Tiny company with ties to the Trump administration receives $300 million contract to restore power to Peurto Rico.

Yeahhh sure the swamp is draining...

Keep on showing your hypocrisy and lack of morals by supporting the biggest liar and scumbag to ever hold office.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

Replacing with proper embed. Matched from previous thumbnail *backup=[...snipped...]

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

This is like the Alpine slide in Whitefish, 10 times longer, and 100 times more awesome!

http://www.videosift.com/video/Alpine-Slide-Whitefish-Montana

Issy and I are heading back to cali tomorrow morning. We had a great time up in the great northwest. I hope we can plan a meetup with you next year.

In reply to this comment by kronosposeidon:
Thx bro! Hope the Whitefish gig is going swimmingly. Ha! Get it? Whitefish - swimmingly?



In reply to this comment by dystopianfuturetoday:
*quality

Thx bro! Hope the Whitefish gig is going swimmingly. Ha! Get it? Whitefish - swimmingly?



In reply to this comment by dystopianfuturetoday:
*quality

Seems to have followed this route: Google Maps Link 1,344 miles. About the same distance as driving from London to Gibraltar, or London to Naples, or Berlin to Athens.

edit: or Brisbane to Adelaide. Australia is big!

Oh man. From Dag's link: "The Bulldog Saloon is located in downtown Whitefish Montana. We are now a smoke free establishment, bring the kids!

"Mommy? What are those pictures?"

I was in a truck-stop in Arkansas once and they had "Slick Willy" condoms in the machine, with a joke about 'preventing unwanted dress stains' on them. Those are the cheapest, nastiest prophylactics going. It is sensible to have them available, though.

How's the gig in Whitefish going? You raping their souls 6 nights a week?

In reply to this comment by dystopianfuturetoday:
Yeah, baby!

In reply to this comment by kronosposeidon:
*promote soul-raping

Yes this is an excellent article... As a bachelor I have taught myself to be a chef... as a perfectinist, I worked hard on a few recipes. I'll post one of my favorite recipes that I created sometime soon: Mediterranean Whitefish.

Even if you hate fish, you'll love the taste of it.

Tags for this video have been changed from 'bud, ad, commercial, parody' to 'bud, ad, commercial, parody, whitefish' - edited by looris