It’s Thursday, we’re sailing past another week! It was another night of violent storms here at The Compound and across this region. I very much appreciate the rain, but how about a day or two of non-stop gentle rain…nah, I’d complain about that too, I suppose.

The Wife leaves on another of her fabulous vacations today. Cousin Fred has already asked if, once she’s gone, he can bring his new electronic keyboard into the main house. He says the hairdressing hydrologist Gigi is complaining about the noise in Das Boot.

I pointed out that most electronic keyboards are equipped with headphone jacks, but that seemed lost on him. Before I agreed to anything, I insisted that he tell me what he’s up to with this latest project of his.

Hopefully, you’re all sitting down.

He’s writing an opera. No seriously.

And, not just any opera. He already has the title picked out: Temple Houston: A Horse Opera in G-Flat and Four Octaves.

I can’t make this sh*t up!

For those of you not familiar with the life and legacy of Temple Houston…here’s the 50-cent tour (look up the rest). He was the youngest son of Sam Houston (of the Texas Houstons). He became a famous lawyer, moved to Northwest Oklahoma, spoke several languages, was (by nearly all accounts) a brilliant orator, was highly entertaining when he lectured rooms full of people on everything from astronomy to deeper question of faith.

He was best known for two things: 1) the Soiled Dove defense; and, 2) a shoot out in the Cabinet Saloon where he was defending himself against two other lawyers bent on killing him (maybe Shakespeare was right). That he was something of an enigma becomes apparent when you juxtapose the brilliant lawyer thing with the fact that he was also a bad drunk, a womanizer, and a little too fast to settle a score with the business end of his Colt Peacemaker.

But, I digress…

I pointed out to Cousin Fred that his opera’s title is a bit lengthy and I’m not altogether certain it could be fitted on the front of any modern playbill. Cousin Fred is not to be swayed.

Temple Houston: A Horse Opera in G-Flat and Four Octaves, it is.

I next pointed out to Cousin Fred that he doesn’t know squat about writing music, let alone opera. Not a problem, he assured me. He is already at work on the libretto and is bringing in someone to hammer out the arrangement.

That someone is a local hammerer, I presumed? No chance.

He’s bringing in someone schooled in the classics who was rejected in the first round of the 2017 America’s Got Talent. Oh, perfect…an AGT reject.

Cousin Fred asked if Montague (Monty to his friends) can stay in the main house while he’s here.
That’s when I began to realize that I’m being hornswoggled. Fred was waiting for the Wife to leave town before starting this project. I said fine but pointed out that Montague must be gone before the Wife returns, knowing full well there’s no chance of completing an opera in a week.

We’ll see.

In the meantime, are any of you following the rekindled drama surrounding Attorney General Jeff Sessions extremely tentative fingerhold on his job?

So, Rep. Trey Gowdy (Mr. February in the upcoming hottie conservatives calendar photo shoot) went on morning television yesterday and commented that if he had been in The Trump’s position, he would have fired Jeff Sessions first thing.

Well, that got The Trump fired up and soon it was all blazing thumbs as he started Tweeting hate and molten lava at Sessions for recusing himself from the so-called witch hunt (aka, the Russia investigation) underway in the Justice Dept.

And, it’s still going on, spilling over into today. I guess The Trump forgot about Sessions (he hasn’t been invited to the White House for quite awhile now). Gowdy’s comments have The Trump fired up and he’s making Session’s life a misery once again.

For whatever reason though, The Trump won’t fire Sessions. The thing that kills me is that Sessions won’t quit. I mean, how much public humiliation can one person endure? You know everyone in DC is snickering at him behind his back.

Maybe, Sessions is waiting for some date in the future when he’ll hit an administrative gate, so he can retire as AG and go back to Alabama to sip moonshine on a porch somewhere and say, “Well, when I was AG.”

That creepy fool Giuliani says Sessions sticks around because he and The Trump are such close friends.

Some friend, eh?

​That is all!

Happy morning everybody, it’s Wednesday. I had a delectable blog treat for you yesterday (Tuesday), but the local electrical cooperative had other ideas. We had a bad storm move through The Compound in the wee hours of Tuesday morning leaving us without power for several hours.

And, true to form, I was outside in the early dawn prepping the emergency generator here to start. I had fueled the darn thing (important not to leave gas in the tank so it will start again when you need it) and was about to pull the cord to start it when (guess what?) the lights came back on.

