The Coffee Guy's blog

Serenity not Solitude Switched to Sympatico

As movement along the timeline continues, we shape and shear our life and longings.  Passage happens with the morphing of needs and wants.  Without willingness to change stagnation occurs.  As in other worlds I have known, my Muse has altered settings and sessions.

To be inspired is to be honoured with thoughts and ponderings of possibilities as well as benignancy.  As a society, the motion of ideas through language and communication is how new ideas and concepts are born.  Once bourne, these ideas meld into common usage and norms, progress is made, and the life of the cogent progresses.

I singularly delve into that which is for nought.  With and without those in my midst.  Amid change and charter is where the options appear.  The what of the why and how it comes from where when who gets them under the skin of awareness.  To peel back the skin of onion only reveals more skin-like membranes.

To those of whom I have assisted, and to those who have aided in my own ontogenesis, my gratitude is shown with my subjugation to greater randomness and disjunction with the status quo.  I veer fro and to agin’ the wind.  Test the waters and conjoin two or three ideas not like the others.  Read.  Observe.  Take in.

Our travel through time is an unstoppable reality.  As we grow our world grows.  We see and have seen more.  We lose and gain knowledge as the pipe of our cranium fills and overflows.  To take one thing for granted leaves us open for downfall.  Test and stress the limits of the world around.  I have always had one or two fires burning in the hearth of life.  Now I crave and relish the unknown more than ever.

May my Muse always challenge me.   How my mind minds things I am doing and my mind is thinking about.

Make it Macchiato Maria, gotta be sweet on you.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Exuberance Excites the Einstein in Each of Us

To witness whether one’s wiles have provided stimulation, rests on no laurels. Copper Enamelled or not.  The glint in the eyes is clear, the exuberance of expression and the clarity of the tongue are precise, Meaning and understanding come easily, both mind and expression the same.

To whit the stance, to whit the movement, to whit the sign of engagement.  As an electron is excited movement and heat increases.  As a human is excited, the glow shows.  The duration depends on the inputs. Whereas an electron can immediately stop and start its heat production, when gathered in many in human form, the ongoing overflow is obvious.

At this time of year many things are heated.  Heat your house, your car, your feet, your body, your mind.  The mind stimulated can result in the others doing the same.  The power of the cranium be never underestimated.  By weigh proportionally, we, Man, carry the largest brain.  If you use it enough, the exercise only expands the dendritically connected cells.

The more connections, the better the operation of this tool.  Mastering it should be a goad for everyone.  Some practice, and some do not.  The obviosity of this effort is easily shown and seen.  Effort and results, as with everything, more leads to more.  Strain those connections to the limit, as with credit it will be extended.  With me it becomes Music, math and creation.  I will not rest it lest it becomes lethargic. 

I find the winter months are best for development.  Smaller rooms lead to less wandering, less wandering leads to a concentrated effort of design.  Both depth and breadth need exploring.  This is not a surgical operation but by using the blunt tools and those yet unpracticed with.  The eyes are the window not only to the soul but to the knowledge not yet understood.

Give it some Ginger as you pour Gretta and make it black.

ark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Sun and Swill on a Sunday

As the gold orb rose, and the Riff Raff rousted, plans proceeded preciously preening probable uses of the hours.  It only lasted a few, and I was out for it all.  As air nearing the lake to the east became cooler, we rode west young man.  Into the reserve not using mine.  The S was sipping but for a few needed twists to catch up at times.  And I did.

Fresh and nippy, burping and squawking at the beginning, expected after a long cold winter.  All that should and could tan did by all reports.  Some had donned too many and some not enough.  Herds and heards about as we wended our ways.   Each decision based on which was the turniest, and which would deliver the most fun. 

Hill and dale welcomed up at each juncture.  Some on muscle power had us using the French contractor routes.  Some gravel and some lined, most were free of encumbrances.  Sightseeing stops added and passed the golden orb hung up all day.  Stopping for a tube steak and pommes frites added a fresh resolve to rip’r again. 

