I’m super creative, so I used the name people call me in the real world.
I think Push wins the Interwebz today…
Usmccds423 = Marine + initials + birthday. Nothing too crazy really. I almost went with my original email username Mr.Hanky423 (I was 12 or so at the time)
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Back around the spring of 1980 or '81 on Burns Creek in the badlands of eastern Montana we had this Hereford cow who was having a tough time calving. It was March and still raw and bitter cold and she went on the fight when we corralled her to pull her big bull calf. This happened right next to an uninhabited old sod house that was still standing, and still livable for that matter (I think it’s some kind of state historical site nowadays).
He was breech and the first part of his big ol’ head had been introduced to the world but that was it. The rest of his body was hung up, literally, in the recesses of mama’s womb. In that type situation you’ve got a limited amount of time to deliver the lil feller or it’s bovine heaven or hell for the both of 'em.
We headed her. We heeled her. We hobbled her. She was rank. We tied her head to a center post in the corral. She wanted to kill either or both of us – us being the quintessential old tough-as-nails rancher I worked for, and me, a 20 year old cowboy wannabe. Her snot flew in the March wind. Her bellows could be heard a half mile away. It was a rather tense situation.
We put the calf puller (think “come-a-long” for baby calves) on his front feet and jacked and jacked while Mama screamed bloody murder. He was just too big a boy (you’ve got to pick your herd bulls right or this becomes a real problem 285 days after all the fun ends, i.e., cattle copulation).
We got the head out. His eyes were trying to blink through the thick coating of uterine mucous but his shoulders wouldn’t breach the portal.
So we tied one end of a lariat to his front legs. Tied the other to the trailer hitch ball of the ranch pickup on the other side of the round corral fence. I skinnied over the corral and started the pickup.
Waited for the cue from the rancher.
“Go!”
I put the pickup in gear (manual tranny) and eased it forward.
The rope tightened.
Mama bawled somethin’ awful.
He wouldn’t come.
Got the rope tight as a fiddle string and the rancher told me to set the parking brake.
I did.
Then he hollered at me to get out of the rig and come back and join him.
He had me stand on the rope which was about two feet off the ground and hold on to his shoulders just shy of the rear end of the cow.
Mama screamed some more.
Then he had me bounce up and down on the rope with both feet. It was quite the sight.
Baby boy started to inch his way out.
I bounced some more.
She screamed some more.
We both urged her to push harder.
She did.
Junior finally popped out.
We cleared his mouth and nose of mucous. He took his first breaths.
We took him home in the cab of the pickup with the heater blasting and the pungent smell of afterbirth saturating the interior (it never went away, that pickup smelled that way for years) and bottle nursed him in the basement of the house.
He made it.
Mama couldn’t stand up for days. She was able to smooch herself around and eat the afterbirth as is the custom.
She ended up dying a month or so later. Too much trauma.
I learned that day that even though it might kill you later on you’ve got to push harder. You’ve got to. After all what’s the alternative? Puss’ out? Nah.
When life gets tough it’s time to buck up.
Squats and milk.[/quote]
If I were a girl I’d be swooning right now.
[quote]Cortes wrote:
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Back around the spring of 1980 or '81 on Burns Creek in the badlands of eastern Montana we had this Hereford cow who was having a tough time calving. It was March and still raw and bitter cold and she went on the fight when we corralled her to pull her big bull calf. This happened right next to an uninhabited old sod house that was still standing, and still livable for that matter (I think it’s some kind of state historical site nowadays).
He was breech and the first part of his big ol’ head had been introduced to the world but that was it. The rest of his body was hung up, literally, in the recesses of mama’s womb. In that type situation you’ve got a limited amount of time to deliver the lil feller or it’s bovine heaven or hell for the both of 'em.
We headed her. We heeled her. We hobbled her. She was rank. We tied her head to a center post in the corral. She wanted to kill either or both of us – us being the quintessential old tough-as-nails rancher I worked for, and me, a 20 year old cowboy wannabe. Her snot flew in the March wind. Her bellows could be heard a half mile away. It was a rather tense situation.
We put the calf puller (think “come-a-long” for baby calves) on his front feet and jacked and jacked while Mama screamed bloody murder. He was just too big a boy (you’ve got to pick your herd bulls right or this becomes a real problem 285 days after all the fun ends, i.e., cattle copulation).
We got the head out. His eyes were trying to blink through the thick coating of uterine mucous but his shoulders wouldn’t breach the portal.
So we tied one end of a lariat to his front legs. Tied the other to the trailer hitch ball of the ranch pickup on the other side of the round corral fence. I skinnied over the corral and started the pickup.
Waited for the cue from the rancher.
“Go!”
I put the pickup in gear (manual tranny) and eased it forward.
