The Ethics Of Killing Abortion Doctors

Posted in Uncategorized by chamblee54 on May 31, 2009



PG arrived at Uzi’s house about 3pm. The plan was to walk through the yard, and discuss what plants needed to die. This was going to be great fun for PG, since he could recommend anything, and not have to do any work. There were some weed trees, evil privet, and shrubs that had outlived their usefulness. PG took the Hitler approach…kill them all.

The next stop was Sope Creek. SC is a part of the National Parks around the Chattahoochee River. It is pretty standard for such venues…parking lot, trail, water at the bottom of a steep hill. A shady parking spot was secured, and the appropriate trail found.

The goal was to get to the creek, where the polluted water runs over the rocks. The trail started out as a wide thing for mountain bikes, but soon there was the turnoff to get to the creek, The trail got narrow and rocky. Uzi began to wonder if it was worth the effort, but PG wanted to see polluted water running over rocks. It reminds him of home.

The path got steeper and steeper, and soon the sound of polluted water was in the air. The smell of the water was overcome by the sap happy pine trees. Soon, the last part of the trail turned into rocks, and the two old fogeys were at the creek. Across the stream was the ruins of a mill… no doubt destroyed by the dastardly Yankees during the war of northern aggression.

PG decided to walk on the edge of the creek, going upstream a careful step at a time. Uzi followed reluctantly. Soon, a path seemed to go back uphill, and the pair started up this path. The path disappeared in a welter of poison ivy, and the two explorers went upstream a few paces more. Finally, a path to the top appeared, and went all the way to the mountain bike trail. This was more exercise than Uzi had committed in some time.

After the parking lot appeared, it was time to discuss dinner. It was decided that the staff at Piccadilly was too accustomed to their sunday patronage, and that an alternative was needed. After much debate, the Flying Biscuit on Roswell Road was selected. A blond on the patio, separated from PG by a sheet of glass, had a gesture filled discussion with a cigarette smoking friend. PG and Uzi sensed drama, and that it was someone else’s fault.

PG had some kind of veggie burger, with a side of spiced potatoes. Uzi had a barbecue burrito. PG enjoyed his burger, although he knew he would want more food when he got home.

The restaurant manager came by the table to ask how they liked the food, and how did you hear about the biscuit. The manager held the door as the PG and Uzi left. The Piccadilly Cafeteria asked restaurant central where PG and Uzi were, but got an uncertain reply. The Flying Biscuit is a no snitch facility.



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