Now then, I’m just paranoid enough to believe that somewhere down the road there was a line crew watching and waiting until I had fueled the generator before reconnecting the power “…wait for it, wait for it…okay, now!”

Actually, they would have gotten a show if they’d been around when the storm started. I leaped out of bed because I realized there was hail involved. I could hear the hail pounding against the windows and guttering.

Dumbass me had left his vehicle parked outside the garage because I had unloaded some stuff that evening. I knew I had to get the vehicle into the detached garage lest the hail bust out windows or dent the damned thing.

As soon as I opened the door on the north side and saw the hail coming down, I donned one of my motorcycle helmets and charged out into the vicious grip of the perfect storm – hurricane force winds, driving rain, lightning, and hail (just doesn’t get any better). Did I mention that I was barefoot and not wearing any pants? No? Well, it’s true.

Here’s thing about hail…it leaves ice on the ground. I immediately slipped and went down on my butt. Fortunately, I was wearing a safety helmet (I told myself). I got back up and made my way to the vehicle.

I get the vehicle inside the garage and then make a mad dash back into the house, the marble-sized hail bouncing off my helmet like so much hail hitting a helmet. Huh?

Once again, I slip. Note to self. When dashing about in a hail storm with little to no clothes on, be sure to wear frigging shoes.

But, I digress…

When you’re a self-inflicted victim of a rural electric cooperative (we enjoy the abuse), you suffer a lot of outages…for some reason. Of course, they try to make it up to you during the annual membership meeting in which they give everyone free grub, weak iced tea, and the chance to win a zero-turn lawnmower or side-by-side quad or something else you probably can’t use but will now have to pay taxes on the suggested retail value.

Here’s a thought…HOW ABOUT KEEPING THE F***ING LIGHTS ON…that, I can use.  

I get crap from people wanting to know why, as an adherent to compound living, I don’t just have one of those auto-start generators that kick in as soon as the lights go out. Ummmmm…well, money, or lack thereof may be a good reason. Those darned things are expensive to buy and a pain in the ass to maintain.

I have better things to spend money on like…well, never mind.

Of course, I suppose I could start my own campaign to raise money for an auto-start generator here at The Compound. Kind of like that Louisiana preacher who’s trying to raise $54,000,000 (yep that’s fifty-four million) to buy a new long-range business jet. Says he doesn’t want to have to stop for fuel wherever he goes in the world to spread the gospel.

Uh huh. You know, preacher, $54,000,000 would solve some of the world’s problems. You could feed people that are starving or start an ag program somewhere so people could feed themselves. How about vaccinating children in the third-world against diseases that have been eliminated in most of the rest of the world?

Seems to me that’s what a holy man should be doing. Am I cynical, am I bitter? Yeah, I am. Particularly considering that this holy man won’t have to pay taxes on the $54M, as he cowers behind his church’s tax-sheltered shield and holds the IRS at bay.

In his fundraising video, this holy man stopped just short of declaring himself Christ on earth when he pointed out that “IF Jesus were alive today,” he wouldn’t be riding a donkey. That may be true, but I’m sure he’d find a better use for $54M.
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Good morning everybody. Hope you’re all having a memorable Memorial Day weekend. Spent a good bit of Saturday morning driving to three different cemeteries in three different counties to place flowers on the graves of honored ancestors (we like to spread out).

Other than that, it was pretty quiet around The Compound. Cousin Fred has undertaken a new project. Saturday afternoon he came up to the main house and asked if he could use the piano. I honestly never knew Cousin Fred could play piano.

He can’t.

He was here for nearly four hours just plinking away at the keys. Admittedly, toward the end of the four hours my critical ear began to hear fragments of a melody beginning to form.  

By that time, it was all the Wife could stand. She stood a few feet away and flicked a still-lit unfiltered Pall-Malls at Cousin Fred. When he didn’t seem to respond, she began lighting and flicking cigarettes one after another. I think he sensed that soon it would be empty Old Crow bottles being hurled if he didn’t wrap things up.

He left without any explanation as to what he is up to but thanked me profusely for time on the piano. I whispered to him that the Wife is leaving on another of her fabulous vacations this week and he is welcome to come back after she’s gone. He told me that he has already ordered an electronic keyboard that will be delivered on Wednesday. He said, he had a moment of inspiration that day and wanted to try something.

Again, no mention as to what that might be.

I would have pursued the matter further but decided to let it go. At any rate, he latest White House drama is far more entertaining.

