After Al, Chuck, Leo, returned to Houston Astros My Apologies Middle Finger Shirt their other lives back in the world, they kept getting requests from various Agencies and Bureaus for more mine closure data, mostly focusing upon lines of documentation. The various Bureaus desired monographs, road guides, technical reports, and most importantly, detailed step-by-step “How To” manuals. My guys, now my fully credentialed doctored colleagues
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“Fuckin’-A, Rock,” Leo tells me in a Houston Astros My Apologies Middle Finger Shirt phone call, “They want me to fuckin’ basically claim-jump you writing up my closing procedures. What’s with these goatfuckers? They figured they paid you enough and are now trying to run a goddamned end around? Collective shitheels. No fucking way I’d even think of crossing, even accidentally, the Motherfuckin’ Pro from Dover.” I replied that I had no idea, as, after the initial contacts after the field season, I had heard precisely dick from any of the bureaus. Which is fine, as I’m busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm getting ready to shift the family some 12,700 kilometers east.
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A short while later, Al wrote to me Houston Astros My Apologies Middle Finger Shirt that he’s been contacted by the Bureau/Agency and they are desirous that he lead a field trip with a gaggle of professors from various universities. They are also not all geologists, but Environmental Scientists, Hydrologists, something called an “Environmental Engineer,” and other forms of societal detritus. He tells me that they wanted him to lead a group of these characters out into the desert for a couple of weeks and show them the mine closure procedures which he developed.
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