Thinking of others and pass times of theirs, glad that all would be out that day.  As expected, vintage and resto’s shared the bitumen readily and often.  Shined up and ready for the ocular receptors.  Playing “my car, your car” in my head.  Would I wonder if?  Spring breezes pushing and pulling on my decisions on which direction would be next.  See a turn, miss a turn, take a turn for the better.

Each dodge and weave a new sense and sensibilia.  Winter begone my friend.  The super-tropics brings a shorts summer, stilted again this year with a shortened spring.  Eagerness to make rotations on the twos, decisions to be made on which ones.  I try to keep the wear and tear even, but sometimes the decision is made for me by the destination.

T'was good to get out twisting and turning till the sun tipped off the horizon.  Next day, next bike, next ride, next adventure.

Make the steam curl Maria, I like the aroma that way.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Sap Sucking Super Sugar Day

It has been time in the making waiting for tapping.  It is neigh.  With a double capacity tree, we will be maxing out on the gallonage.  In the southern urban areas, the season is short.  If time permits, I might even do some offing with cellulose fuel.   Maybe just finishing off.

Back at the ole stead we tapped 40 with 100 buckets.  Had some good times drawing and boiling.  Warm sunny spring days, cool nights just below freezing.  Crusty mornings and slushy afternoons.  Ideal for the running of the drops.  Each bucket 2 gallons, good days we would empty twice a day.  You do the math this time.

With guests and the buttered rum and Glühwein flowing time passed pleasantly.  We would ski the X country style and shoe the snow style.  In the mornings the snow was hard enough to walk on.  Times were hard and soft.  Fire burning endlessly.

The sweet nectar reduced by 40, thick and sticky when poured on the snow.  Great on toast, pancakes, cereal or desserts.  The home stuff always tasted better.  And we used to grade it with a chart long gone now unfortunately.  The farmer down the road hosted the Lion’s pancake breakfast at his bush, hundreds would show up for pancakes and sausage outside in the sunny March days.

We would oft walk there the two miles to avoid the soft shoulder parking which always sucked in a few cars from the townies.  You live on a gravel road; you know you never drive near a shoulder in the spring.   Facts be as they are, we never drove near the side at any time of year.  Just a thing.  Spring would rise some corduroy up through the gravel to be graded over later in the thaw.

The budding out would end the boil off.  Tart tasting sap only produces similarly flavoured syrup.  You can’t take the tase out, you can only strengthen it.  Will be fun for the Covid Spring, and hopefully less violent that the Arab one.

Add a little sweet today Cinthia, the French roast needs it.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C.

Mask Myth Miasma Mollifies Mobs

 

You ask and hitherto consider yourself denied.  Regulations are not laws of neither physics or moralities.  Something Hume might had heard or heralded.  Aske your self not what your mask can do for you, but what others can do for your mask.

Askew is neither off nor abhorrent.  Altered is both odd and obvious.  Asunder is not bold or bright.  Abhorrent is not a Karen state of mind.  Can you consider the confines of Covid consternation?  Abolitionists came from Ambrosia seeking truth through the abyss of information.

Asinine asking for an abyss to burst while claiming ailments of asthmatic proportions will not wash.  Wear what you swear.  Smile inside your wearage, I cannot breathe my fumaric waste any more than the last person to die of cleaner air.  I exhale at solar temperatures and my visual aids steam up instantly; hence I don’t read anything inside.  Not using my outside vision.

Obviosity of obfuscated messages be damned.  Laser guided by past visitations gets me around said domiciles or distinguishing detours. That French Contractor gets all the jobs!  If I touch your touche, it could be my territory or tract.  No trash here. I surmise my blindness is as common as a commoner in a commune.

Up sided, downsizing assists us all in indebtedness.  We get the tea so we pay the Man.  Bostonians included.  Balderdash pushes social media to the brink of irrelevance.  Lest we dispute the silly and ignore the mania, we may ourselves become part of the nonsensical solutions.