In a bizarre twist of irony (this White House is dripping with the stuff) wherein someone is leaking leaks about leaks, it was revealed recently that White House staffers are beginning to rat out their colleagues. I tell you, The Trump’s administration is so leaky no amount of Flex-Tape (As Seen on TV!) could keep the listing ship of Trump afloat (ahoy!).

You may recall communication aide Kelly Sadler’s snarky comment about John McCain’s opposition to Gina Haspel’s nomination as Director, CIA not being relevant because McCain is “dying anyway.”  Soon after that little tidbit was leaked, The Trump called a meeting of just about everyone in the WH Communications Office to discuss the leak and get to the bottom of things.

Right out of the chute, The Trump announced that Sadler would not be fired, but then turned his sights on the leak that started the brouhaha. Sadler, in the meeting, then pointed to her boss, Mercedes Schlapp (pictured above at CPAP 2017 and hereafter known as Schlappstick) and said Schlappstick is responsible for most of the leaks in the WH. Well!

Schlappstick, of course, began immediately defending herself to The Trump who reportedly seemed to take some glee in seeing his staff acting like a bunch of third graders (“Bobby did it! Nuh uh, it was Suzy!”). He reportedly stopped just short of handing out switchblade knives and having staffers to at it.

The wild thing about all of this is that Schlappstick had vigorously (with vigor, I’m telling you!) defended Sadler following the McCain debacle, as did Schlappstick’s husband who heads the Conservative Union (they’re a fun bunch to hang with), calling Sadler a victim. Really?

The additional irony in all of this (the place is dripping in it, I’m telling you) is that we only learned about this latest WH drama because SOMEONE LEAKED IT.

There was an additional leak over the weekend that heads will roll this week (can’t wait!). The Trump wants to stop the leaking and figures to do so by firing mid-level and junior people in the Communications Office. There was also a report over the weekend that The Trump was swinging (Twitterly) at The New York Times for erroneously reporting something from a leaking source, only to find out that the leaking source was a still-unnamed WH official who made the comment in front of several other reporters (which in an even weirder twist of irony takes it from leak to official statement – see how this works?).

It will be interesting to keep track this week of which of The Trump’s traits bob to the surface more…his narcissism or his paranoia. I’ve got $10 on the nose of paranoia in the fifth at Belmont.

​That is all!
 

Howdy folks! It’s a Thursday. And, not just any Thursday, it’s a rainy Thursday morning. For the first time in weeks, the storms didn’t split and go around The Compound the way they usually do…we got some rain! Not a lot, mind you, but we’ll take whatever we can get.

Memorial Day weekend is coming up and Cousin Fred is getting antsy. He likes to have something happening around here every weekend, particularly in the summer, and gets mopey when it doesn’t. I pointed out yesterday afternoon that we’re just finally getting things cleaned up following the First Annual Chicken Wing Appreciation Festival last weekend.

Back in January he had hopes we’d be able to open Lake Mountebank again this year, but, alas, not enough rain to even make a mud puddle out in the north pasture. We spoke about burning a giant effigy of something out on the center lawn, but there’s still a burn ban in place so I guess we won’t be doing that.

Eh, well, I’m sure that Cousin Fred will come up with something to keep us entertained over the weekend. Failing all that, we’ll probably just sit outside, project social media crap up on the wall of the garage and marvel at how stupid people can be.

While we’re on the subject of social media, by now I’m sure you’ve all heard that The Trump lost a lawsuit in Federal court yesterday. The judge ruled that he can no longer block people on Twitter who offend him.

The judge said that as a public figure using a public forum (i.e., Twitter), The Trump’s blocking of certain people from saying whatever they want (however hateful it may be) violates their First Amendment rights.

The first thing that popped into my head was what about The Trump having to endure the trolls and haters? It turns out the judge fixed that too saying that The Trump could mute the trolls which allows their views to made public in the forum, but The Trump doesn’t have to see them.

Well, okay, that seems reasonable, but nooooo, not for The Trump. He is defying the court’s ruling and has not unblocked anyone.

According to CCB’s disgraced and disbarred attorney, although the judge stopped just short of issuing an order for The Trump to unblock those he has blocked (said she didn’t want to enter a legal thicket just yet), in cases like this the plaintiffs can run back into court and ask for an order.

Technically, then, The Trump and his social media guy, Dan Scavino, could be found in contempt of court.

Could you imagine the poor schmuck who would have to deliver the subpoena to the gates of the White House? It’ll probably be pouring down rain that day. The uniformed Secret Service aren’t letting him through or accepting the subpoena on behalf of The Trump. Poor Schmuck is asking everyone accessing the building through that gate, “Will you see the president today? Could I give you this to hand to him? Please?”

