Keeping Portland Weird *Warning Male Nudity, Voodoo Doughnuts
I run a family blog here.
It's about 450 miles from Boise to Portland. That wouldn't be so bad if pilgrims in covered wagons weren't running the state of Oregon.
We left Boise on Saturday for Portland. It's an easy enough drive but woefully long- especially if you are carrying around an enlarged prostate and have to piss every 30 minutes. The longness of this trip is exacerbated by the ridiculous and sadistic 65 MPH Oregon speed limit- coupled with the most atrociously priced speeding tickets in the country. Tickets in Oregon are paid on an installment plan or with the aid of a large heloc or trust fund. They are legendary- especially in work zones.
For that reason alone, coupled with moonbats and helmet laws, I generally avoid Oregon like the plague. Every once in awhile, I go to Portland only because Portland is stuck between me and someplace I want to be. Maybe Cannon Beach to the south or La Center, Wa. which is a few miles north. Last weekend, Portland was the destination.
I don't know what it is about Portland, but I get lost every time I go there. Thank gawd for navigation devices. Our new Galaxy phones saved the day. I wonder what the hell we did before navigation devices. Got really pissed and wasted lots of gas- if I remember correctly.
On Saturday, we did the touristy thing and burned off 50 bucks in Portland's Japanese Garden. I was a little disappointed. Not only was the garden approximately the size of my front yard- but I did not even see one Japanese. Maybe a tall Korean and his wife. On our way out of the city, there was a small festival in the park. Portland is the land of festivus. These goofballs have a festival for everything. It reminds me of the "Trailing of the Sheep" festival in Moonbat Valley. For years, thousands upon thousands of smelly and stupid sheep make their way out of the mountains in the summer, down to lower ground in the fall. They travel right down the middle of state highway 75- blocking and annoying the hell out of motorists. Secretly, I always wanted to run over about 50 of them with my patrol car. Not only are they stupid, smelly, and noisy creatures but they leave a swath of sticky sheep dip behind them. Always the pessimist- I did not see the beauty in that event. I even sympathized with the hundreds of motorists who yelled at me about it. Eventually some wise moonbats, undoubtedly from Portland, decided to turn the sheep migration into an annual festival. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trailing_of_the_Sheep
We stopped at Voodoo Donuts. The line outside was at least 100 people deep. That was at 8 PM- that time of day when people in Portland glance at their watch and say, "It's about time for a doughnut." At Voodoo we got a box of Dirty Ol Bastards and maple bars adorned with strips of bacon. To call Voodoo Donuts wildly successful is an understatement. I was impressed. I ate two of them right away. http://voodoodoughnut.com/
The Oregon legislature passed a law many years ago- that forces gas station attendants to pump gas for motorists. You cannot do this yourself. Of course this makes gas about 20 cents more expensive per gallon- a small price to pay for such a high functioning and labor intensive task. You can't just let people pump their own gas in Oregon- or soon thereafter the neanderthals would be wielding squeegees and dripping bug water everywhere. At a station we stopped at- I offered the kid who pumped our gas one of those bacon covered maple bars. You'd a thought he hit the lottery.
Portland is weird. Really weird. It's something you just have to experience. I saw a guy standing on the sidewalk with nothing on but his tight fitting underwear. This might be his father.
It's about 450 miles from Boise to Portland. That wouldn't be so bad if pilgrims in covered wagons weren't running the state of Oregon.
We left Boise on Saturday for Portland. It's an easy enough drive but woefully long- especially if you are carrying around an enlarged prostate and have to piss every 30 minutes. The longness of this trip is exacerbated by the ridiculous and sadistic 65 MPH Oregon speed limit- coupled with the most atrociously priced speeding tickets in the country. Tickets in Oregon are paid on an installment plan or with the aid of a large heloc or trust fund. They are legendary- especially in work zones.
For that reason alone, coupled with moonbats and helmet laws, I generally avoid Oregon like the plague. Every once in awhile, I go to Portland only because Portland is stuck between me and someplace I want to be. Maybe Cannon Beach to the south or La Center, Wa. which is a few miles north. Last weekend, Portland was the destination.
I don't know what it is about Portland, but I get lost every time I go there. Thank gawd for navigation devices. Our new Galaxy phones saved the day. I wonder what the hell we did before navigation devices. Got really pissed and wasted lots of gas- if I remember correctly.
On Saturday, we did the touristy thing and burned off 50 bucks in Portland's Japanese Garden. I was a little disappointed. Not only was the garden approximately the size of my front yard- but I did not even see one Japanese. Maybe a tall Korean and his wife. On our way out of the city, there was a small festival in the park. Portland is the land of festivus. These goofballs have a festival for everything. It reminds me of the "Trailing of the Sheep" festival in Moonbat Valley. For years, thousands upon thousands of smelly and stupid sheep make their way out of the mountains in the summer, down to lower ground in the fall. They travel right down the middle of state highway 75- blocking and annoying the hell out of motorists. Secretly, I always wanted to run over about 50 of them with my patrol car. Not only are they stupid, smelly, and noisy creatures but they leave a swath of sticky sheep dip behind them. Always the pessimist- I did not see the beauty in that event. I even sympathized with the hundreds of motorists who yelled at me about it. Eventually some wise moonbats, undoubtedly from Portland, decided to turn the sheep migration into an annual festival. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trailing_of_the_Sheep
We stopped at Voodoo Donuts. The line outside was at least 100 people deep. That was at 8 PM- that time of day when people in Portland glance at their watch and say, "It's about time for a doughnut." At Voodoo we got a box of Dirty Ol Bastards and maple bars adorned with strips of bacon. To call Voodoo Donuts wildly successful is an understatement. I was impressed. I ate two of them right away. http://voodoodoughnut.com/
The Oregon legislature passed a law many years ago- that forces gas station attendants to pump gas for motorists. You cannot do this yourself. Of course this makes gas about 20 cents more expensive per gallon- a small price to pay for such a high functioning and labor intensive task. You can't just let people pump their own gas in Oregon- or soon thereafter the neanderthals would be wielding squeegees and dripping bug water everywhere. At a station we stopped at- I offered the kid who pumped our gas one of those bacon covered maple bars. You'd a thought he hit the lottery.
Portland is weird. Really weird. It's something you just have to experience. I saw a guy standing on the sidewalk with nothing on but his tight fitting underwear. This might be his father.
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| Most of us just say "No" to crack- not in Portland |
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