COOKING CLASSES IN FORT WORTH : IN FORT WORTH
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Cooking Classes In Fort Worth
- Fort Worth is a 1951 western film directed by Edwin L. Marin and starring Randolph Scott.
The Fort Worth Intermodal Transportation Center (ITC) is a Trinity Railway Express commuter rail and Amtrak intercity rail station located in Fort Worth, Texas at the corner of 9th and Jones Streets, on the northeast side of downtown Fort Worth.
A city in northern Texas, on the Trinity River, west of Dallas; pop. 534,694
a city in northeastern Texas (just to the west of Dallas); a major industrial center
- the act of preparing something (as food) by the application of heat; "cooking can be a great art"; "people are needed who have experience in cookery"; "he left the preparation of meals to his wife"
- The process of preparing food by heating it
- The practice or skill of preparing food
- Food that has been prepared in a particular way
- (cook) someone who cooks food
- (cook) prepare a hot meal; "My husband doesn't cook"
- (class) classify: arrange or order by classes or categories; "How would you classify these pottery shards--are they prehistoric?"
- Assign or regard as belonging to a particular category
- (class) a collection of things sharing a common attribute; "there are two classes of detergents"
- (class) a body of students who are taught together; "early morning classes are always sleepy"
08-07-10 - 165526
"Some of this shit might have actually happened.
Various hounds from the southern isle descended upon Saipan for the running of the Saipan H3. Rumors had floated down to us on the growing military base of Guam that Saipan's failing everything had chased off the pack. Tonsile Tickler mentioned he had only had about six to eight people at his shoe down-down run at the beginning of July...and he would never exagerrate. We started immediately looking at schedules and arranging a viable attack date for a re-invasion of the north; perhaps they could use the inflated income from our presence to buy more advertising on local cable stations (at $10.00 a pop - we were worth at least one hundred toward to cause...).
Frantic calls to tyrant for life Haj Fucking Kramden Sir never made it through that fine communication system their mismanagement has attained after some 25 years together so Ciega was clueless to our presence until the last minute. Fear not - JoeTen was open on Saturday afternoon. A message was left for Dogleg during the week as he was on Rota and the kind Filipina that answered the phone at his domicile was hard for me to understand while bomb explosions went off in the museum; she must have thought I was called from Kandahar or something...When he did return the call on Saturday, he was hanging out with his youngest hasher and holding down the fort while his wife went to a funeral. Bummer not getting a chance to hash with DogLeg but he did relay the message to Ciega that invaders had reached the hotels and were moving in via rental car.
Numbers swelled at the Bank of Guam and the hares were identified as Blowjob and Buster Brown. Haj PeeWee was in attendance as were Maxcheesmo, Gulag Queen, Mr. Happy Pockets, Spiderwoman, the aforementioned Ciega and Kramden, Semen Bisquit, and other stalwarts... Trail was announced at the Japanese Wireless Station; park in the cemetery. All of this sounded rather foreboding although the hounds responded in typical Saipan fashion..."Not again", "This always ends at ...insert place name here...", "I hope its better than his last shitty trail", etc.
The box was on the roof of a bombed out Japanese wireless structure from World War Two. The stairwell to the roof of said structure was steep, concrete, and covered in vegetation - add in rusting hand rails, bomb damage, and algae. When we reached the roof Haj's PeeWee and Fucking Kramden Sir pointed out that were large holes hidden somewhere under the foliage and that we should spread out the assembled pack of now some thirty hounds which included Haj Fucking Tampon (Little Rat Pellets absconded his rental car to head to the spa), Backwash, Silent But Deadly, Dugong and his wife, Just Josh (who Cockcaller had called "Gay Flower" all night the night before on the pub crawl), and Overdue Goo. After the interminable ten minute wait to chase chariot riding hares, we broke box as slowly as we could down the stairs so nobody would die...
Trail led directly into a marijuana field hidden in the tangantangan and across of former dump before emerging from the bush onto a coral road. The check broke rather obviously left as the tire tracks headed that way and the speed at which the on-on's had been dropped gained pace according to the streaks of flour now reaching nearly two feet. We hit another check and ran across a finely mowed yard (oh what will they do when they have to pay American minimum wages...I doubt some people in Saipan have done their own laundry in ten years). Trail broke into the jungle and immediately was slowed by the wild hibiscus, rattan, and grooved out soil and rock. A small ditch suddenly evolved into a trench and then into a full on dried out river ravine that had cut the surface down to bare limestone falls. Water was replaced by slimy rocks that made butt sliding the only option in some sections. Backwash ran with Haj Fucking Tampon and myself for quite some time as trees broke off in our grasp and vines would strangle each hound in order as you passed through them. Contortions of world class bank robbers were required to navigate through the uncut brush. Backwash slowly fell back as we pushed the pace down the river valley. Haj PeeWee could be heard descending the valley where he joined us at the bottom of the hill near Chalan pale Arnold Road. An easy check (another one) led us past a "Juan Babauta" campaign placard complete with a beer swilling Juan Babauta who said something that sounded like "Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada" as we passed by (I could be mistaken in that - after all he was running for office and I rarely hear them correctly or so it seems four years later).