At that point, the Secret Service guard begins tazing Poor Schmuck…in the rain…with 12 gazillion volts. The Trump laughs as he watches Poor Schmuck fall to the ground writhing. If he’s any good he’ll pitch the subpoena onto WH grounds between the guard’s legs.

You’ve been served!

I’d pay for video of that action!

The judge is pointing out that no one is above the law, regardless of their status. But, she is woefully underestimating The Trump. She stated in part, “…government officials are presumed to follow the law once the judiciary has said what the law is…”

She obviously hasn’t been paying attention the last year and a half, has she?

At any rate, as I said last week, when The Trump’s administration announced that it was compiling a list of reporters and BLOGGERS who badmouth the president (very Nixonian that), I hope to make the list. I see it as a badge of honor.

Blocked tweeters should consider it the same. But keep suing. It makes for great entertainment.
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That is all!
 
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Welcome to what remains of The Compound following this weekend’s First Annual Chicken Wing Appreciation Fest (FACWAF). If you weren’t here, you missed out on a well…event. With two thousand pounds of chicken wings, I would never have anticipated running out.

But, we ran out.

That led to a near-riot here on Sunday night, with chicken wing hungry hordes chanting “More fried protein, more fried protein!” Then the masses began hurling the bones toward the main house. It was madness I’m telling you!

Of course, The Compound Mutts thought it was all fun and games. The biggest (and dumbest) of the mutts, Luke, turned it into a game by leaping into the air to catch the bones with pieces of meat still attached. The mutts disappeared into the north pasture, no doubt with a mountain of bones they’re still chewing through.

The Wife, in her usual spot up on the roof, began cackling when the chanting began, but then launched a counter attack when the wings started flying. She began hurling Old Crow empties back at the savage wing eaters.

An hour before sundown, a sheriff’s unit rolled up down on the road. At that point, Cousin Fred disappeared down inside Das Boot where he battened down the hatch…something about a pesky subpoena.

I grabbed my now-greasy cell phone to call CCB’s disgraced and disbarred attorney thinking we were going to need serious legal advice. His response, “As your lawyer, I advise you to burn the place to the ground and run.” The deputy sat observing the melee for a few minutes, but then drove off.

After dark, a chilly wind came up out of the north and the gang of thugs on the lawn dispersed. The Daughter at that point decided it was time to make her exit. After greasy hugs, she climbed into the cab of her truck and tried to get to the road. I say tried because that’s when we discovered a new problem.

The entire Compound is covered in grease! She careened perilously down the long drive before finally making it to the road and solid traction. Guess those four years at the George Mason School for Advanced Truck Driving paid off.

So, between the constant frying of chicken wings, the use of pecan wood to smoke chicken wings (very oily wood) and using mostly-eaten chicken as projectiles this place is covered in grease. The Wife took a step and slid right off the roof! She got up off the ground, tried to light an unfiltered Pall Mall and immediately started a small fire. Now the sheriff’s unit was back trying to cite her for illegal burning, but he couldn’t make it up the driveway. The deputy stuck the citation in the mailbox out by the road, gave us the finger and drove away.

For just such a mishap, I generally keep fire extinguishers stashed in the bushes, so I was able to get the fire out quickly.

The clean-up has begun though I have no idea how I’ll get rid of all the grease. It’s everywhere. It’s disgusting. And, it’s dang slippery…like the set of a Van Halen video in the ‘80’s.

And speaking of slippery situations…

My worries are small compared to that of The Trump, who, according to George W. Bush’s (aka, King George II) ethics czar. Richard Painter, the former Republican turned Dem (“they have better chicken wings on the left”) running for U.S. Senate in Minnesota claims that The Trump has racked up more occurrences of abuse of power and obstruction of justice than Nixon ever did.

Nixon is dead, right?

He cites (see what I did there…bring it on home…I’m so damned clever) specifically that The Trump has: violated the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution by accepting gifts from foreign entities – a charge for which The Trump is being sued, but claims he has absolute immunity from prosecution; and, Painter claims that The Trump has already violated the First Amendment by promoting one religion over another (e.g., the weird hard-to-defend ban on Muslim travel to the United States.

Painter was quoted as saying that The Trump’s “…abuse of power in office, his violation of the Constitution, his rhetoric…borders on fascist.”

