Mostrando resultados por autor "P.C. McCubbin" en Todas las categorías

With the courage of our ancestors that blazed trails west through wilderness, deserts, mountains and the lack of highway rest stops, we will soon reach a series of pale blue signs denoting a mileage countdown for our pending arrival at our version of a senior’s paradise… Camp Broccoli Senior Camp …a summertime gathering place for the plus fifty-five retirees successfully powering RV’s of all sorts of shapes and sizes in search of weather cooler than the triple digits in the big valley below and good times that only senior citizens can fully appreciate.

Living the RV lifestyle is not for everyone. But for all those folks that yearn for the freedom of the open road, the fun of exploring new places and the family atmosphere shared by RVers everywhere, RV life is a great life. This book is meant to be an aid for those with anxious but wobbling thoughts bouncing back-and-forth between RV full time, not full time, maybe part time now, full time someday or maybe never. This torturous muddling usually dwells on some serious key lifestyle questions such as… 1. Can I really give up my bricks-and-sticks home? 2. Can I live in a smaller space? 3. ...

In book one, RV LIFE an awesome lifestyle! Fun! Family! Freedom!, we discussed RV full time life style pros and cons to assist you in evaluating whether RV full time was a good choice for you or not. Among the topics were how to select that as-close-to-perfect-as-possible RV, packing/storing/organizing within the limits of your RV, tools we carry, site setting up, site packing, prepping for trips, planning trips, legal domicile, mail forwarding and an introduction to certain maintenance realities of the RV life style. In this book, RV LIFE an awesome lifestyle! Tricks and Tailoring!, we ...

A humorous story of the migration of our early ancestors...Homo erectus and Homo sapiens Did they know where they were going? Did they know how to get there? Did they know the risks of their journey? WHY?”

Without warning the calm of our sun’s solar reach was abruptly blasted by a blinding flash of red rays streaking far and wide!If the vast empty void of planetary space transmitted sound, all eardrums within a million miles of the sudden explosion would have been shattered by an ear deafening BOOM! This loud, unexpected detonation took place outside the outermost edge of our solar system in an area vacant of everything. Everything except a small, dark object launched by a forceful ignition to race at a velocity barely shy the speed of light! And at that speed, the dull colored object would...

What are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going? Who’s in charge? WHY?

WHY, after almost five million years, did our early ancestors suddenly believe they had to alter their very beings and their way of life to achieve the spoken word…something they’d never heard, had no knowledge of and had no reason to believe they needed?

Fuzz slammed his boot hard into the front door. The door and frame exploded as wood, hinges, nails and screws ricocheted violently into the shack’s flaming interior.The night sky filled with long streaks of bright lightning and rolling thunder as Fuzz stepped through the burning shack’s fully destroyed doorway. What was once a small living area was now an inferno of fire engulfed furnishings and fully inflamed walls. Standing in a doorway leading out the back of the room quickly resembling a small hellhole was a physically firm man hurriedly reloading a double-barrel shotgun. Two spent ...

Shag surveyed the numerous bullet holes in his body. “Fuzz, we’ve been beat by a hurricane, near buried alive in mud, shot more times than I can count, done died and gone to the Hereafter only to be rejected by both Heaven and Hell cause we hadn’t done something we were supposed to have done before we got there. “And this something, according to bald headed Harold in Afterlife Receiving, is of such importance to the Great Scheme of Things that we got sent back to do it. “Now we aren’t dead or alive but something stuck in between…half dead, half alive. “We feel rain but no ...

With a loud shout, Shag threw his hands in the air. “Harold, stop! I missed something! Explain again how Fuzz and I are too dead to be here! This is Afterlife Receiving! We are dead, Harold! Isn’t this where the no-longer-alive-dead are supposed to be?!” Harold sighed. “Sorry, guys, but before you can come Home, you got to be alive first, dead second. You guys were alive first and dead second the first time you came here. But you weren’t supposed to be here then. Erroneous errors happen." Fuzz jumped in. “Yeah. I remember your saying these clerks-in-training had only been on the...

Shag dipped his head to shed the rain from his bedraggled fedora as he surveyed the numerous bullet holes in his body. “Fuzz, we’ve been beat by a hurricane, damn near buried alive in mud, shot several times, died and gone to the Hereafter only to be rejected by both Heaven and Hell because we hadn’t done something we were supposed to do before we got there. “And this “something” according to some bald headed guy named Harold, who works in Afterlife Receiving, is of such importance to the Great Scheme of Things that we got sent back. “Now we aren’t dead or alive but ...

Shag surveyed the numerous bullet holes in his body. “Fuzz, we’ve been beat by a hurricane, damn near buried alive in mud, shot several times, died and gone to the Hereafter only to be rejected by both Heaven and Hell cause we hadn’t done something we were supposed to do before we got there. Now we aren’t dead or alive but something stuck in between.” Fuzz thumped the long pitchfork tine sticking out of his chest. A soft, sweet chime sounded. “Well, we got one thing going for us old bounty hunters. Bad guys can’t kill the dead. So, let’s kick some ass!”

The name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I‘m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kind of got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never did a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand? Anyway, ...

The name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I‘m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kinda got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start with, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never worked a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a big gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand...

Name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I‘m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kind of got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never did a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand? Anyway, cops...

The name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I’m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kinda got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start with, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never worked a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a big gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand...

The name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I‘m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I have had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kind of got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never did a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand? Anyway, ...

The name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I‘m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kinda got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start with, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never worked a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a big gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand...

The name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result. I‘m a cop. For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kinda got blown out of proportion. You get my drift? To start with, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never worked a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a big gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand...

Maybe it’s just me, but sometimes I feel when we watch our soldiers march in a parade or a special ceremony that we get so mesmerized by their crisp uniforms, perfect physics, stern faces, precision movements and bright medals that we forget these soldiers are folks just like us; with families, dreams, loved ones. Remember the freckled face kid next to you in grade school? How about the jock that raced the track faster than anyone? Or maybe the quiet little girl that unconsciously curled her hair with her fingers? And no one forgets the schoolyard bully with zip for discipline. Whatever ...