 Happy Tuesday everyone. We’re off and running into another work week. I was out yesterday helping The Dad with our new timber enterprise around the farm. Okay, actually it’s just cleaning up the mess from the ice storm. The only individuals who will profit from this are the chiropractors. We have four huge mounds of branches and trees that we’ll torch when the conditions are right. Astronauts on the International Space Station should be able to view the bonfires once they're lit off. I’m happy to report that the Cabinet Saloon replication is now complete. Our friends at NWEC hooked up the power yesterday. The septic was finished the day before. Cousin Fred has moved into the upstairs quarters just ahead of The Wife plotting his untimely demise. Of course, I still have the District 3 county vehicle cruising past several times a day. In some ways, I really wish Cousin Fred hadn’t painted the neon white façade with CABINET SALOON in neon black. It really stands out. Hell, they can probably read that from the ISS. Most of the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter (P.O.J.O.C.) showed up last night to properly christen The Cab, as we’re now calling it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend. After a day in the timber, I came home to nap before having to go into Cosmic City for a meeting last night. When I got home from the meeting, I could see there was much mirth and debauchery going on in The Cab. I was whipped and just came up to the main house and went straight to bed. I got up at my usual 4AM this morning and peered out at The Cab. There were bodies lying out on the porch of the place and even a couple in the yard in front of it. Hopefully, no one is dead. I was looking to see if Cousin Fred was up to have coffee with him. No signs of life. Guess it was a late night at The Cab…and that was a Monday night. Mirth and debauchery know no limits. Of course, I couldn’t see the back room of the ground floor, there are no windows back there. That’s where the gaming tables are set up. I counted sufficient bodies scattered about to know it would have been a one- or two-handed card game if there was any going on. And, while we’re on the subject...you know, over the history of CCB, we’ve tended to pick on West Virginia. They’re such an easy target. We’ve pointed out that the state motto translated from the Latin is “Again, why are we in the Big XII?” We’ve made fun of their criminal antics. There was the woman who tried to hold up a convenience stores while naked. She was a barrel of laughs. There were the two yippy dogs that somehow put their caretaker’s car in drive and drove into the front of a Wal-Mart. Oh, those mutts! Weird place that West Virginia. But we’ve reached a new level of weirdness, the likes of which I’m not certain even naked women robbing convenience stores could top. So there was a dude who went into a casino in WVA and sits down at a blackjack table. At some point, his luck started to turn and he was running out of money quickly. Now most of us would simply have gotten up from the table, made a few phone calls and cashed in the kids’ college tuition funds or taken a chancier gambit by faking our own death to collect on the life insurance before once again resuming play. But not this intrepid hillbilly…no sir. He made it through nearly a full half semester at a Big XII school. He was determined to think big and act big. He was desperate. Our intrepid enterprising hillbilly (we’ll call him Mr. Enterprise) gets up from the table, but only after laying down a $25 chip to hold his place. He then exits the casino and goes across the street to a bank where he hands the teller a note that says he has a bomb and a gun and she should hand over the cash. So, now Mr. Enterprise goes back across the street – with $5,000 in easily identifiable bills in his pocket - to the casino and starts playing blackjack again. But, Mr. Enterprise is a freaking loser and after dropping $500 at the table gets up and leaves. The only smart thing he did that day. Someone tips off the police who arrive at Mr. Enterprise’s home with a warrant and find the remainder of the money stuffed inside a couch. Ah, the old stuff the money in the couch while remorse for your evil deed washes over you routine. That's just so cliché. At his hearing last week, Mr. Enterprise informed the judge that he thinks that he took some drugs the day of the robbery (an obvious attempt at mitigation) and couldn’t remember robbing the bank. When the prosecution ran a video clearly showing dumbass…er, Mr. Enterprise…walking into the bank and robbing it, he acknowledged that it was him. Mr. Enterprise got 5 to 18 years. Maybe all that time will give him pause to work on his blackjack skills. That is all!  Happy Monday everybody! Hope you’re all well and thinking good thoughts. And, why would you be thinking anything but good thoughts? Oh, there’s probably a lot of reasons, but we’ll let it go…for now.