Wow, well good luck with all that. Slippery Donald will no doubt slide out from under anything the Dems or anyone else (even members of his own party are beginning to grumble) tries to pin on him. Face it, we're stuck with him...warts and all. The guy is bulletproof, for now. Of course, that’s what they said about Tricky Dick at the time too.
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It’s Friday! We made it! Yea!

So, it’s getting busy around The Compound. The Daughter arrived with a trailer full of frozen chicken wings late yesterday. We have the trailer plugged in to keep them frozen, though Cousin Fred insisted that we offload at least one carton.

He wants to have chicken wings while watching the Royal Wedding starting at 3AM Saturday morning. I must admit I’ll probably be watching that myself, particularly since I’ve now predicted that the soon-to-be-princess-bride will likely bolt at the last second and disappear down in the Caribbean.

By the way, speaking of my predictions, we here at CCB took a lot of heat yesterday for my comments about the Markle family and about her running off with the latest hot felon who would likely be a walk-off from 18th hole of the William S. Keyless Country Club. To those critics, I say, “Thhhhppppt!”

You watch, she’s a runner. As wacky as that family is, I’m also looking for a brawl during the reception. At least if events (e.g. runaway bride) don’t preclude a reception.

So, yes, I will watch the royal wedding and eat chicken wings with Cousin Fred and anybody else around here dumb enough to start watching at 3AM.

The FACWAF will be held on Sunday. All are invited…blah, blah, blah. Cousin Fred, who you may recall from March of this year was able to find a mobile number for Rex “Tea for the” Tillerson, is trying to get hold of T-Rex to invite him to The Compound on Sunday. It’s not like he has anything else to do right now. So far, no one is answering the calls.
Oklahoma’s biggest welfare society, aka, the State Legislature, is proposing (read as threatening) to meet in a THIRD special session to revisit all their nonsense that Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin vetoed.

Of particular concern among the morons of South Lincoln Blvd. was the Senate bill that would have allowed anyone (not convicted of a felony, of which there are only a few of us left) to carry a loaded weapon.

You faithful readers (there are 5 or 6 of you) of this stupid blog may recall that I made a case on both sides of this…well, sort of. Though I predicted that HRH would gleefully sign the damn bill no matter what. Guess what? I was wrong!

Now, in light of a recent event in Shreveport, Louisiana I can see where even very basic training in the use of firearms could be very important.

It seems that a young man was going through his home apartment complex down there trying to sell candy bars for something, we don’t know the purpose for the candy sales, we’ll just say it was for new band uniforms.

As he’s going door to door, a thug approaches him and insists that he hand over his candy bars and his money. Our young man refuses. Thug then snatches said candy and cash from young man. He then passed out candy bars to his thug friends (very magnanimous of him, don’t you think?). With me, so far?

At that point, the young man returned to his own apartment and informed his mother of what had happened. Mother, doing most mothers would do, sets out looking for the thug to retrieve the remaining candy and cash that was stolen from her son.

Mother locates thug and demands that he hand over the candy and cash. The thug refused. Thugs are funny that way.
But then, the thug took things a step beyond. He pulls out a weapon and commences firing. No one is hit, but then the mother pulls her own weapon and returns fire (that’s some apartment complex they live in).

Mother didn’t hit anything either.

The cops show up. More weapons are drawn, but the thug got away. Hmmm, this is beginning to sound like a typical Saturday night at The Compound.

The cops let the mother go free after they determined she was shooting in self-defense.

Someone rats out the thug, and he is arrested on a couple of outstanding warrants (go figure), robbery, and illegal use of a firearm.

No word on the candy or cash.

These two could have used basic training with their weapon. Maybe, just maybe, someone would have been hit. Okay, as I’m typing that, it makes a case for no training. I’m so confused!
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That is all!
 
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Happy Thursday everyone! One staggered step closer to the weekend.

The last 24 hours have been weird beyond weird at and around The Compound. Things are proceeding with our First Annual Chicken Wing Appreciation Fest. We changed the name after people started complaining about our calling it a chicken wing orgy yesterday. You people lack a sense of humor and take this stupid blog too seriously…sheesh! Get over your righteous upright selves.

Besides, it’s cooler to say the acronym FACWAF (sound it out). Anyway, one of the members of the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter (the only civic organization that will have me), Paul “Pottybox” Thornson, will provide us with lots of porta-johns. He’s in the business but is willing to donate the “Necessarys” at a greatly reduced rate (hint, I’m not paying the f*&^ing invoice).