Are we really in new times?  Are we destined to facialize for a fortnight more?  Will the second nothing engender us to become perciod?  Schooling through such that it is? 

Shorter is better Sheila, make it black.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C

There is no PC in an AC World, Power of the People

There is now a new time reference. You heard it here first. It will be common to say things like, "in the days P.C., we would do such and such." Or perhaps "It's not been done A.C. like it was done P.C." The new terms of course refer to Pre-Covid, and After-Covid. This will be the norm. You read it here first!

Why this is important, the last date reference was based on a death, and an un substantiated resurrection. Now too will the death and resurrection be the standard. Its just as well, I am tired of so many numbers in the dates. Oh yeah there will be a few issues like all the spaces on cheques and computer forms for the date.

On the up side, I can use a bit of 001 in my life. We will all be number 1. Might even drop the whole Gregorian month thing and just use the number of the day of the year. Easy peasy. We are used to it now as we are all counting days of confinement. Just carry on down the number.

So here 26 A.C. I scribble my musings mostly mistakenly on my Motherboard. Posing postulations post haste. Today to sanitize or sort old photos. Both boring, both time consuming, both satisfying. As Time Banking has not yet caught on, (see the post on this blog), this may in fact be a time to pick up that gavel and bash on the international time system. Atomic clocks be damned.

Have any of you visited on of the three sites on the orb that distribute the international time signal? I have. The array of antennae is immense, each site has three atomic clocks that transmit the “exact” time. Set up to operate in perpetuity. Generators, back-ups of back-ups. We could toss this whole system A.C..

Even though the irritating world dominance of OLD time systems. We are at a possible cusp of change. No bicuspid for me.

Cherish that grind Crisinda, I like it dark and swirling.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C

In My Garage

It all began with a roundabout drive home through a part of my neighbourhood I don't often go through. Rounding a corner I caught out of the corner of my eye a ”FREE” sign. Always up for something free I backed up in my car and eyed a sign on the side of a motorbike. After the two guys already kicking the tires had confirmed they had to go ask a wife if they could have it. I immediately stated, “Don't bother, I’ll take it”.

I secured the ownership from the guy with it up for grabs and drive the short distance home to tell my wife while she was driving me back to pick up the bike. I pushed it the two blocks home and beamed at my newly acquired ride. I felt like I hit the lottery. I took pictures while my wife wondered what she had just abetted me in bringing home. A 1972 CB350 K4. No pipes, broken side cover, rust dirt, and many other missing or broken parts.

That was the start of a 20 month odyssey into the vintage Asian bike world. With no time on my hands that summer I stored the bike in my shed till November. Dragging the unlikely suspect to my garage I marvelled at all the stuff I hadn’t noticed before. More missing parts, jury rigged parts, and aftermarket changes to the original model. As I had rebuilt four Honda PA50 Mopeds vintages from 1979 to 1982 my first instinct was to strip all the parts down and see what I really had.

Month 3. After pulling the tank and a few other parts, the thought occurred to me that I might have more on my plate than I bargained for. I decided to see if it would actually fire and ensure the engine was in principle in working order. Pouring some gas in the carbs and getting some juice to the starting circuit, I prepared to kick it over. With no pipes or manifolds now on the bike after two kicks I was scared ****less by a roar I had not expected so easily.

Fire shot out of the cylinders and lights came on! I screamed with delight! I ran in a got my wife to film the next blast on our digital cam. It’s still on my Facebook page. I finished the strip in a couple of days setting aside the parts which definitely needed replacement, and listing others I would replace anyhow. Tired but satisfied with work well done. Little did I know of the availability of parts for this bike? Once the bike was stripped and the motor was on a working mount, I started visiting my local Honda dealer. Encouraged and discouraged at the same time. Necessary parts No Longer Available (NLA), many parts still in stock; I started piling up the new parts in a box. The remainder of the bike now in six large boxes with assemblies in zip-lock bags.

