 Happy Friday everyone. Well, I don’t know if happy is a proper term for it. Hot and sweaty maybe. The AC went out in the main house at The Compound yesterday afternoon. The hottest day of summer (so far) and the AC goes out. At least the winds died down a bit. I was beginning to feel like I was living on Ceti Alpha V with the sand blowing in a horrific hot wind – and if you get that obscure reference from a great movie, you win a cookie.
Cousin Fred and I returned from Kansas (it's cheaper there, you know) yesterday afternoon where we purchased a number of illegal fireworks to bring back into Oklahoma. Spent far too much money and we’re now sitting on far too much firepower in an overheated Compound with no AC. Again, what could possibly go wrong? The Wife wasn’t here when I got here. I walked in to find a home interior nearly as hot as it was outside. There was a note taped to the fridge that said, “The AC’s out,” (no kidding), “I’m moving to a motel. Don’t try to follow me.” I called the AC repair people – the same people who installed the damn thing EIGHT years ago. Eight years. Shouldn’t an AC compressor last longer than eight years? Hell, the compressor we had in our Virginia house was 25 years old and never failed me. This will be the fourth call I’ve had to make in the last twelve months because something went wrong on the compressor. But, I digress… Friends, have you ever watched the morning show, think it’s called Morning Joe or something, on MSNBC? Of course you haven’t. Why would you? Although it’s generally kind of entertaining to turn it on to see which way Joe and Mika are leaning that particular morning. You have political views that lean left one day, or right the next day. You just never know. Then there’s Joe who looks like a college professor in need of a long hiatus. And Mika with that cold, icy look that says she’d just as soon tear the heart out of your chest and eat it while you watch before it all goes dark. Well, guess what? They’re now the number ONE most watched morning show in America…thanks to The Trump! MSNBC should seriously send the White House one of those edible fruit arrangements, but hurry because its summer and those go bad quick. It seems that Joe and Mika, who are incidentally engaged (when the hell did that happen), following The Trump’s latest rampage via Twitter yesterday morning and the freakin’ outrage that followed have cancelled their plans for a day off today and will stay on the air to address their personal sadness and offense. F**k, oh dear. Will someone please break The Trump’s thumbs so he’ll stop with the tweets already? Look, the guy’s a narcissistic overbearing obnoxious bully, he can’t help himself. Sure it’s undignified. Of course it’s demeaning to the office. So what? He isn’t going to change. We’re stuck with him. So what are we (a collective term meaning those of us who have to endure this nonsense) going to do? Turn the other cheek, perhaps? NAH…screw that. That would be the mature thing to do. This is war! And, in the big scheme of things there’s something in it for everyone…I mean, hey, MSNBC will today be the shining apple in a pile of hack morning shows. Today, they win…that’s a time reference not the show Today – Today will probably win tomorrow, no wait Tomorrow’s a late night show, they’ll probably win this morning, no This Morning’s…. Now you’ll have every little known TV personality in America taking Twitter shots at The Trump, praying that he’ll respond and they’ll be famous for a day. Who knows, among the winners maybe Nancy Pelosi will get her own talk show. Wouldn’t that be great? No, not really. She could have a segment where she rides around in a big white limo before pulling up in front of some poor schmuck’s home. After introducing herself to whomever is inside and the occupants attempting to slam the door in her face, four goons appear from the bushes and charge into the house to seize any guns the Schmuck family may have hidden or lying about. Host Nancy thanks them for their time and cooperation as the goons load the weapons in the trunk. As a consolation prize she could offer them six coupons each one good for doctor office visit and a year's supply of useless overpriced pharmaceutical samples. Ain’t America great?! See, I should be working in television. I’ve got a million ideas like that. Sure it’s a dying medium, but I’m known for riding programs and projects into the sunset. A sunsetter, that’s what I am! By the way, if you’re one of the blog readers who sent me hate emails and comments about what I said about the average American being an undereducated sheep being led around by whichever political party says whatever they want to hear….thhhpppppppttt! Politics in America is broken, it isn’t going to get better by lobbyists handing over envelopes of cash to career politicians who couldn’t keep a job on the outside. There’s a finite number of votes up for grabs in this country…or maybe not if the stupid Russians keep their hand in our elections…so both sides will tell you what you want to hear and then do the opposite. It's why they're all "lying c*cks*ckers" to quote afternoon SiriusXM personality Mojo Nixon...no relation to the dead Nixon. My point yesterday was that people need to start thinking critically. See through the bullsh*t on both sides. Maybe we’ve gone too far to alter course. I hope not, that would be a shame. That is all!  Yeah, yeah, happy Thursday…you know what’s the matter with the Democratic Party, people? Do you even care? Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.