The rope tightened.
Mama bawled somethin’ awful.
He wouldn’t come.
Got the rope tight as a fiddle string and the rancher told me to set the parking brake.
I did.
Then he hollered at me to get out of the rig and come back and join him.
He had me stand on the rope which was about two feet off the ground and hold on to his shoulders just shy of the rear end of the cow.
Mama screamed some more.
Then he had me bounce up and down on the rope with both feet. It was quite the sight.
Baby boy started to inch his way out.
I bounced some more.
She screamed some more.
We both urged her to push harder.
She did.
Junior finally popped out.
We cleared his mouth and nose of mucous. He took his first breaths.
We took him home in the cab of the pickup with the heater blasting and the pungent smell of afterbirth saturating the interior (it never went away, that pickup smelled that way for years) and bottle nursed him in the basement of the house.
He made it.
Mama couldn’t stand up for days. She was able to smooch herself around and eat the afterbirth as is the custom.
She ended up dying a month or so later. Too much trauma.
I learned that day that even though it might kill you later on you’ve got to push harder. You’ve got to. After all what’s the alternative? Puss’ out? Nah.
When life gets tough it’s time to buck up.
Squats and milk.[/quote]
If I were a girl I’d be swooning right now.
[/quote]
Cuz you like to eat the afterbirth?
[quote]dmaddox wrote:
[quote]Cortes wrote:
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Back around the spring of 1980 or '81 on Burns Creek in the badlands of eastern Montana we had this Hereford cow who was having a tough time calving. It was March and still raw and bitter cold and she went on the fight when we corralled her to pull her big bull calf. This happened right next to an uninhabited old sod house that was still standing, and still livable for that matter (I think it’s some kind of state historical site nowadays).
He was breech and the first part of his big ol’ head had been introduced to the world but that was it. The rest of his body was hung up, literally, in the recesses of mama’s womb. In that type situation you’ve got a limited amount of time to deliver the lil feller or it’s bovine heaven or hell for the both of 'em.
We headed her. We heeled her. We hobbled her. She was rank. We tied her head to a center post in the corral. She wanted to kill either or both of us – us being the quintessential old tough-as-nails rancher I worked for, and me, a 20 year old cowboy wannabe. Her snot flew in the March wind. Her bellows could be heard a half mile away. It was a rather tense situation.
We put the calf puller (think “come-a-long” for baby calves) on his front feet and jacked and jacked while Mama screamed bloody murder. He was just too big a boy (you’ve got to pick your herd bulls right or this becomes a real problem 285 days after all the fun ends, i.e., cattle copulation).
We got the head out. His eyes were trying to blink through the thick coating of uterine mucous but his shoulders wouldn’t breach the portal.
So we tied one end of a lariat to his front legs. Tied the other to the trailer hitch ball of the ranch pickup on the other side of the round corral fence. I skinnied over the corral and started the pickup.
Waited for the cue from the rancher.
“Go!”
I put the pickup in gear (manual tranny) and eased it forward.
The rope tightened.
Mama bawled somethin’ awful.
He wouldn’t come.
Got the rope tight as a fiddle string and the rancher told me to set the parking brake.
I did.
Then he hollered at me to get out of the rig and come back and join him.
He had me stand on the rope which was about two feet off the ground and hold on to his shoulders just shy of the rear end of the cow.
Mama screamed some more.
Then he had me bounce up and down on the rope with both feet. It was quite the sight.
Baby boy started to inch his way out.
I bounced some more.
She screamed some more.
We both urged her to push harder.
She did.
Junior finally popped out.
We cleared his mouth and nose of mucous. He took his first breaths.
We took him home in the cab of the pickup with the heater blasting and the pungent smell of afterbirth saturating the interior (it never went away, that pickup smelled that way for years) and bottle nursed him in the basement of the house.
He made it.
Mama couldn’t stand up for days. She was able to smooch herself around and eat the afterbirth as is the custom.
She ended up dying a month or so later. Too much trauma.
I learned that day that even though it might kill you later on you’ve got to push harder. You’ve got to. After all what’s the alternative? Puss’ out? Nah.
When life gets tough it’s time to buck up.
Squats and milk.[/quote]
If I were a girl I’d be swooning right now.
[/quote]
Cuz you like to eat the afterbirth?
[/quote]
That story made me swoon. Push has a way with words.
Afterbirth is nutritious. But having been through the process of childbirth I wouldn’t eat it. Its a smelly bloody nasty event. I totally would if i gave birth in the wild. Recycle that bitch.