My winter challenge would be the motor. First stripping it down and refinishing it. I determined that the tranny or lower part of the motor was fine with only 20,000 miles on it, if the odometer was accurate. The kids went together and bought me vintage rubber for Christmas. Refinishing, buffing, painting all the parts as close to the spec of a new bike. New pistons and many other internal engine parts. By the end of January, the motor was finished and ready for the frame.

Month 5. The frame was sent to a powder coater. While I knew this was not original, I knew the finish and final result would be superior. Now with the motor finished and spring coming soon I started to clean and replace the remainder of the parts. My buffing wheel and solvent well were working overtime. Every night from parts soaking the radiant aroma of solvent permeated the lower half of our house. I really needed the frame so I could determine more fully if I needed more parts.

It took more 5 months. The powder coater had problems with his furnace and delay and threat turned into more delays. In the mean time I amassed the chrome parts needed to be rechromed, and the list of NLA parts grew. I started searching the internet and Ebay. I knew all the vintage and Bike parts dealers in a 200 mile radius and on line. Parts dribbled in. Some were not the original parts and had either to be discarded or resold.

Month 10. Chrome was the easiest. Thank God as I was getting tired and discouraged just looking for parts. With the best parts I had from several sources I delivered the mass of partially restored parts to the chrome shop. The quote was in ($900) and the delivery day set (six weeks exactly). As I continued to wait for the frame and get smaller brackets and parts painted or rebuilt, I also had to start considering the colour painted parts. While I would let any good paint shop work on the gloss black bracket, I wanted a paint job on the forks, tank and side covers to exactly match the showroom. There are many paint shops who said they would do it. Few which would consent to OE paint standards, and none which would do hand painted pin striping.

After the mid to late seventies most of the Asian bikes were using decals for stripes and shapes on their tanks and covers. Mine had to be old enough to need that special touch. Too many shops saying they paint are simply guys wanting to be artists and have no knowledge of the craft of painting. Word passed around, I strolled bike shows and cruise nights. I no longer visited the shops; I simply phoned and asked if they could do the original. Finally, one shop said yes and I brought the pieces by. Another $900 quote and a promise for a completion date in six weeks. I okayed both.

By now I had to pick up the chrome, on time and to the penny of the quote. Like new but with more gleam and depth to the chrome. Techniques have improved vastly. But I still by this time had no frame and a garage full of carefully rebuilt and restored parts and assemblies. I so wanted to put this thing together. I would return and watch the short video of the beast starting up with gas poured down the carbs. More parts from the New Old Stock NOS market, both from dealers who had parts but would not ship out of the United States, and from others who would only deal in Cash or certified cheques, as well as the ubiquitous Ebay account.

The frame shows up and I immediately drop the motor in it. The slick shiny black contrasted with the gleaming silvers of the power plant make me giddy. I slide on the rear fender for more effect. Wow! Startling in its simplicity. Assembly begins in earnest without the painted parts.

While I am relatively able to assess parts and assemblies, I missed the mark on a number of them both in terms of originality as well as extent of rebuilding required. So back to the parts guys and on-line purchases. Over this whole time, I have procured a CD of the micro fiche for my bike so now I know all the exact original part numbers and assembly tricks. I had also found and kept many pictures of various bikes out there, noting wiring, cabling, and tubing routes. I also noted those bikes which were not original and in what way. I could now tell at a glance if a bike was true to form very quickly.

Month 12. Late August the paint is finished and the final assembly happens. Ready to start up and test drive I go over the spec sheet and repair manual for anything I might have missed. Anything out of place or that might be dangerous or unsafe. After all, this bike would go a lot faster than the four Mopeds I had rebuilt. All seemed generally in place. I looked great! A few beauty shots in case the whole thing blew up when I cranked it over.