It’s become too factious. That’s it in a nutshell. The Dems have become too splintered, not to mention arrogant about their prospects, for success in American politics. Oh, sure, they’ll say stuff like, “Oh, well, Ossoff is facing a tough challenge. It's gonna be close. We can’t let our guard down. Haha.” Off camera, they’re convinced they have it locked up in the bag strong enough to hold venomous snakes. I’m sure everyone was certain that Georgians wouldn’t elect a candidate being pushed by The Trump. But, guess what…they did. What I think they’re really missing is the ability to get it done…to close it…to IMPLEMENT their Brainiac delusions. You know what, DNC? The American people aren’t all that smart. There, I said it. Americans prefer to be led around like sheep in a show pen. You trip the right switches, you get their support. By and large, the American people are woefully undereducated (and it’s getting worse) and generally incapable of critical thinking. Oh sure, the Republicans come off as a bunch of elitist snobs seeking an America that’s a hybrid of Eisenhower (well, he managed to look dignified), Nixon (he’s still dead, right?), Reagan (genuflect and cross yourself), and…oh, I don’t know, Lincoln (who actually wasn’t a Republican in the sense of now and I’ll explain why). But, as factious as they themselves are, the GOP got through the door early and told people what they wanted to hear. In the meantime, the Dems were still too busy hanging tapestries of the Kennedy brothers on the wall and not really paying attention. So the GOP swept up the middle class in this country on promises that better days lay ahead. You’re from a long line of coal miners? Brother, we have coal for you to mine. You come from a long line of farmers? No problem. We’ll get Washington out of your business and raise the price of wheat all at the same time. Honestly, as long as the GOP can keep shifting district boundaries and herding sheep, they’ll keep winning. I’m not certain I buy into the whole Norman Rockwell vision of America, I think that’s past us. We’re a great country, but the world has changed. Things will never return the days of Ozzie and Harriet and the Beav’. The Dems don’t need liberal thought or moderate thought in the party. They need progressive thought. People with the vision to move the party and this great nation forward. And, then IMPLEMENT that vision. Get the sheeps (sic) behind you. So, what brought this up was an article I saw in my morning newsfeed that Nancy Pelosi has gotten a reprieve from what promised to be a public beheading. Well, good for her. She still has a job and enough money to continue the Botox injections, I guess. Apparently, the idiots at DNC and Dems in Congress were thinking it was time to oust her because Ossoff lost (not sure I really understand why that was actually her fault, but what the hell do I know). By the way, GOP, you might want to keep an eye on Ossoff. I suspect he’s your next headache. But, it doesn’t matter whether she was responsible or not. The Democratic Party supposedly took a nationwide poll as to whether or not to force Pelosi out of her position as Minority Leader. Bu**sh*t I say. What poll? Nationwide? How come no one else heard about it? According to the poll, only one in four polled sheep were calling for her head. What question did you ask? “Do you want grandma out of a job, or what?” My point here is that if Democratic “leadership” thought it was time for her to go, then they should have taken steps to make that happen. DO something. No, they want to take a poll for pete’s sake. Think…be progressive…do something…implement. Now, I made a couple of statements in this posting that I guess I have to defend. First the whole Lincoln wasn’t actually a Republican thing. It really irks me when I hear a rabid Republican on television talking about the Party of Lincoln. Yes, true, Lincoln was a Republican. BUT, at some point between the Lincoln administration and FDR there was a huge pendulum shift in politics and political beliefs in this country. And the Republican party of today is what the Democratic party of yesterday was…or words to that effect. Finally, my comments about people in America being woefully undereducated and incapable of critical thought? Yeah, I’ll stand by that. We now have at least two generations of students moving or having moved through public schools who were taught nothing, but how to take a test. They know nothing, except what a teacher drilled into their head to pass the test so that the teacher could keep his or her job. That’s it. It ain’t going to get no better anytime soon. Okay, and truly final comment, politics in this country is irretrievably broken. When you consider how much career politicians make in loans, contributions, and who knows what all from lobbyists with their healthcare, gun, environmental, who knows what agendas, it’s a miracle if anything ever gets fixed. Term limits people. It’s the only thing that has kept the president from becoming a King. Hold the morons in Congress accountable…whatever their party. We’re starting to see glimmers of that with people in townhall meetings taking their representatives to task. Good…hold their feet to the fire. Okay, I’m actually done with the Thursday rant. Cousin Fred and I are headed to Kansas (it’s cheaper there you know) to buy (Oklahoma) illegal fireworks to set off on the 4th. If you want to see REAL mayhem, feel free to drop by The Compound Tuesday night where we’ll be celebrating while sampling Mr. Kim’s Korean Plum Wine Hooch and foolishly playing around with high explosives. What could go wrong? That is all!  We at CCB are going WAAAY out on a limb today (it’s cracking under our weight) so hang with us here. Cousin Fred, as you know, is a conspiracy theorist from way back. In fact, our entire family has always had a hand in not only developing conspiracy theories, but recklessly spreading them soon after development. It’s our contribution to the world.
