September 30, 2009

Congress, Turkey Death, and Other Disasters

So, apparently this is a blog that leans toward the political. WHO KNEW ? All that shit about my house and my dogs and my life in yokels-ville? Holy Tap Dancing Jeebus. My BAD dudes. OK, I'm game...let's give the politics thing a go.

First things first: "Politicians always disappoint." Looking at you, Max Baucus.

This is the thang, homeslice ... health insurance reform without a public option is a limp dick. It don't work. See, you got these turds in Congress (I'm giving Alan Grayson a pass today...he gets to be Rep. Not Turd, from the great state of Maybe Not So Retarded After All If They Elected Him But I'm Keeping My Eye On You And If You Don't Watch Your Ass Maybe Those Death Panels Were For Reals, Gramps) who want to keep their "jobs," keep getting blown by and/or blowing interns, and keep getting those invites to that big ol' white mansion on Pennsylvania. In order to keep aforementioned "jobs," they've occasionally gotta suck it up and actually do some work, maybe even pass a bill that does a little good for Wayne and Connie back in the district, ya feel me?

Only, the trump card holders here ain't no fucking Wayne and Connie--they're the pissant little insurance company lobbyists who got Congressman Turd and his homies those "jobs," with the fancy-pants office and the Colonial in the 'burbs and the driver and the car and the pages and the bowing and scraping sycophants and the press releases and the junkets and the meet n' greet with Brad Pitt and Bono and the ...

...Sigh. God damn, this is just depressing.

Fuck it.

Wanna hear what happened to my mail box?

See, I have this dog. Ha! "Those god damned dogs again!" is what you're thinking, am I right? Bing-the fuck-O! Yeah, OK, so dog #6...previously referred to as Wild Ass Barking Frenzy, also known as Bug-Eyed Barney. The little shit weighs all of 30 pounds and is a good 20 pounds lighter than the smallest of the other five little shits that run the joint. Also, the only dude...one penis in the whole bunch, and he swings that mofo with pride. "Yeah, bitches...GET out my way! I'll be having that chunk o' cheddar there on the floor...Why? WHY? Got a PENIS, man. Got a penis." Dude never cops to the fact that he's got no balls, but that's another story.

So, because he's such a tiny little fucker, you wouldn't think he'd be a badass. Especially without the balls and all. Only, here's the thing: he's a badass. True story: I'm sitting in the house one day, doing what I do, when I figured I'd better check on the Penis Swinger because he's being just a little bit too quiet, dig? I looked out the window, and there's Penis out in the yard with a white blob of some kind parked beside him. And the blob is twitching. Did you get that part, homies? Twitching. I'm not partial to investigating twitching white blobs, so I sent Krispy Dude out on a twitching-blob investigative mission.

And Krispy Dude reported back: "It's a turkey. And he's not dead. But he's almost dead. But he's not dead. But almost." A fucking WHAT? "A turkey." Holy Mother of We're Gonna Get Our Asses Sued God...our next door neighbor raises turkeys. Only now, he's raising one fewer turkey, because one of his turkeys is not dead, but is almost dead. Krispy Dude and I racked our brains and tried to wrap our heads around how this 30 pound cheddar-eating penis swinger managed to pull a 15-pound turkey through the bars of an iron fence and kill it. Sorry...ALMOST kill it. Our brains were racked and our heads were wrapped to no avail, and screw it anyway, because the issue now is "what are we gonna do with a fucking almost-dead turkey?"

And Krispy Dude..."What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love, and Understanding" Krispy Dude...finally accepted the inevitability of The Ax. The Penis Swinger was relieved of his booty, the Dude hauled the almost-dead twitching white blob to the back yard, and after a long pause, the whack echoed across the land, tears were shed, and Mother Nature shuddered in horror. Or maybe I just imagined that part. And then phone calls were placed, confessions were issued, apologies were made, monies were offered, monies were refused, chuckles and turkey memories were shared all around, and life goes on. (Except for the turkey. Who was now fully and completely dead.)

And you're thinking, "Wasn't this supposed to be about a mail box?" Yeah. See, months later, long after The Unfortunate Incident With the Large Fowl, some Opie in a Ford F-150 decided to practice his Indy skills and lost it on the outside curve, taking out our mail box. And fuckers, I DO NOT MEAN that he bumped it and it fell down. This ...this was a fucking Postal Explosion. After surveying the scattered bits left after the "Mailstrom" (ha ha...get it?), there were fleeting thoughts of Ted Kaczynski, worries about the Large Hadron Collider going rogue, and a brief flirtation with the certainty that the damage was caused by those shrimpy-looking fuckers with the DNA-activated guns in "District 9."

Because the dealio here is, I didn't actually hear or see Opie blast the Batmobile through my yard and reduce my mailbox to metal shavings and particulate--my mailbox is a god-damned day's hike from the house and can only be seen clearly with bi-nox from the upper story of the house. No, no. I didn't find out about the god damned postal massacre until I heard The Penis go into a patented and much admired Wild Ass Barking Frenzy and I looked out the window. And I saw something in the distance, near where the mailbox USED to be and where, at that point, I assumed it still WAS, and where The Penis was stationed, alerting the county and surrounding environs to the disaster that had occurred.

This "something" that I saw made my blood run cold and my buttocks clench like I was an Acorn employee about to interview a pimp and his ho. This "something" that I saw turned out later to be pieces of mail, fluttering and wafting around in the breeze--letters, bills, magazines, catalogs, and an offer to save my soul, courtesy The Lil' Church of Ain't No Socialists Here!...but Mo-ther Fuck! ...that first look out the window in the distance--that oh, so stomach lurching vision-- looking out, all I could see was the fence, The Penis, and five, six, ten, twelve...twitching white blobs.

Posted by Krispy_Kreme at September 30, 2009 10:22 PM

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