A trio of trunk beer drinking guys by the warehouses in the industrial section of Saipan's northern Garapan and port area offered us Budweisers as Haj Pee Wee ran passed us in a creative shortcut through the buildings....athlete! Trail ended at some beach nea
08-07-10 - 165833
Tyrant giving instructions to the first-timers.
"Some of this shit might have actually happened.
Various hounds from the southern isle descended upon Saipan for the running of the Saipan H3. Rumors had floated down to us on the growing military base of Guam that Saipan's failing everything had chased off the pack. Tonsile Tickler mentioned he had only had about six to eight people at his shoe down-down run at the beginning of July...and he would never exagerrate. We started immediately looking at schedules and arranging a viable attack date for a re-invasion of the north; perhaps they could use the inflated income from our presence to buy more advertising on local cable stations (at $10.00 a pop - we were worth at least one hundred toward to cause...).
Frantic calls to tyrant for life Haj Fucking Kramden Sir never made it through that fine communication system their mismanagement has attained after some 25 years together so Ciega was clueless to our presence until the last minute. Fear not - JoeTen was open on Saturday afternoon. A message was left for Dogleg during the week as he was on Rota and the kind Filipina that answered the phone at his domicile was hard for me to understand while bomb explosions went off in the museum; she must have thought I was called from Kandahar or something...When he did return the call on Saturday, he was hanging out with his youngest hasher and holding down the fort while his wife went to a funeral. Bummer not getting a chance to hash with DogLeg but he did relay the message to Ciega that invaders had reached the hotels and were moving in via rental car.
Numbers swelled at the Bank of Guam and the hares were identified as Blowjob and Buster Brown. Haj PeeWee was in attendance as were Maxcheesmo, Gulag Queen, Mr. Happy Pockets, Spiderwoman, the aforementioned Ciega and Kramden, Semen Bisquit, and other stalwarts... Trail was announced at the Japanese Wireless Station; park in the cemetery. All of this sounded rather foreboding although the hounds responded in typical Saipan fashion..."Not again", "This always ends at ...insert place name here...", "I hope its better than his last shitty trail", etc.
The box was on the roof of a bombed out Japanese wireless structure from World War Two. The stairwell to the roof of said structure was steep, concrete, and covered in vegetation - add in rusting hand rails, bomb damage, and algae. When we reached the roof Haj's PeeWee and Fucking Kramden Sir pointed out that were large holes hidden somewhere under the foliage and that we should spread out the assembled pack of now some thirty hounds which included Haj Fucking Tampon (Little Rat Pellets absconded his rental car to head to the spa), Backwash, Silent But Deadly, Dugong and his wife, Just Josh (who Cockcaller had called "Gay Flower" all night the night before on the pub crawl), and Overdue Goo. After the interminable ten minute wait to chase chariot riding hares, we broke box as slowly as we could down the stairs so nobody would die...
Trail led directly into a marijuana field hidden in the tangantangan and across of former dump before emerging from the bush onto a coral road. The check broke rather obviously left as the tire tracks headed that way and the speed at which the on-on's had been dropped gained pace according to the streaks of flour now reaching nearly two feet. We hit another check and ran across a finely mowed yard (oh what will they do when they have to pay American minimum wages...I doubt some people in Saipan have done their own laundry in ten years). Trail broke into the jungle and immediately was slowed by the wild hibiscus, rattan, and grooved out soil and rock. A small ditch suddenly evolved into a trench and then into a full on dried out river ravine that had cut the surface down to bare limestone falls. Water was replaced by slimy rocks that made butt sliding the only option in some sections. Backwash ran with Haj Fucking Tampon and myself for quite some time as trees broke off in our grasp and vines would strangle each hound in order as you passed through them. Contortions of world class bank robbers were required to navigate through the uncut brush. Backwash slowly fell back as we pushed the pace down the river valley. Haj PeeWee could be heard descending the valley where he joined us at the bottom of the hill near Chalan pale Arnold Road. An easy check (another one) led us past a "Juan Babauta" campaign placard complete with a beer swilling Juan Babauta who said something that sounded like "Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada" as we passed by (I could be mistaken in that - after all he was running for office and I rarely hear them correctly or so it seems four years later).
A trio of trunk beer drinking guys by the warehouses in the industrial section of Saipan's northern Garapan and port area offered us Budweisers as Haj Pee Wee ran passed us in a creative shortcut through the bu
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