I had a close Relative (not naming names here) who developed the theory that LBJ was singularly responsible for the murders of JFK, RFK, and MLK in the 60’s. By the way, if you were born post-1970 and have no idea who or what I’m talking about…start looking on the internet…that theory (or one very similar to it) is still floating around out there. Of course, the Relative’s theory was developed long before Al Gore invented the internet. Sigh – if you were born after…I don’t know, say 1998…and have no idea who Al Gore is or why he thinks he invented the internet…again, read. Actually, I met the one of the guys who invented the internet years ago while I was working on a project. His name is Vint Cerf… But I digress… The Relative’s theory, very detailed in its specific actions, was that LBJ caused those murders to happen to consolidate his power and move his own legacy (read as agenda) forward. Why, you ask, am I dredging up old (possibly fake) history? Well, mostly to establish my familial bona fides as a genuine conspiracy theorist. Friends, do you believe that man actually landed on the Moon? Or do you believe it was all fake and done on a Hollywood-type sound stage somewhere? Several years ago, I had an opportunity to meet and talk with a guy who lived outside of Seattle. He was a retired systems engineer from Rockwell, the contractor responsible for several of the systems that flew aboard the Apollo missions. According to him, a lot of the technology that allowed Apollo 11 (again, look it up junior) to land on the Moon and return to Earth didn’t exist then. It was still another couple of years away. It seems that Richard Nixon (isn’t he dead yet?) was so bent on landing on the Moon to rub it in the face of the Soviets that NASA was forced to fake a Moon landing. Of course, the retired engineer, who was telling me all of this, was talking inside a bar after several drinks, so who knows. Over the years, NASA, and by extension, the government has done all it can to smash rumors about conspiracies of one sort or another. Particularly, when it comes to rumors of alien life forms being found and or visiting Roswell, New Mexico. Have you been to Roswell? Why in the name of all that is holy would aliens land in Roswell? Oh right, they crashed. So yesterday, the hacker collective known as Anonymous, posted online a video citing several examples which point to NASA being on the verge of announcing the discovery of alien life. Anonymous, has established some credibility in the past with highly publicized stunts and denial of service attacks on government, religious, and corporate websites. It makes us at CCB wonder what would prompt Anonymous to make the announcement unless there is something substantive beneath it. Over the past year, NASA has made press release after press release after press release regarding the discovery of some 30 exoplanets in habitable zones of galaxies. Of course, they’re likely making those announcements to ensure that funding for its upcoming launch of the Webb Telescope (replaces Hubble) doesn’t stop. But…is NASA keeping something from us? Who knows? Officials at NASA immediately began Tweeting that there is no forthcoming announcement. No conspiracy here, folks…move along. WHAT ARE YOU HIDING NASA? Yeah, no conspiracy here, uh huh, brought to you by the same bunch that allegedly (jury’s still out) folded under Nixon (he is dead, right?) and staged a Moon landing. Hmmmm…we at CCB expect there will be more on this in the very near future. And, if not, Cousin Fred is working on an altogether too complicated theory about it all. We’ll roll that out soon. See, you do have something to live for after all! That is all!  Hey, hey…so, we’ve made it to Friday without any serious injuries or heartaches. BTW, if you have suffered a serious injury or heartache kindly keep to it yourself so as not to bring the rest of us down. Haha, just kidding, ALL of us want to hear about your injury or heartache, don’t we? Hello? ALL of us? Okay, so in a weird…no, weird isn’t strong enough…in a bizarre occurrence yesterday, guess who called me…go on, guess. Nope it wasn’t The Trump, he dumped me as his go-to advisor (don’t you people read this blog?). It was the friggin’ Somali Pirates calling from Somalia to hijack my phone! I’m NOT kidding. It was the first time in I don’t remember when that they’ve called. Seriously, I haven’t heard from them in a while and then I mentioned them in yesterday’s posting and suddenly they’re dialing for dollars again. Somali Pirates read this dumb blog? WTF? Savages! After the attempt at boarding by Somali Pirates, we locked down The Compound yesterday and I put Cousin Fred up on the roof of The Cab as a lookout. I tell you, you can’t move anywhere nowadays that people can’t track you