The weekend here at The Compound was somewhat less than auspicious. I discovered that something has apparently gone very wrong in my brain and that I am now officially diagnosed as selectively dyslexic. Isn’t the internet great for self-diagnosis? By that, I mean that I sometimes have this odd and somewhat frustrating ability to misread or misinterpret stuff that I come across and read…or, maybe I’m just blowing past the real meat of things. The latter is more likely, but I figure if I claim to be selectively dyslexic people will leave me alone. Or, not… “He used to be so clever and witty. Now, he’s just a sniveling blob of selective dyslexia. And, he comes from such a good family. Well, but he drinks wine like the evil stepchild of Ernest Gallo so what do you expect?” Here’s an example. Nearly everyone in Cosmic City knows T.z. Wright, the musician…am I right? The brother is a darn fine guitar player, a demon on keyboards, and a master of the accordion. Besides that, he’s just a good guy, one of the few left in CC as far as I’m concerned. But, I digress… So, last Friday I see an event announcement on Facebook that T.z. will be doing his usual Friday night gig at the Café Bahnhof in Waynoka. The announcement included that he would be performing with Robert Ford. With me so far? My selectively dyslexic brain focused(?) on that and saw that T.z. would be performing with Robben Ford. Now then, for those of you asking, who the hell is Robben Ford, let me enlighten you. Robben is a blues, jazz, and rock guitarist who has toured behind (among several others) George Harrison back in the day. I think he may even have toured with KISS when they were dealing daily with a missing Ace Frehley. I met Robben Ford when he came to Northern Virginia a few years ago. Nice guy, great guitar player…did I mention he toured behind George Harrison? Frankly, that’s all I need to know. Now I’m sure there are those of you, with normal brains, who are probably thinking that logic should have taken over and made me re-read the Facebook post about Café Bahnhof. To misquote The Spock, logic would dictate that Robben Ford would never come within 400 miles of Waynoka or Café Bahnhof. Hey, it could happen. Remind me sometime to tell about Leonard Nimoy’s visit to Cosmic City back in the late 60’s. But again, I digress. So I click, “Yes, I’ll be there” for all of Facebook to see before I realize that it’s not actually Robben Ford that will be there. Now, I feel like an idiot. NOW, let me state that T.z. Wright alone is worth the price of admission to see and I would happily have driven the 120 miles round trip from The Compound to be there. Probably should have. It’s important to support local musicians no matter where they’re playing. But I didn’t. I was still overly puzzled by my selective dyslexia. ALSO, this post is not intended in any way as a slap at Robert Ford, the guy who was actually playing last Friday night. I first saw him when he played behind The Dad at the western swing event at the conference center back in November. Robert Ford is a drummer who lives (I think) in Gage. He’s in that class of drummers that The Dad really likes…a guy who drives the beat straight up the a** of the rest of the band. Should I have gone to Waynoka Friday night? Yes, of course. But my only excuse is that I am possessed of a defective brain and I was somewhat embarrassed at my 12 year old girl excitement over the possibility of seeing Robben Ford. Remind me sometime to tell of my up close and personal encounter with THE Tom Jones...sheesh. T.z. also plays at Wagg’s here in Cosmic City on Wednesday nights…where I hear he channels George Harrison. I’m there! That is all!  Happy Saturday my babies! I know, right? Everyone check your calendars. It’s Saturday and CCB is posting. Hey, I promised yesterday that I would issue a special post just to report on the antics and general lunacy that has been the pre-game warm up for the 2017 Oklahoma Legislative Session, known in some quarters as Mega-Mediocrity 2017.