That’s good, cuz the last thing I need is a horde of people munching chicken wings made from an as-yet untested recipe and guzzling beer; ultimately leading to an overflow of my septic system here.

Two other members of P.O.J.O.C. are headed to Kansas (it’s cheaper there, you know) to buy as much “real” beer as they can get in the back of Terry Two-Finger’s trailer. That isn’t bootlegging, is it? Nah…

The Daughter should arrive later today with the truckload of chicken wings in her refrigerated truck. We’ll have to time the thawing to ensure everything is ready to go when I start cooking.

Weather-wise, although the least chance of rain is Saturday the winds could be near-horrific. So, I think we’ll take our chances with FACWAF going down on Sunday. Generally, the storms go around us anyway.

So come on out! There’s plenty of chicken wings and “real” beer.

Cousin Fred suggested that we should start serving wings about the time the Royal Wedding gets underway. I pointed out that the coverage starts at 0300 Compound Time Saturday morning. He and the hairdressing hydrologist Gigi are positively gaga over this stupid royal wedding. Who cares?

Honestly, I care even less after being forced over the past several months to watch the drama unfold with her family. Good gawd what a bunch of dysfunctional redneck hillbillies. The Royals will never be the same! I may watch though. I keep getting the idea that soon-to-be-Mrs.-Prince is going to bolt at the last minute and then turn up on a Caribbean island with the latest hunky felon model who probably walked away from eighteenth hole at the William S. Keyless Country Club (local reference to a notoriously escapable local prison, if you aren’t from around here).

Mark my word, I’m usually right about stuff like this. Speaking of being right about stuff, a long time ago I marked Rex “Tea For The” Tillerson as the adult supervision in The Trump’s administration. I said he was a smart guy and a reasonably sane person thrown in with a bunch of lunatics seemingly bent on destroying America to make themselves richer. I did! Go look it up!

Well, Monsieur Rex turned up at the graduation ceremony at Virginia Military Institute yesterday and made some veiled…okay, they weren’t so veiled…remarks about The Trump and his gang of thugs in D.C.

Among his remarks was this gem, “If our leaders seek to conceal the truth, or we as a people become accepting of alternative realities that are no longer grounded in facts, then we as American citizens are on a pathway to relinquishing our freedom.”

Very well put.

Of course, the crowd wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about his remarks – they’re a bunch of militaristic wannabes at VMI after all – but the speech did get some national attention.

Now The Trump will be tweeting about cry baby Rex and what a loser he is…blah, blah, blah. You know, I keep holding out hope that maybe this narcissistic old fool will do something astounding. But, it seems that every step forward he takes, he does (or one of his thugs does) something that knocks him back two steps.  

We’re doomed I’m telling you.

My advice is to eat chicken wings, drink beer, and wait for the American princess to run out of the church – at least that will be entertaining.
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That is all!
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Good morning fellow humpsters – it’s hump day once again!

And what a good day it is, I guess. Cousin Fred was up bright and early this morning. At 0400 when I got up and started coffee, he came rushing up from Das Boot (his residence here at The Compound) and suddenly appeared in front of the picture window that looks out the front of the main house. He was banging on the window.

The Compound Mutts went crazy with the barking. There was a shriek from somewhere inside the house. The Wife was screaming that my “@#%*ing idiot cousin” was on the porch. That was followed by more shrieks of “why is your !#$@ing cousin on the porch? Tell that <insert your favorite expletive here> I’ve got a gun loaded with a bullet with his name on it!”

I could see Cousin Fred waving a piece of paper in his hand. Obviously, something important. Perhaps a summons for me from the White House to deliberate on the latest NoKo debacle (they aren't going to cooperate...go figure)?

I opened the front door, which set off for whatever reason, the phantom doorbell that occasionally rings for no apparent reason.

More shrieking from the back. That was followed by the sound of a striking match to light the first of many filterless Pall-Mall cigs today. Good, that will calm her down.

The dogs are barking furiously again – the phantom doorbell makes them think UPS is delivering another package…at 0400…stupid mutts. They’re now out the door and chasing the jackrabbits off the center lawn.

Ahhh, the start of another day here at The Compound.

I let Cousin Fred in who asks if coffee is ready and do we still have any of those Hostess Orange Cupcakes (a weakness of mine).

I get right to the point, asking what’s so G-D important that he has raise the alarm at The Compound?

He shows me something he printed off the internet, a page from  Bloomberg.com that says chicken wing prices have reached a four-year low. Oh, and they’re likely to stay that way throughout the summer.