down. Stupid GPS. And things are beginning to close in on me here. Apparently, ABLE (Oklahoma liquor cops) reads this blog also. They arrived yesterday mid-morning and set up roadblocks at the county road intersections on either side of us. Guess they read that Mr. Kim will soon arrive with a batch of his fortified Korean plum wine hooch to dispense during the Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival. So, how come no one that could syndicate this blog ever reads it? Cousin Fred told me not to worry and laid out a plan his plan for getting the fortified hooch onto the grounds here. The Compound is conveniently located in the middle of the section line between the two roadblocks. We’ll have Mr. Kim come through the pasture across the road. There’s a gate directly across from the entrance to The Compound. Problem solved. At any rate, we’re not altogether certain when Mr. Kim is coming so those guys (ABLE) may be out there awhile. I’ll drop off a couple of boxes of donuts to each roadblock this morning. That always makes them happy. The Trump’s White House yesterday evening hosted its annual outdoor “Congressional Picnic” fête. Members of Congress (friendly to the administration) and their families were invited. Members of the media were herded off to the side and corralled in what they called the media pen. Seriously, they put the media in a roped off area where they take all the pictures and shout out questions that they want. Finally, after some time, the rabid reporters were starving for food, drink, and attention, at which point Spicey himself showed up with box of wine and warm beer to pass out. He didn’t enter the media pen, thereby soiling himself and becoming one with the unwashed horde behind the rope. He instead handed the box of tepid refreshments over the ropes and then stepped back as reporters and photographers began fighting over the offering. Spicey had apparently only given them 0.25 servings per person. Mayhem ensued, much to the amusement of picnic guests, though there wasn’t anyone left to cover it. Surprisingly, there were a few Dems in the crowd, though not many. Anybody who was anybody (Democrat-wise) was over on the other side of town plotting the overthrow of Nancy Pelosi. Pelosi in the meantime was trying her best to sneak past the guards at the White House gates and crash the party. Ah, the Washington social calendar is in full bloom…smell the rancid odor of mediocrity, self-importance, and overused portable toilets. That is all!  Happy Thursday, people! For the second night in a row, we’ve lost power here at The Compound, but no one seems to know why. Or, at least they won’t tell us why.
Unlike my next door neighbor (a mile or so away), who has OG&E and his lights are always on (OG&E’s motto translated from the Latin is “We’ll keep the lights on, no matter watt!”), here at The Compound we have NWEC (whose motto translated from the Latin – and this is a fresh translation – “We just keep tapping OG&E’s power to keep the lights on). Well, I guess someone found the tap. So, as I always do when we lose power here – two nights in a row people, come on! – I called the outage reporting number (also known as the outrage hotline). Guess where they are? Austin, Minnesota. I know that because I mentioned to the person who answered the line that this was the second night in a row that we’ve lost power. I asked if they could tell me why? The response I got (I’m not kidding here), was “Sir, I can’t tell you that.” After that I asked where I was calling…freakin’ Minnesota, that’s where. Hmmmmmm, I thought. What I said was, “You can’t tell me or you won’t tell me?” The person then informed that my outage would be reported and the line then went dead. I don’t know what I expected from someone sitting in Minnesota. The power was out for a bit longer last night - 90 minutes. It was out for 60 minutes the night before. Will there be another outage tonight, or will NWEC manage to not drop the load (Navy talk)? Guess they’ll just have to find another isolated spot they can tap OG&E’s power. Granted, I live on a compound with perimeter lighting that operates off of a series of interconnected generators, but I didn’t want to use that…it’s for special events like firefights in the middle of the night. So, I just sat there in the darkness and silence of NO POWER contemplating how my life has gone so very wrong, when my phone lit up. The caller ID said it was anonymous. That meant it was either my Somali Pirate friends who like to call at weird times to hijack my phone if I’m foolish enough to answer OR it was The Trump. Frankly, I’d rather take my chances with Somali Pirates. Hesitantly, I answered. It was The Trump. My spirits sank even lower. “Hey, there Blogger Boy! How’s life in the dark?” “How