Let the insults begin! A week ago yesterday, Friday, Jan. 20 for you altogether too demanding freaks, the date for the uber morons that make up the Oklahoma House to get their proposed legislation in to the Clerk of the House. How would you like that job? I’ll bet the only real qualification is that you can NOT have a sense of humor. Otherwise, you’d never get anything done you would be laughing so hard. So according to Oklahoma’s most serious person, there were 1,340 bills and 24 joint resolutions filed. By comparison last year saw 921 bills and 31 joint resolutions filed. This session will see 32 freshmen morons, which may explain the higher numbers of proposed bills this year. Every stinking one of them has to make his mark like the proverbial pit bull peeing in every corner of the yard. They do that so the good folks back home will know they’re not spending their time in OKC just hanging out in strip bars and wondering if their high school sweetheart, Annabelle, ever thinks of them as they sink into an abyss of alcohol-fueled funk. But, I digress… Lest you think I’m ignoring the snobby idiots in the state senate, they filed 831 bills and 46 joint resolutions. By the way, one of those joint resolutions authored by a freshman senator seeks to sneak the Ten Commandments Monument back onto Capitol grounds. Hmmmm…I thought that was put to bed in the November election when the Blair Amendment – think that was the name on it – was shot down in flames, thus prohibiting taxpayer money being spent on religious monuments at the State Capitol. So, out of those 2,242 proposals for getting anything done, how many do you actually think will make it to Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin’s desk for signature? Who knows? Who cares? I suppose we should care. For illustrative purposes let’s say it’s a number approaching one-third. That’s 747 that become law of some sort. The rest are a waste of time performed in pursuit of 15 minutes of notoriety among your constituents. No doubt, we’re in for some entertainment this session. For instance, there is a state senator, dude from Tulsa, who wants firearms to be allowed in the State Capitol. Really? Does that make sense? Frankly, I’m not sure the majority of the legislature would qualify to purchase, let alone carry weapons if they answered the question on the federal firearms form honestly – to wit, are you a deranged lunatic or a woefully undereducated moron? Still, it might be a way to cut down on the time wasted on frivolous legislation. Let’s say that the Clerk of the House (he’s so serious) would set a limit on the number of proposed bills that could be filed prior to the start of the legislative session. Oh, we’ll call that number 300. Then said Clerk would lock all 100 Oklahoma House members inside their legislative chamber (informally called the Playpen) and walk away. When the shooting stopped and the smoke cleared only the first 300 bills to make it to the Clerk’s desk would be considered. You cut down on the time wasted by the legislature and create a constant turnover in legislators all in one fell swoop (or firefight). Plus, there’s a sure test of the theory of survival of the fittest involved here. Only the smartest members of the House are likely to stash extra ammo in their desk ensuring they can keep shooting when their more mentally challenged colleagues run out of ammo. This has quality entertainment written all over it! They can sell pay per view rights to the spectacle to help with the state’s budget. See, that’s why you read this blog…I’m a problem solver, I tell you! The majority of bills filed have something to do with abortion (there’s a surprise), firearms, and executions. Judas priest, this is getting to be a dark, depressing place to live (pun intended). Oh…wait…CCB’s friend, Senator Joseph Silk (aka, Joey Pajamas) who previously announced a bill he authored that would allow Oklahoma to secede from the United States (ugh) has just this past week announced his solution to abortions, namely making the person consenting to abortion liable for first degree murder. Really? Dumbass. The one thing the morons had better get done is put in place whatever it takes so I can real beer and wine in a supermarket. PLEASE…it’s the only thing that makes living here tolerable. Well, that and Lacey Swope. And now she’s running off to Tulsa. Alcohol is all I have left! By the way, the actual legislative session starts February 6th at noon. Strap in kids, it’s gonna be another wild ride. That is all!  Happy Friday morning, everybody! I know, let’s sing the Friday Song before we get started…you know, to get you in the mood. Ready?