For this, Cousin Fred woke the entire central time zone? But he was excited and on a roll so I let him…roll, that is.

It seems that demand for chicken wings has fallen off sharply since the last Super Bowl. Consequently, prices are plummeting as wholesalers are up to their eyebrows in chicken wings.

Who knew? I DO know why the demand is waning. Most chicken wings suck! There I said it. You can’t find a decent recipe for chicken wings in restaurants or frozen foods any more. Why is that? Have we become such foodies that we’re always looking for new ways to get high? All I know is that I’ve not had a decent chicken wing in years. The foodies want them with Thai sour coconut sauce or French essence of mussels sauce…crap like that!

Not your problem, I know.

It seems that the four-year low in wholesale chicken wing prices is at $1.37 per pound. Compare that to $2.18 per pound in September 2017, which according to the USDA (whose motto translated from the Latin is, “We’ve never set foot on a farm, nor shall we!”) was the all-time record for chicken wing prices. Thank you, USDA…morons.

At that point, Cousin Fred informed me that I need to buy a new freezer. I was sipping coffee and not really listening when he said it. “Huh? What?”

It seems that Cousin Fred has ordered a ton of frozen chicken wings to be delivered here to The Compound in the next couple of days.

Because he got so many freakin’ wings, they (distributors of said wings) gave him their non-gringo price of $1.20 per pound.

I pointed out that we don’t have room for that much frozen food even if I were to buy an additional freezer, which I won’t do.

“No problemo, Cousin!” he says.

He had already contacted The Daughter, who most of you will recall graduated from the George Mason School for Advanced Truck Driving last year about this time. She’s going to load the chicken wings into a refrigerated trailer and drive them out here direct from the east coast.

Cousin Fred wants to have a chicken wing orgy (so to speak) here at The Compound this weekend.
I asked who’s cooking said chicken wings.

He said, “Why you of course, Cousin!”

I've begun searching for chicken wing recipes. I’m going for classic flavor. Screw you foodies with your sweet, tangy sauces. Good food is painful. Thus speaketh Mr. Robin.

Everyone is invited to The Compound this weekend for the First Annual Chicken Wing Orgy (no nudity involved, we promise).
 
Be here, aloha! More to follow.

That is all!

Here we are, another stinkin’ Monday! Sunday was a busy one here in Cosmic City. Let’s see, it was Mother’s Day, of course. Then there was the high school graduation going on in self-cleaning-oven-temps.

Yep, more than 1,000 hot, sweaty bodies packed into the stands of the football stadium to watch their kids take one step closer to the miserable hell that is adulthood. So glad I missed that yesterday.

Besides being outdoors at the hottest time of the day, there was the whole parking thing. Cars filled the lot at the high school and then spilled out onto wherever anyone could find space.

Word has it that the school district in the coming year is planning a new bondage issue for a multi-tiered parking garage (can’t spread out – go up) and air conditioning for the stadium. Yeah, that’ll fly.

The cool thing (pardon the poorly constructed pun without any sort of contextual point) about the whole multi-level parking garage is that it could be a money maker for the district. Think about it, you could charge a premium for people to park on the east edge of the upper two levels. They would be high enough to see what’s going on in the stadium without having to get out of their vehicle. Just sit there with the AC and/or heat blowing and watch whatever.

Genius! Genius, I’m telling you!

Eh well, so if you’re a recent graduate of high school and you’re reading this post, you’re probably asking yourself…”Why am I reading this?” Seriously, congratulations and believe me when I tell you it’s only going to get worse.  

Okay, I’m going to avoid the segue thing because I really suck doing them properly, so break-break-break…new topic.
Friends, as you all know, we here at CCB are fans of our neighbors to the north – no not frigging Canada, the state of Kansas! After all, it’s cheaper there you know.

In fact, we have praised and/or ridiculed Kansas at least once or twice. Like the time that Garmin Corp (based in Kansas) came out with new software for their GPS devices (remember those?) and the state of Oklahoma was blacked out. We generally don’t pick on the Kansas state legislature, mostly because the legislature in Oklahoma could provide a lifetime of fodder for this stupid blog.

Seriously, we really don’t pay much attention to the Kansas State Legislature, until, of course, they do something so bizarre that it goes national. Then we get all jayhawker on their ass.

So last week, The Wichita Eagle (whose motto translated from the Latin is “Well, at least have basketball”), published a story about a new Kansas state law that makes it illegal for police to have sex with motorists they pull for traffic violations and/or detain in criminal investigations.

