hours of cohesive and clarified times in my day.

When people ask me each day, "how are you doing?" I can only say, "I am doing well".  Because sometimes that is the only words that I can think of. It seemed as God grants me a limited supply of clarity which I sometimes piss away on this 42" window to the world, which again I must thank the love of my life. I listen to it more than watch it. It seems to be my white noise. It has quite a loud sound output and I usually have it turned to the highest setting available. Not just because I am deaf, but because it drowns out the rest of the world and helps me sleep.

So I thank you one and all.
Gods creatures large and small.
Gods grasses and Gods trees.
Gods insects and Gods bees.
And all of you who read my blogs
Especially those who ask for more please.

I hope I haven't left anyone out. But just in case I have
Thank you God for everything and everyone
Even for my heating pad.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

each day each and everyone of us take someone for granted.  I have tried for all 33 years of being married to my darling wife, i have fallen deeper and more appreciative of her every moment of every day.

since i have been terminally ill i belive i have become more aware of this phenonom.even tho my level of awareness, i find myself  perpertrating this transgression not once in a while but multiple times each day.

how many times have you while watching some program on the tv or working on a project of your own you have raised the volum and clairity of your voice. example. your on the couch chips check wedge back pillow check tv guide check check tissues to blow that honker rather than useing the tools that god endowed you with your finger  sleeve or one of the dirty sox you just pulled off with a sigh of relief then chucked on the small pile of other dirty clothes generated durring your harrowing exhaustuing day slaving away for the man i wander dirty sox and buggers were not the direction i was originally traveling and thanks to the modern marvel and the three pack of wireless intercoms attached or sitting within an arms reach my arm flys with deadly accuracy to the talk button and with the most loving helpless inflection in my allready pathetic voice i first  profess my love for my wonderfyl wife and i then commit the offense of taking her for granted "HONEY WOULD YOU PLEASE BRING ME ANOTHER SODA OR COOKIE ON YOUR WAY BACK IN MY LOCATION" we do it all of us so next time you  need anoher beer or someone to scratch your back STOP CONCIDER THAT HER HANDS MAY BE FULL ALLREADY BUT YOU ARE SURE SHE CAN JUGGLE JUST I MORE LITTLE THING      GET OFF YOUR ASS AND GET IT YOUR5 SELF.

IM SORRY FOR ALL THE TRANSGRESSIONS I HAVE PLYED ON MY BELOVED AND HEREBY APPOLOGISE

GODBLESS YOU ALL THE AFTERLIFE MESSENGER.COM KEN  "Turn the light off when you leave, will you?"

As usual I sit down with no idea what I am going to say. Which is really normal when you realize that you have no idea who you are saying it to. If it was a fishing buddy it would be a lie. If it was a drinking buddy it would be a lie. If it was a buddy buddy we would be something made up because I really have no memory. So I guess you could say that would be a lie too.

Like the rest of you out there I learned at a very young age how to lie. And from what I can tell everyone I know no matter how old they are we have all become consummate liars. I remember the 46 inch brown trout I caught in the Ogden river. Of course the line broke and I had to just guesstimate, but I am sure he was 46 inches.

Then there was the time when I rode the wildest horse in the world. In all actuality it was a mule. I had some very large corrals. One was about 50 feet across and another was about 100 feet across. They both had fences made out of railroad ties. They were a minimum of 8 feet tall. They were fantastic for training horses but I had one mule, her name was Louise, she was the most beautiful reddish brown color with the biggest deepest black eyes. She stood from the ground to the top of her withers (which is her back) right at around 6 feet.

I used the large corral as my training corral. Every time I hit the ground I would find a new rock. Not necessarily by landing on it, but by feeling it as I was getting up or stumbling over it. When I say rock I mean rock, about a foot in diameter or close to that. These we would throw outside the corral so all around the corral was a nice bed of rocks. The inside of the corral wasn't so bad. It was mostly horse shit that had been trampled on, broken up, weathered, and softened - usually dry. It made for a softer landing. When you train horses or mules you have a lot of landings.

While riding Louise one day or teaching her to be ridden she got the typical burr under her saddle and gave me a rodeo. I cleared the 8 foot fence, I know because as I passed over it I could see the bird droppings on top of the rails. And this beautiful rock paving that had been created around the outside of the corral was my landing field. I hurt my back and hip really bad and had to take a break.