It’s Friday, it’s Friday, Hallelujah, hallelujah! The weekend’s here and we’ll have a can of beer, Hallelujah, hallelujah! We’ll relax, Hallelujah, hallelujah, And take off our slacks, Hallelujah, hallelujah, And sit around the house in our rotten underwear, Halllllleeeeellllluuuuuuujaaaaah! Thus speaketh the Greaseman. Belt it out brothers and sisters! I was going to spend this post ranting about the morons in Oklahoma City (aka, State Legislature)…they’re really starting to roll along with proposed legislative tidbits that will make this, the 2017 session, the most ridiculous in history. But, I decided to wait and perhaps cover the antics on N. Lincoln Blvd. in a special (and rare) Saturday edition of the Cosmic City Blog. I said perhaps…it’ll depend on how I feel tomorrow morning. Sheesh, you people are so demanding. Things are kind of moving along here at The Compound. I say kind of because…well, kind of. Let’s see, actual work on the Cabinet Saloon replication has all but stopped. Once the walls were up and the roof was on, Cousin Fred and his fellow Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter (P.O.J.O.C.) helpers could no longer restrain themselves. Cousin Fred was up painting the square façade of the building bright, bright white. That was followed by painting CABINET SALOON in big jet-black letters that can be read from 10 miles away at 70 mph. In the meantime, the P.O.J.O.C.ers were busy moving a bar inside. Not sure where it came from, but it’s old and appears to be mahogany. If your place of business or museum is missing one, let me know, I think I found it. The entire party was down there in lantern light last toasting the new P.O.J.O.C. lodge. Yeah, okay, I was there too. The plumbing isn’t finished. The electrical panel is a mess of wires. The interior walls aren’t finished…there’s insulation dropping down into drinks, etc. But, they did move round tables and chairs in so it is an official drinking place. We noted that an OHP unit kept going by and shining his spotlight on the building (no power remember). OHP? What are they doing out here. It’s a bit off their beaten jurisdiction. The Daughter is here, of course. She stopped on her way back to Virginia from Utah. You may recall she recently graduated from the George Mason School of Truck Driving and is an officially licensed gear grinder. She has a gig driving truckloads of string beans to Utah from Virginia. Once a week, rain, snow, or shine, string beans to Utah. I asked her if the run back home is with an empty truck. She didn’t say anything, but merely opened the back of the truck. Inside were open boxes of string beans with empty cans. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “You told me to get a job, a real job, no more fake jobs. I got a job.” I asked who she’s actually working for and why they send to Virginia for string beans in Utah. She shrugged her shoulders again and said she doesn’t ask. She just cashes the checks. She told me that worst part of her job are the idiots on the road. Cars darting in front of her like she can stop on a dime with a load of bootleg (presumably) string beans destined for Utah in the trailer behind her. I guess you never know what’s in store for you with other drivers when you’re freewheelin’ down the highway. That reminded me of a story I read recently on the Huffington Post website wherein some dude down in Florida (why are all the freaks assembling in Florida?) was reported to police as loitering in the parking lot of a car wash without any pants. Police arrive to find the guy standing there without any pants and music blaring from his car sound system. The cop tells him to put his pants back on. The guy responds with a genuine alternative fact that would make The Trump proud that his pants, “took off running by themselves without me.” Cops told him to get in his car while they tried to figure out what do with him. Naked Carwasher (as he is now known) gets in the car, but then comes back out with a screwdriver waving it around. One of the officers who responded in kind by Tasering the f**k out of our Naked Carwasher. Poor guy, bet he was just going out to track down his pants and wanted the screwdriver to fend them off if they didn't want to come back peacefully. Dockers are so temperamental. Now, the really interesting part of this is that he was charged with aggravated assault on a police officer. Hmmmm…no drunk and disorderly, no high as a kite charges? Maybe the dude is just crazy? Nothing in the report as to whether his pants were later apprehended. People in Florida are nuts, I’m tellin’ ya! That is all!  Happy Wednesday everyone. Hope everyone is safe and sound. From ice storms here on the Plains to near hurricane force winds on the east coast and then everything back to spring-like temps, 2017 has been a wild ride so far, I think.