did you…?” “Cause I’m president and I know everything, that’s how! You want your lights back on? Here…” I heard a click on the other end and the power came back on. “My lights just came back on. Did you do that?” “Listen up, Blogger Boy…I know your lights are back on. I just turned them back on!” “But…how…why?” “Not important. The only thing you need to know is that I can smash you whenever I want, like I’m doing those stupid Democrats.” “Ummmm…” “Hey, Blogger Boy, you watch the fake network evening news, right? Did you catch my speech up in Iowa? Those people love them some Trump in Iowa! There’s talk of renaming the town square in my honor. And, why do you watch fake network evening news anyway? That’s for old people. It’s a conspiracy to sell Viagra and Go See Alice to people who need that sort of thing. I don’t, do I Blogger Boy?” “I…uh…what?” “Anywho, that’s the reason I’m calling. I’m 5 and 0 now. 5 and 0, Blogger Boy! I’m on a roll and when Trump gets on a roll, Trump rolls over everyone. I’m breaking up with you. I won’t be calling again, I don’t need your pathetic advice. Did I mention 5 and 0?” “Well, it was a zero-sum game...” “I tell you those delusional Dems are in disarray. I’m so glad I switched parties. Okay, so to review, I won’t be calling no more, but I will occasionally turn your lights on and off just for fun. Maybe the next time, I have some head of state here in the Oval Office, I’ll him or her flip your lights on and off. Whaddya think about that? Okay, I gotta go…we’re planning a carpet bombing campaign of the West Coast. Trump out!” I sat there contemplating what had just happened, but contemplating it all in light. I thought I should alert someone on the West Coast about the carpet bombing thing, but who would believe me? Instead, I chose sleep. Pssst…if you’re in California, Oregon, or Washington, you may want to come inland, to maybe New Jersey. Just sayin’. That is all!  Happy Tuesday everybody! Hope you had a great weekend and start to the week. For me, I’m considering shorter weekends. Maybe I can get a part-time gig decorating cakes at Walmart or something. I’m sure the current head of cake decoration there would like a little time off during the weekend? I wind up spending too much time here at The Compound.
O…let me count the ways…Siding Sam's early-60’s vintage Buick that the Brother-in-Law pushed into the road in front of The Compound is still there. A sheriff’s unit from the next county over stopped on Saturday to look it over. Guess he was a bit confused as to where the county line actually is (hint – it’s one mile west). The deputy informed me that I am not move the vehicle until a full investigation can be conducted. I tried to point out that he was a bit out of his jurisdiction, but he simply gave me a confused look and commenced wrapping the Buick in yellow crime scene tape. He hasn’t been back…bet he can’t find the place the again. The cabling is done on the humungous video displays on the stage for the Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival this summer. Izzy, the non-driving Buddhist vegan with irretrievably poor eyesight consultant from OKC is back at The Compound. I drove down to the City on Friday afternoon to fetch him back here. I need someone around to keep Cousin Fred in check. Especially if I’m going to take up part-time cake decorating at Walmart. Izzy will stay in Friend Lamont’s RV. So, that was my weekend. Still, it’s not as bad as the Sunday of the poor fellow out in South Carolina whose girlfriend/friend/random female (it’s unclear exactly what she is to him) did her best(?) to lob off his head with a cheap machete. Friends, let me give you a piece of advice. If you’re like me (and I pray you aren’t), you sometimes have trouble sleeping and when you do you sometimes turn on the TV and watch the knife show. They have all kinds of edged weapons on there that you can buy and pay nearly as much in shipping charges to get it into your hands. BUT, whatever you do, don’t buy their machete sword. It doesn’t come sharpened and unless you know what you’re doing and have a decent tool for sharpening swords it’ll never get to a point that you can properly behead your boyfriend/friend/random dude. Now then, you’re probably asking yourself, “What in the world did he do to her to deserve an attempt at beheading?” Am I right? I know I asked myself that question as I read the account of Sunday’s South Carolina mayhem. Turns out it was nothing. Well, nothing if you’re of reasonable mental health. She thought people were coming to crucify her and (I guess) she thought the random boy toy in her house (we’ll call him Captain Wienbag) was the first wave. At least that’s what she told the cops – it’s her story and she’s sticking to it. So…first she managed to