I fired it up just before a buddy of mine (a Harley owner) dropped by. Up the road one way, back past the other. It died. I coasted home. Fuel or spark? I lay on the ground trying to see what I could be. After a couple of hours, I slinked it back in the garage for an open book examination. I was to emotional out there in public to think this through. With the manual open and gauges and tools nearby, I marched my way through trouble shooting. A blown fuse and the spark advance plate retaining pin out of place stopped me on my test drive.

More checking and more checking I was ready for another ride. The bike started easily and sounded great. Shifted well and pulled like a horse. I was thrilled but it was late in the year now, one week before the Canadian Thanksgiving week end. Oh well there is always next year. But maybe one last ride. I pull out and go shifting into third and the motor just stops. I cruise back the shop and go through the trouble shooting again.

Month 15. Out comes the motor and I strip down the motor. Getting into the cams I discover that the two bolts holding the cam on the shaft have sheared off. 35 years old and they just couldn’t handle loosening and retorquing. To compound the problem the wobble of the cam chain has allowed the chain to chew through the inside of the cylinder casting. A mad scramble for another cylinder block and more cleaning and glass beading. Back on the road briefly before the snow flies.

Little note from a fact page about the bike. “The CB350 was the highest selling Motorcycle in American history, shifting more than 300,000 units in its six-year run. Add the CL350 and SL350 variants and the figure goes to 626,000! The CB350 had a twin cylinder, over-head cam, air cooled engine. It had two carbs, a five-speed gearbox and an electric starter. It proved to be very reliable, even without maintenance. It was truly an 'everyman' motorcycle that appealed to a mass audience. It made 36bhp@10,000rpm, and weighed in at 370lb's.”

Month 20. The spring arrives and I win the best Asian bike at The Canadian Vintage Motorcycle Show. Kudos and stares at cruise nights. Bike of the night at several places. A dream to ride and pulling strong. Would I do it again? You bet! Differently. I would buy all and any new bolts and nuts for any parts being stripped off or rebuilt. I would be more patient and give more lead time for large items like paint and chrome. I would automatically replace all rubber parts. A bigger better buffing machine and a sandblasting area in my garage. In the end I have a vintage bike everyone recognizes. A bike which stops any passerby, and starts many a conversation. The CB350 K4 is a great starter rebuild with many rewards along the way.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019

Broken, Pinned, and Cast

So one small slip and there you are pined and cast.  No more plaster on this body though, I know Noah and that boat and beasts used it: nothing that old is going on OR in my body unless its Scotch.

So a fortnight with a splint.   Looks like a cast, feels like a cast,,,,,, well, it’s not a duck anyhow.  Been under?  Not down under, not under the influence, not under the covers or under cover, not under the weather or under paid.  Not under slung or swayback, not under wired or under-serviced.  

Just under?

Saw it coming, missed it and woke up thinking I was still waiting for it.

Yup was under.

Now with stanchions of steel screwed or bolted to my interior I feel even more like the man of steel.  Well so much for tricking out at the airport.  I had a strategy which worked seamlessly.  Knew which shoes, belt, shirt, trousers, everything to wear to do the screening waltz.  Nary a time did I ever go for a search or a Wanda weenie.

Although I found that in the early testing days of the round about, it was faster to go in those lines.

So on a level, if Zeno’s paradox and the Fibonacci serial, the senses are piqued.  VERY UNCOMFORTABLE.  Would I say it was pain?  Not in a pure sense like at the point if impact.  That hurt.  This, distracting, irritation, of a pestering pant, yep now it hurts.

Not that there are not sundry apothecial supplements available to me.  But as ya’ knows, I am a natural man. 

Brain freeze, gotta move or drop some.

Make it quick Francesca, I need the jolt.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

Cruising, Down the River on a Sunday Afternoon

No trick or trade today.  Just here for the trunk sale.  Since when were trunks so desirable?  I remember when they were worn all summer, just in case you came across a pond, or river, or creek, or lake.  Jump in, swim out and back or across.  Never had a direction so we just went there.