Things here at The Compound have pretty much returned to normal following Iceapalooza 2017. I’m way behind where I want to be at this point in time (project wise), having lost an entire week with no power here. But, on the other hand, I was behind on where I wanted to be before the ice storm hit, so I guess I can’t really whine. Work is proceeding nicely on the Cabinet Saloon replication going up on the north lawn here at The Compound. Cousin Fred and his crew, made up of members of the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter (P.O.J.O.C.), have the external walls up now and even have the roof covered. Interior work is underway this week. The person from DEQ was supposed to be here yesterday to approve the location and design of the septic system. We’ll hopefully have the septic in before the end of the week assuming DEQ ever shows. Bet they’re all out goofing off with Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin lingering in DC and trying to get an audience with The Trump. “I’ll be your Deputy Vice Undersubsecretary of Commerce. I know a lot about screwing up an economy!” Also expecting to see the Daughter today. She has a new job driving a truck route from Virginia to Utah delivering cases upon cases of string beans. String beans to Utah…has a melodic ring to it. Friend Lamont is coming in from western Arkansas and will contribute his talents as an interior designer. Never knew that Friend Lamont is an interior designer, but he even has a degree from the University of Arkansas in human ecology. Whatever that means. Friend Lamont, of course, was the chief videographer when we were shooting our episodes of Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed for the Viceland Channel. I’ll have to question Friend Lamont about his degree…human ecology. Somehow I don’t think I’d normally associate interior design skills with that particular major. I mean, I guess it has something to do with the interaction between humans and their surroundings? That’s the intuitive answer…so it’s likely wrong. Hey, maybe human ecologists are people who spend their time deciding who belongs and who doesn’t. You know, kind of like the alleged Obama Death Squads of so long ago. There are certainly a host of people to be considered for not belonging. Take for instance the woman, for purposes of this post we’ll call her La Chiquita, or LC for short, down in Florida. LC breaks into the Mar-A-Lago resort (belongs to The Trump) and goes on a rampage smearing banana on the windows of guests cars. Wow…powerful stuff, eh? Was she wearing a Madonna-autographed pu**y hat and protesting The Trump as a misogynistic grumpy old man? Nope. Okay, perhaps she is a modest fruit vendor who is hoping the new president will do something to lower import tariffs on bananas? And to make her point smeared banana everywhere? Seriously doubt it. Did she even realize she was in a The Trump-owned property? Well, yeah, apparently so. She left a message on the public access computer in the lobby: F***UTrumpB. TrumpB? Did I miss something? What happened to TrumpA? Hmmmm…the mystery deepens. So, the cops show up, but only after she refused the resort security guard’s request to leave (she’s a rebel) and removed balloons from inside the resort and tied them to bushes outside (ah, another clue!). She told police that she was protesting a cyberattack. Really? On her personally? By whom? She never said. In the end, they charged her with misdemeanor trespassing and released her. Released her? She’s freaking nuts and they released her?!? See, this is where a human ecologist would come in handy. Friend Lamont would step forward as she was leaving the downtown Palm Beach police station gleefully planning her next protest because toilet paper just isn’t what it used to be. Friend Lamont would flash his Human Ecology Squad badge and announce that LC had to come with him. She would be banished to a remote island in Caribbean with a giant wall around it where she could smear bananas on anything she wants to smear banana on. But, most importantly, she would be away from the rest of us normal, non-banana smearing citizenry. Thank you, Human Ecology Squad…thank you for all you do! That is all! The Oklahoma legislative session is in full swing and Mr. Robin is swinging for the fences!1/20/2017
 Happy Friday everybody. We’re back! The Compound is back on the grid as of yesterday afternoon. Interesting how the lack of power for five days seemed to increase my paranoia. If you drove past here at night you would have noticed me walking the perimeter fences with a light on my head and a heavy weapon in my hands. Good thing you didn’t slow down.