[quote]theBeth wrote:
[quote]dmaddox wrote:
[quote]Cortes wrote:
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Back around the spring of 1980 or '81 on Burns Creek in the badlands of eastern Montana we had this Hereford cow who was having a tough time calving. It was March and still raw and bitter cold and she went on the fight when we corralled her to pull her big bull calf. This happened right next to an uninhabited old sod house that was still standing, and still livable for that matter (I think it’s some kind of state historical site nowadays).
He was breech and the first part of his big ol’ head had been introduced to the world but that was it. The rest of his body was hung up, literally, in the recesses of mama’s womb. In that type situation you’ve got a limited amount of time to deliver the lil feller or it’s bovine heaven or hell for the both of 'em.
We headed her. We heeled her. We hobbled her. She was rank. We tied her head to a center post in the corral. She wanted to kill either or both of us – us being the quintessential old tough-as-nails rancher I worked for, and me, a 20 year old cowboy wannabe. Her snot flew in the March wind. Her bellows could be heard a half mile away. It was a rather tense situation.
We put the calf puller (think “come-a-long” for baby calves) on his front feet and jacked and jacked while Mama screamed bloody murder. He was just too big a boy (you’ve got to pick your herd bulls right or this becomes a real problem 285 days after all the fun ends, i.e., cattle copulation).
We got the head out. His eyes were trying to blink through the thick coating of uterine mucous but his shoulders wouldn’t breach the portal.
So we tied one end of a lariat to his front legs. Tied the other to the trailer hitch ball of the ranch pickup on the other side of the round corral fence. I skinnied over the corral and started the pickup.
Waited for the cue from the rancher.
“Go!”
I put the pickup in gear (manual tranny) and eased it forward.
The rope tightened.
Mama bawled somethin’ awful.
He wouldn’t come.
Got the rope tight as a fiddle string and the rancher told me to set the parking brake.
I did.
Then he hollered at me to get out of the rig and come back and join him.
He had me stand on the rope which was about two feet off the ground and hold on to his shoulders just shy of the rear end of the cow.
Mama screamed some more.
Then he had me bounce up and down on the rope with both feet. It was quite the sight.
Baby boy started to inch his way out.
I bounced some more.
She screamed some more.
We both urged her to push harder.
She did.
Junior finally popped out.
We cleared his mouth and nose of mucous. He took his first breaths.
We took him home in the cab of the pickup with the heater blasting and the pungent smell of afterbirth saturating the interior (it never went away, that pickup smelled that way for years) and bottle nursed him in the basement of the house.
He made it.
Mama couldn’t stand up for days. She was able to smooch herself around and eat the afterbirth as is the custom.
She ended up dying a month or so later. Too much trauma.
I learned that day that even though it might kill you later on you’ve got to push harder. You’ve got to. After all what’s the alternative? Puss’ out? Nah.
When life gets tough it’s time to buck up.
Squats and milk.[/quote]
If I were a girl I’d be swooning right now.
[/quote]
Cuz you like to eat the afterbirth?
[/quote]
That story made me swoon. Push has a way with words.
Afterbirth is nutritious. But having been through the process of childbirth I wouldn’t eat it. Its a smelly bloody nasty event. I totally would if i gave birth in the wild. Recycle that bitch. [/quote]
Push!!! I found someone for ya…Get the truck we got to pull that bull out of there.
[quote]dmaddox wrote:
[quote]theBeth wrote:
[quote]dmaddox wrote:
[quote]Cortes wrote:
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Back around the spring of 1980 or '81 on Burns Creek in the badlands of eastern Montana we had this Hereford cow who was having a tough time calving. It was March and still raw and bitter cold and she went on the fight when we corralled her to pull her big bull calf. This happened right next to an uninhabited old sod house that was still standing, and still livable for that matter (I think it’s some kind of state historical site nowadays).
He was breech and the first part of his big ol’ head had been introduced to the world but that was it. The rest of his body was hung up, literally, in the recesses of mama’s womb. In that type situation you’ve got a limited amount of time to deliver the lil feller or it’s bovine heaven or hell for the both of 'em.
We headed her. We heeled her. We hobbled her. She was rank. We tied her head to a center post in the corral. She wanted to kill either or both of us – us being the quintessential old tough-as-nails rancher I worked for, and me, a 20 year old cowboy wannabe. Her snot flew in the March wind. Her bellows could be heard a half mile away. It was a rather tense situation.
We put the calf puller (think “come-a-long” for baby calves) on his front feet and jacked and jacked while Mama screamed bloody murder. He was just too big a boy (you’ve got to pick your herd bulls right or this becomes a real problem 285 days after all the fun ends, i.e., cattle copulation).
We got the head out. His eyes were trying to blink through the thick coating of uterine mucous but his shoulders wouldn’t breach the portal.
So we tied one end of a lariat to his front legs. Tied the other to the trailer hitch ball of the ranch pickup on the other side of the round corral fence. I skinnied over the corral and started the pickup.