Really? You need a state law for that? WTF is wrong with you people?

Specifically, the new law prohibits sexual relations, “…during the course of a traffic stop, a custodial interrogation, an interview in connection with an investigation, or while the law enforcement officer has such person detained.”

Wow, powerful stuff Kansas. Again, WTF?

That’ll really put a crimp in the whole kinky roleplaying scenario of a guy dressed as a cop who pretends to “pulls over” a woman who doesn’t want her husband to know she’s getting another ticket and will do anything for a warning. Oh, sorry, that’s just me.

Apparently, the legislature looked upon this as a loophole. Huh?

Kansas has laws that sort of dance around the issue. It was specifically illegal in Kansas for people to have sex while they’re in jail. The loophole was that there was nothing to prevent you from having sex with a cop before you get to jail.

Okay, one more time, WTF?

Guess what? The police union up in Kansas is outraged, if not confused. They point out that most traffic stops are now recorded on body cams making it tough to get away with anything lascivious.

According to state representative John Whitmer (R-Wichita), despite the body cams stuff can happen and it’s good to have a law in place when it does. Whatever the hell that means.
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That is all!
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Happy Friday everybody! We made it through another stinking week.

Here at The Compound we received a decent amount of rain early Thursday morning, though there’s still a burn ban in place. The ban is putting a crimp in the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter’s (P.O.J.O.C.) annual spring rite of roasting jackrabbits over an open fire – hey, it’s a fundraiser (they really aren’t too bad once you get past the ear ticks).

Terry Two-Fingers, who by day is a rattlesnake handler and charmer from Freedom, suggested throwing the jackrabbits into Big Bertha, my mega-smoker, but I’m having none of that. Low and slow cooking is no way to kill rabbit fever.

I guess we’re stuck until we get a lot more rain and the burn ban is lifted. We use the annual Hare Roast to raise money for scholarships and we’re running out of time.

Cousin Fred, our newest membership addition to the lodge, was talking back in January about opening the marina here at Lake Mountebank over Memorial Day weekend to camper overflow from Fort Supply Lake (whose motto taken from the Latin is “That’s no gator floating on the water, it’s a bovine!”). But, again, that fundraising idea fell apart - there hasn’t been enough rainfall this winter and spring to even wet the ground of the dried-up lake here at The Compound.

Sorry kids, no P.O.J.O.C. scholarships this year (we have trouble finding young scholars willing to accept them – no one wants the stigma). Maybe next year. Cousin Fred is also talking about us putting on another music festival here this summer out in the north pasture. Given that the last couple of attempts have been disasters on a par with the Hindenburg debacle (literally), I’m not sure that will or could happen.

Besides, we’re still trying to figure out a way to pay Paul McCartney for the gigantic video screens we rented and then (inadvertently) destroyed during A Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival last summer.

Cousin Fred has stopped taking Sir Paul’s calls. Eh, we’re in the middle of nowhere, he won’t find us.

Speaking of not taking calls (good gawd I’m bad at segues) …did you hear about the woman super-stalker in Arizona?
So this guy meets a woman (that’s her mugshot up above) through a dating site. They go out on one date. ONE STINKING DATE. After which she began calling and texting non-stop. She would send as many as 500 texts a day! That’s just over 20 texts every hour for 24-hours…or one every three minutes. Sometimes while she was parked right outside his house!

I think if I’d been that guy I would have blown up my phone (literally) and moved to Uzbekistan.

65,000 texts total from first date to arrest…that must be some plan she has.

The guy was freaked out, so he installed one of those remote view surveillance systems in his home. He spotted her taking a bath in his house one day and called police. They show up, make her get out of the bath, and threaten to arrest her is she doesn’t knock it off. Oh, they checked her car and found a butcher knife. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

But, still, they let her go.

Soon the texts became more threatening, telling him she wanted to “bathe in his blood.” Yeah, nothing wrong with you honey.

Finally, she showed up at his work, told his co-workers that she was his wife and then proceeded to take a shower at his work. Hmmm, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I think we’re beginning to see a pattern here.

The guy calls the cops who finally arrest her. After being taken into custody, she told police that she never intended to harm Mr. Wonderful, she only sent threatening texts because she loved him and didn’t want him to leave her.

Again, hmmm.

In front of the judge, she admitted some of her texts were a little crazy. The judge agreed, and she’s now being held for trial without bond.

Oh, if you would like to join the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter, email me at [email protected]. I’ll rush the membership application to you.

​That is all!