What else was I supposed to do? Couldn’t watch Barney Miller reruns…might as well walk the perimeter, right? The time off the grid helped Cousin Fred and his band of merry Pathetic Jack Rabbiters to get ahead on constructing the Cabinet Saloon reproduction. Of course, it meant hijacking the Compound Generator to run their power tools, but they’ve made real progress out there. In case you missed it in the previous post, it was a while ago after all (Hey! We’ve been iced in here, no power, no water, no kidding!) Cousin Fred decided to replicate the infamous Cabinet Saloon (people are dying to get a drink there). There will be a bar downstairs and his living quarters upstairs. It was the best way following the torching of Hellkat One’s trailer on Compound grounds by The Trump’s hairdressing hydrologist, Gigi (me thinks you people have some reading of back posts to do). Pickups from County District 3 keep driving by slowly. I noticed yesterday that they’re taking photos with each pass. No doubt said county employee is delivering the photos to the Dist. 3 Commissioner. Fortunately for Cousin Fred there is no building code enforcement in the county, so no building inspections to impede the progress of construction. It’s a good thing that they’re making progress…The Wife returned from her latest fabulous vacation last night. She pulled up in front of the house, got out to watch the boys working away under the glare of work lights, grunted, gripped her Pall-Mall filterless cig between her lips and came inside to curl up with a fifth of Old Crow…leaving me to fetch her bag. Most importantly for today is the political spotlight. No, not that political spotlight…I’m speaking of my favorite political spotlight…the state’s largest welfare society. Still not sure of what I speak? The morons in the Oklahoma State Legislature. We’re off and running in yet another legislative session where the buffoons do their best to write moronic legislation so the folks back home know they sent the right moron to do their bidding. And, what is the moronic state legislature up to now? Well…there’s a bill moving through the House that would change language in the State Constitution to allow Oklahoma to secede from the United States. Isn’t that great? I certainly hope those dumbasses get whatever the hell it is they have to do done so I can buy wine and high-point beer in grocery stores…I’m gonna need it! This state can barely manage its own affairs and you want to secede from the federal government? DO YOU IDIOTS REALIZE HOW MUCH MONEY THE STATE RECEIVES FROM WASHINGTON? Oklahoma ranks 7th among the states and territories in taking federal money. SEVENTH! And, you’re going to sever that cash cow? So the moron who came up with this brainstorm is a guy named Joseph Silk…sounds like the name of a cheap hood from Queens…knowhutimean? Joey Pajamas (his cheap hood name) was quoted as saying (hopefully you’re sitting down – I swear this is an actual quote), “I don’t think Oklahoma needs to secede. I don’t think anyone needs to secede right now. However…you know…30-40 years from now…whenever…you know…my kids are having families what if the United States comes and turns into a…you know…communist country?” He even talks like a cheap hood from Queens. And, Joey PJs (to his friends), we also hope your children have families and pass along those great Pajamas genes. A goodly number of his other welfare society colleagues think his bill is a waste of legislature time. NO SH*T! Judas priest. Oh, and then we find out that the state has dropped an additional $25,000 in payouts for state Sen. Dan “Danny the Vacuum” Kirby for still another sexual harassment settlement. This after the state legislature paid out $44,000 to the first woman who accused him. Now a second woman is accusing him of sexual harassment and the state is going to pay her off. Tsk tsk tsk. Small wonder the state can’t find money to pay teachers a living wage. They’re throwing cash to clean up the mess of state senate antics. Say, this could become a growth industry in Oklahoma. Everyone, get your women-folk outta bed and headed to OKC to accuse Danny the Vacuum of sexual harassment. Course, it might not work now that El Moron Supremo (Hickman) has left the building. He was the one who figured out a way to tie paying off accusers to taxpayer savings (seriously). Huh? Okay, it’s not about the money. GET RID OF THE MORON CAUSING THE PAYMENTS TO BE MADE! I don’t know, maybe he turns up swimming with the turds in the Oklahoma River…just saying. Buy him a one-way bus ticket back whence he came. IT’S A WELFARE SOCIETY I’M TELLING YOU! More to follow, I’m sure. That is all!  Okay…I’m calm…nothing to worry about. No, really. It’s alright. This won’t hurt a bit. I have full bottles of Jack Daniel’s and cans of sardines and toilet paper. I’ll be fine. Oh, who am I fooling…
WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! HANDS MORGAN SAYS THERE IS NO HOPE FOR ANY OF US! IT’S THE SECOND COMING…OF THE ICE AGE! He's telling everyone to drive south...to Argentina. There now, I feel better. Seriously though, have you heard the likes of fearmongering that have pervaded the airwaves here over the past few days? And, in true Oklahoma Weatherguesser fashion they’ve already started backtracking on their forecasts somewhat, lessening the predictions of lethality and then making it sound like that’s what they’ve been saying all along. Weren’t we paying attention? Of course, I’d love to hear what Tornado Payne-in-the-Ass (TP) has to say about it all. I CAN’T THOUGH BECAUSE DISH TV SHUT US OUT OF CHANNEL 9…RAT PUNK BASTARDS. I would imagine TP (as he known to his friends) is casually leaning against the news counter, his sport jacket open at the bottom revealing the bottom of his tie hanging out like he’s showing his business to the world. The leftover Ogle (pick one, any one) whimpers about having to come to work in an ice storm…TP snarls and in his very best urban hillbilly affectation sez, “I reckon it’s time to get right with the Lord.” Huh? That’s it? TP has access to the most powerful radar in the Universe and that’s the best he can do? He can see INSIDE of the ice storm. He can count the ice cubes falling from the clouds. We at The Compound aren’t privy to that knowledge because the scurrilous scum-sucking, dog-eating, football-hating (he’s probably a Browns fan) CEO of DISH TV is too busy making infomercials encouraging us to call Channel 9 and tell them to lower their price. That’s HIS PROBLEM. My job is to complain about it. Okay, deep breath. Who knows what the hell will happen? The weatherguessers are seldom right about anything around here. We have that going for us. The Compound isn’t on city water (of course) so if we lose power there’s no water, but I have several jugs set aside to fill toilets etc. Fortunately, the Wife leaves this morning for another of her fabulous vacations so she’ll be down in the warm sun somewhere not giving a crap that I’m iced in with Cousin Fred and a pack of mutts fighting over the crumbs at the bottom of the last Frito’s bag (made a run to United last night). And…speaking of Cousin Fred…someone sent me a note the other day pointing out that I cut off the last Cousin Fred saga in midstream and disappeared for weeks. Hey, I’m busy, dammit! Cousin Fred is alive and well. There are you happy now? We have some cash rolling in from selling the episodes of “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” to the Viceland Channel (airs at 2:23AM every other Wednesday). Cousin Fred has decided it’s time to have his own place here at The Compound…after Hellkat One’s trailer burned to the ground. The Wife made it clear that when she returns from her fabulous vacation, Cousin Fred had better be out of the main house. I quietly suggested that she should perhaps remain on vacation for an extended period of time…fortunately for me, I don’t think she heard me suggest that. Somewhere along the way, Cousin Fred found plans for building an old-timey store like the type you see in early photos of Cosmic City. There’s usually a basic frame building, sometimes with two floors and the front has a big square edifice that covers the basic shape of the building. So he’s all hot to trot on getting that built here on The Compound grounds. His plans call for a two-story structure. He told me last night that he visited the Cosmic City Museum the other day and found a book with lots of photos of early Cosmic City in it. He has decided to replicate the infamous Cabinet Saloon. The bottom floor will have a fully stocked bar in the front, with a card room in the back. His living quarters will be upstairs. Wow…I’m thinking…what a great idea…finally. He plans to put up the structure near the site of the former trailer…there’s power there. Loew’s in Enid is delivering two truckloads of lumber this morning. A couple of my brothers from the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Charter (P.O.J.O.C.), specifically Crisco Carl and Jake the Snake, have agreed to help him with the building. The boys figure we can use the lower portion as a P.O.J.O.C. clubhouse. Of course, that means we’ll have to accept Cousin Fred as a full-fledged member, but what the heck, he has cash now. We’ll see how far they get before the second Ice Age hits sometime tomorrow. While they’re working hard at building, I’ll be sitting off to the side contemplating new descriptors for DISH’s CEO. So, if you’re into being out in an ice storm and driving around (you’ll likely have the road to yourself), feel free to stop in at The Compound where there’s always alcohol and usually a pot of Rib Ranch-style beans cooking. Oh, bring Frito’s. That is all! The Executives at DISH TV are a bunch of rock dwelling, snake kissing, football hating meatheads!1/9/2017
 As I was sitting down to write this post, I realized it’s the first for 2017. Happy Freakin’ New Year!