Waited for the cue from the rancher.
“Go!”
I put the pickup in gear (manual tranny) and eased it forward.
The rope tightened.
Mama bawled somethin’ awful.
He wouldn’t come.
Got the rope tight as a fiddle string and the rancher told me to set the parking brake.
I did.
Then he hollered at me to get out of the rig and come back and join him.
He had me stand on the rope which was about two feet off the ground and hold on to his shoulders just shy of the rear end of the cow.
Mama screamed some more.
Then he had me bounce up and down on the rope with both feet. It was quite the sight.
Baby boy started to inch his way out.
I bounced some more.
She screamed some more.
We both urged her to push harder.
She did.
Junior finally popped out.
We cleared his mouth and nose of mucous. He took his first breaths.
We took him home in the cab of the pickup with the heater blasting and the pungent smell of afterbirth saturating the interior (it never went away, that pickup smelled that way for years) and bottle nursed him in the basement of the house.
He made it.
Mama couldn’t stand up for days. She was able to smooch herself around and eat the afterbirth as is the custom.
She ended up dying a month or so later. Too much trauma.
I learned that day that even though it might kill you later on you’ve got to push harder. You’ve got to. After all what’s the alternative? Puss’ out? Nah.
When life gets tough it’s time to buck up.
Squats and milk.[/quote]
If I were a girl I’d be swooning right now.
[/quote]
Cuz you like to eat the afterbirth?
[/quote]
That story made me swoon. Push has a way with words.
Afterbirth is nutritious. But having been through the process of childbirth I wouldn’t eat it. Its a smelly bloody nasty event. I totally would if i gave birth in the wild. Recycle that bitch. [/quote]
Push!!! I found someone for ya…Get the truck we got to pull that bull out of there.
[/quote]
Dollarbill44:
I am a banker by trade, my name is Bill and the #44 has historical significance at my alma mater, Syracuse.
DB
Nothing special for me. My initials. Never felt like getting all creative just for the intrawebs.
I am The Third Ruffian, a reference to being a master mason, because I am a Freemason.
http://www.phoenixmasonry.org/duncans_ritual/master_mason.htm
Some days I feel I am dead, other days like I am Kong. Unique? No, when I signed up for youtube I had to be Deadkong4. I don’t know if something subliminally influenced me to come up with that, as in I had seen it before.
I was 15 and tried to come up with something random.
In goldeneye that Boris fellow survived a falling satellite dish and then struck a double bicep pose, yelling “I am invincible,” only to be frozen solid by liquid nitrogen.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
I learned that day that even though it might kill you later on you’ve got to push harder. You’ve got to. After all what’s the alternative? Puss’ out? Nah.
When life gets tough it’s time to buck up.
Squats and milk.[/quote]
Huh. And all this time I thought you got that name from what your girlfriends yelled at you.
Damn good story, Push.
Back in college, for my senior linguistics class, I invented a language.
I thought it would be boring just to write a thesis describing the language, so I wrote a short story in which a linguist in a dystopian future is shipwrecked on a small island in the Banda Sea, only to find that she has discovered a previously unknown civilization, speaking a language she has never catalogued.
She gradually learns the language, but also the culture of the people, whose society, she discovers, is far different from the totalitarian technocracy ruling the world she left behind. The leader of the group is a man named Jasun Varqanir urPraqsis, varqanir being his title of leadership. It literally means “defender” or “protector”.
I submitted the story as my senior thesis. I got an A.
If there’s anyone on this forum that loves Borderlands as much as I do, they’ll understand my name. Admittedly, however, I just like how anonymous it is to most.
[quote]pat wrote:
See, I am not a bad motherfucker, I am not fierce, I am not amazing, I am not powerful, I am not mega, or diesel; I am not anything special really. So I didn’t figure I needed to represent myself in any such way. My name is pat. Some people call me ‘That Asshole’, or ‘Fucking Prick’, or ‘Faggot’, Idiot, douchebag, dickhead, etc. None of those sounded good to me, so I just stuck with pat.[/quote]
A very pat answer.
Works for me.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
[quote]Varqanir wrote:
Huh. And all this time I thought you got that name from what your girlfriends yelled at you.
[/quote]
Well, yeah…ummm…that too.
I mean just yesterday…there was this…ummm…time…sniff…no SAMA, no story.[/quote]
Since Pusharder obviously has the coolest story, I’m gonna give you the boring one. The day I joined and was setting my account up my wife wanted me to go to the zoo with her and the kids. When she asked I said " I just don’t feel like being in the crowds today" I just typed Crowdhater and that’s it. Kinda wanted some cool wendler531 name but really what does it matter?