Out and dry off.  Nows’a days chew gonna need a towel, permit, permission, guardian, and probably a responsible person.  How was it that when we were so irresponsible, we lived long enough to be responsible?  What is your response to that?  Repossession of your potentiality will lead a predilection of your pulchritude.

Make it and they will materialize I say.  The doctor is in, not indulgent.  A scant few have seen my scantling collection and how it has been deployed and employed.   I implore you to seek it out and allow those ideas morph and meander into your group crania.  Perhaps the dissemination not inseminating of this germ impregnates your grey matter enough to open the seven orifices of the head to glean creative insight.

The art is within the beholder not in the object.  I object to the objectification of that which has not been criticized as art.  Otherwise why else would we have Art “Critics” and not Art “Appreciants”?  Film Critics, not Film Fanatics?   We have Car or Auto Reviewers, not Car Critics.  We have Program Evaluators and not Program Dissenters.

Nothing but flatulent flabellums foisting their fancy on folk.  Creation was not done in seven days.  Creation is an ever-changing, ongoing, everlasting, advancing, forever unfolding, open ended, continuing, circulating, cutting edge, rampant forge down an unknown path.  You cannot be boxed in.  Need I bring futurists into the picture?  Gene Roddenberry, Robert Heinlein, George Orwell.  I could go on.  They were not talking the future so much as creating a possibility.  Creating.

We don’t need a book review to tell us what was creative about the output from these guys, it just was.  Come into my garage and hand me a wrench.  That is an act of creativity.  Or part thereof.  A large stint in my humble surrounds below our house is spent looking and evaluating, parsing possibilities, holding up a piece of steel and thinking, “will it work only if I can……”.

There are times when the old, tried and true, works.  That is when art has been transformed into technology.  First there is art.  Then it is quantified.

Plead me not into temptation to buy technology when I can create a solution.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.  Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

 

 

 

Up s the Down Side of Delivery

If ever you neve need to know that which is unknown, then don’t.  USPS or anything other than the UP Service.  In My Opinion these “people” need to take a read form the basic customer service booklette.  The “ette” because I’sa knows that the whole enchilada would be way too verbose for such weenies.

40 bucks is too dangerous for them to carry.  But alas they do not carry mobile Chargex machines either!  On no!.  Your neighbourhood may be too dangerous for their ilk. Oh yeah, I am in downtown while bread Splitlip nowhere.  Waaaay  to verifiable for those shorts clad weenies!

And now for the pies de resistance!  They conjure up usury for delivery.  24 bucks for a vintage Tee outa The Big Apple.  25 bucks for delivery.  And get this, 40 bucks for brokerage fees!  Whatttttttttttttttttttttttttt????????????

So I get a vintage Tee for another 80% interest charged for  uhh….errr.. I don’t know.  They claim it comes to the brokerage, read, the Ups people reading the outside of the package and “valuing it as the number claimed on the outside.  Oh and they claim the Value includes the shipping.  So now I pay HST GST PST ABC, PCB and all the other alphabet soup on each other and the shipping which is already charged by the Ups syndicate.

So better than the government , they tax the tax which was taxed on purchase and paid tax on already claiming  the tax was apportioned on the unpaid paid portion in apportionment of the accordant by laws.   Yup, hold on let me bend over.  I breathe better that way.  With my cranium up my anus.

So not only do the pretty boys in brown not take cash at your door, their depots don’t take cash.  So I a’wanna be the account rep who gloms onto the sales bonus for those bozzoi who have to pay for allllllll their Cash On Hand as a business.

So their dolla is only worth say 96 cents.  ( after the creditage)   No wonder they have to charge usury rates for brokerage.

Oh yeah one better.  If I had have had the item sent via a more expensive route ie, air: there would not be any brokerage fees!

Whattttttttt?

Yup, spend less get more screw down on the up wards.

Peed again.  Never request or send via themsa.

Get me a strong pull Paulette.  Amber, not Brown.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.  Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.