So far, 2017 hasn’t been all that great for me. Take for instance yesterday (Sunday, Jan 8). There was an AFC Wildcard playoff game. I’m sure all of you watched it. You saw Big Ben and Pittsburgh crush that bunch from Miami. Me? Not so much. I’ve always been a Steelers fan, going back to the 70’s. I don’t know why. So anytime they make it to the playoffs or are on TV, of course I’m going to watch. Not so much yesterday though…BECAUSE THE GREEDY BLOODSUCKING A-HOLES AT DISH CUT OFF CHANNEL 9…CBS was carrying the game. Hence, our theme for today. Oh sure, I could have gotten up at midnight last night and watched it on the NFL channel, but it was old news by then. Interestingly, you poor schmucks with DIRECT TV are having the same problem, though for you it’s Channel 5. I offered to let the Brother-in-Law come to my house to watch Ch 5 (they have DIRECT TV), if I could watch the Steelers game at their house. I made the inquiry on Saturday…heard nothing. They’re in the middle of calving so I wasn’t too concerned. I drove past their house twice on Sunday morning. The first time, everything was closed up…shades down, etc. The second time there was a sign out front that read, “We aren’t home! This means you!” Well, I guess they were trying to tell me something. So, DISH, you blood-from-a-stone flock of war criminals, you’re cutting us off from our beloved Channel 9? They did the same to us last summer with Channel 4…the entire summer. I got past weather hottie Emily Sutton when I realized that Lacey Swope is even hotter and she is friends with me on Facebook – no no-contact orders issued by an Oklahoma Co. judge (yet). And, Tornado Payne-in-the-Ass is way more entertaining (read as melodramatic) than Hands Morgan. So I had settled in on Channel 9. Plus, now that Channel 9 has the world’s most powerful radar, the Crimes Against Humanity Bunch at DISH are putting our lives in danger! My contractual obligation with DISH is up this summer. I’m done. I’m moving to a new provider. Not sure which one yet, but I’ll let you know. Here at The Compound, we’re somewhat limited in choices. So there it is, DISH, you cruel bastards. I bet you pull the wings off flies just to watch them walk across your desk as you count your cash. I’ll bet your CEO eats the fruit and kisses the snake goodnight. AND, speaking of snakes. Friends, all of you dedicated readers (it’s been so long since I’ve posted regularly I’ll bet we’re down to two again) know that I have a thing about snakes. Namely, I kill them on sight…with my .45/.410 pistol, “The Judge”. Great snake killer that one. But, I digress. I’ve gone on for bytes and bytes about my disdain for snakage. I’ve warned you about the g-d things turning up in toilet bowls. I’ve told you time and again to check inside your toilet before you sit down. I told you about the poor fellow in Thailand who sat down only to have an evil serpent grab his dangling bait. But, did you listen? Yes, apparently you did. Just saw an article online about a guy in Arlington, VA…Arlington, VA?...who lived in an apartment building found a yellow anaconda in his toilet. Anaconda? Are you shi**ing me? (nyuk, nyuk) And, in January?! O’ the humanities! Now, let me point out (for those of you too stupid to keep up) that using The Judge to kill a snake in the toilet is a bad idea. What do you do? What Mr. Apartment Snake Finder did…slam the lid down and call animal control. And, pray that your bladder doesn’t burst while you’re waiting on them. Animal Control got the snake out of the bowl and some animal welfare league managed to get it adopted out to some other reptile kissing freak. Me? I would have had Animal Control move it outside where I would have dispatched it and then ask the Animal Control people to take it to a bootmaker so I get a pair of anaconda boots to use in my Alice Cooper Revue show making the rounds of Best Western lounges across the southwest. Hmmmm…I wonder where DISH TV’s headquarters is? Maybe it’s time to fill the toilets there with snakes. Is that illegal? That is all! |
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