During the winter months I preferred to use the smaller corral for working with an animal and left the rest of the animals in the larger corral of which there were eleven extras. This meant there was an abundance of fresh manure mixed with snow and water. The consistency of stucco. The smaller corral didn't get used for living in as much and didn't have as much manure in the bottom. One winter I had a couple of new animals I wanted to work but the snow had drifted and filled the corral all eight feet high. We tried the tractor and the backhoe to try and remove the snow drifts, but there it was drift, freeze, drift, freeze, drift, freeze, regular cycles. So the unused corral was not full of snow, but full of hard ice. Being unable to use the backhoe and I didn't have a bulldozer, but I did have dynamite.

Now I used dynamite all of the time. I would take the horses to the river each day for their drinks. When the river would freeze over two or three feet thick, I would use an ice auger and a stick of dynamite. This would open a hole large enough for the herd to get their fill of water. I decided to use one of the sayings that I live by, "THERE IS NO PROBLEM THAT CANNOT BE PROPERLY RECTIFIED BY THE PROPER Application OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES". So, I took my ice auger and I only had forty seven sticks of dynamite left in the case (they usually come fifty), so I was only able to drill forty seven holes in the ice in the corral. In the explosive business we use a product called primer cord. This is actually an explosive that looks like a piece of nylon rope. It burns at 28,000 feet per second, thus making it an explosive not a fuse. Most fuses burn at forty seconds to the foot. Some longer, some shorter. Not being able to count very high I always used the forty second per foot. That way I knew that for each foot of fuse I could get away from the explosion by running taking four foot per step - I could get one hundred feet away in forty seconds (or something like that), far enough to get out of harms way. When  you are blasting and you have several places  you want to blow up at the same time you tie them together with primer cord. That way everything that is hooked to the primer cord blows up instantaneously.

After drilling forty seven holes in the ice in my corral I placed one stick of dynamite in each hole. No sense having one or two sticks hanging around getting old. I figured I would use all I had left and get some new in the spring. After tying it all together with primer cord I put about fifty feet of fuse, one blasting cap, and about one hundred feet of distance between me and the corral. Now I need to explain that our house sat a quarter of a mile from the highway. Our nearest neighbor was just a bit over a mile away. My horses and mules loved fireworks. I had used them to teach them to handle the startling effect dynamite would have on them in the mountains. When the saw me putting dynamite in all of the holes I am sure the combination of seeing and smelling the dynamite let them know there was going to be an explosion. I did mention my nearest neighbor lived about a mile and a half away didn't I?

Well, when I touched off that case of dynamite and turned that many thousands of cubic feet of ice into very fine powder snow it only took a few minutes before my neighbor Ken Aimone came flying down my driveway in his truck to see if anyone was killed. As it turned out the only casualty was the frozen snow and ice. It had cleared that corral to the ground. There was not a bit of snow left in the corral. And I am sure the snow fell out of the air about a mile down the road. When Ken said, "Hey Ken, what the hell did you blow up? Is everybody ok?" I just pointed out to him that I was clearing out the corral that me, him, and his cousin couldn't do with our tractors. He said, "That is the biggest explosion I've ever seen, heard, and definitely felt. All I could see was that big white cloud over your ranch."

I did mention this was when I lived in Fort Bridger, Wyoming didn't I? All that fine powdered snow really resembled smoke. Knowing it was me and that I was always using dynamite on the ranch to train my animals he'd never paid attention before. But when this one went off he said he thought it was like Hiroshima and I can tell by the little smiles on the face of my typist that she remembers the incident well. She liked fireworks too; the bigger the better, the more the merrier. I think that was the biggest one she had ever seen too. So in the future if you have a problem that you can' solve any other way just remember "THERE IS NO PROBLEM THAT CANNOT BE PROPERLY RECTIFIED BY THE PROPER Application OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES".

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

We are fortunate that we don't live in Sodom and Gomorrah. It's lucky enough that we live by Lagoon.
Just because I've got the excuse of being sick and laying in bed, you don't...

Have a wonderful day - God Bless you all
Ken, the afterlife messenger (this is actually from me)