| |
 |
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
| |
| Grumpy Old Pharts Board Gerritol, Ex-Lax, Immodium, Bad Breath - all requirements for the Grumpy Board |
 |
03-01-2006, 11:00 AM
|
#1
|
|
Registered User
Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,595
|
Karl
Todays paper
the number of piping plovers in New England has surpassed a recovery goal for the region, with more than 600 pairs. Though increasing since 1986, the population is still under the total number required by the federal government.
|
|
|
|
|
|
03-01-2006, 02:37 PM
|
#2
|
|
Registered User
Join Date: Apr 2002
Posts: 5,945
|
Yes, read it while waiting at the CT place, about the Threatened Plover.
Cape is the leader in recovery etc. etc.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
03-01-2006, 05:31 PM
|
#3
|
|
Registered User
Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,595
|
sooooon real sooooooon
VB
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
03-01-2006, 10:09 PM
|
#4
|
|
Registered User
Join Date: Oct 2001
Location: Landlocked in my own prison
Posts: 1,031
|
I don't care what you guys say. They still taste like CHICKEN!!!!!
|
"Love is like a snowmobile racing across the tundra then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come."
Matt Groening, Life In Hell
|
|
|
|
|
03-02-2006, 06:40 AM
|
#5
|
|
Registered User
Join Date: Apr 2002
Posts: 5,945
|
Quote:
|
Originally Posted by Uncle Matt
I don't care what you guys say. They still taste like CHICKEN!!!!!
|
I always thoguht they tasted more like spotted owl 
And the other thing, ya gotta get 10-12 of the little bastages, to get a decent feed  |
|
|
|
|
|
|
03-02-2006, 11:42 AM
|
#6
|
|
Registered User
Join Date: Oct 2001
Location: Landlocked in my own prison
Posts: 1,031
|
Touche Karl, Touche......  |
"Love is like a snowmobile racing across the tundra then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come."
Matt Groening, Life In Hell
|
|
|
|
|
Posting Rules
|
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts
HTML code is Off
|
|
|
All times are GMT -5. The time now is 02:09 AM.
|
| |
Hybrid Mode