get a bag over his head – presumably she wanted to contain the mess and then proceeded with whacking at his neck with the machete. I bet it was one of those cheap, dull machetes from the knife show. The only thing she managed to do was split his ear, which I’m sure bled without end. Good thing she had it contained in the plastic bag, right? But, wait there’s more! When he tried to run away (I know, right? Well, he is Captain Wienbag after all!) she chased him and threw an ax at him. But, wait there’s still more! Captain Wienbag made it to his pickup and attempted drive away. Before he could though, she managed to light off a gas can in the back setting the pickup afire. The cops show up and the Warrior Princess (as we’re calling her) seemed oblivious to everything that had happened. Hmmmmm. She is charged with attempted murder and arson. The story doesn’t mention how Captain Wienbag came to have the bag tied over his head and/or didn’t fight back. Bet there was some sort of depraved sex thing going on. Whaddyathink? It turns out this wasn’t Warrior Princess’ first rodeo with attempted murder. Two years ago she was charged after placing a bag over her mother’s head and attempting to choke mom to death. Then she claimed she was just trying to release the demons (from her or mom?). Hmmmmm. So what have we learned here today kids? 1. Cake decorating at Walmart can be a catharsis. 2. Always check into the past history of anyone you’re considering taking up a depraved sex thing with. 3. Never allow anyone to tie a bag over your head no matter how “good” it will be. 4. ALWAYS check under the bed, behind the door, and beneath the couch for cheap machetes with dull blades. They’re hard to hide. 5. Stay the hell out of South Carolina! That is all!  Happy Thursday, you fellow lucky devils, we’re all still alive! Well, except for that guy over in the corner…someone get a pulse on him please.
The Brother-in-Law showed up last night for cocktails. As we sat outside talking (it was a beautiful evening here at The Compound), he surveyed the Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival site in the north pasture. He looked as though he were about to make a comment when we heard a bloodcurdling scream. Cousin Fred, who was working to complete the cabling of the video screens in the upper reaches of the stage, slipped and fell nearly 30 feet to the floor. “Egad, not again!” I muttered, taking another sip of my drink. The Brother-in-Law jumped up and started to head that way when he noticed that The Wife and I weren’t moving. The Wife grunted and clinched her lit filterless Pall Mall between her teeth even harder than usual and said, “Sit back down. It’s the sixth time today he’s done that.” About that time, Cousin Fred jumped up and yelled, “I’m okay!” before scurrying back up the ladder to do more cabling. We could hear Gigi, the hairdressing hydrologist yelling from the stage floor, “Be careful up there my climbing monkey! Climb my monkey boy, climb!” The Compound mutts then alerted us to a vehicle coming down the road from the south. It was an early 60’s vintage Buick Riviera. It screeched to an abrupt halt just outside the gates of The Compound. The sole occupant climbed atop the hood of the car and, with the setting sun in his eyes, commenced speaking…well, bellowing really. “The wages of tin is a new metal roof…,” he proclaimed. The Brother-in-Law looked confused. “Did he say the wages of tin?” “Yeah,” I responded. “That’s Siding Sam. He’s trying to get us to reroof the house with sections of heavy-gauge rolled steel.” Siding Sam was now jumping up and down on the hood of the old Buick and screaming, “Blessed is the house wherein the occupants remain dry and worry-free for the duration of the warranty!” He began waving a piece of paper in the air, “Herein it is written, limited coverage for 30 years eve to eve, front to back, and side to side!” The Brother-in-Law looked even more confused. I tried to help out, “Siding Sam used to be a preacher, but he got caught moonlighting in the next county over selling siding and roofing products to homeowners after hail storms. His congregation figured they hired a full-time preacher, not a part-time tinman, so they let him go. Now he only sells siding.” Siding Sam continued, “Be assured of protection, brothers and sisters, when hellfire, brimstone, and hail rain down on thee! Steel roofing will not burn, stain, or dent!” As he said this, Siding Sam dropped to his knees on the hood of his Buick, raising his arms in the air. The Brother-in-Law jumped up and announced he was leaving, making an excuse about not wanting to miss the Real Hausfraus of München on the Bavarian Channel. I pointed out that the only open gate off The Compound was currently blocked by Siding Sam who continuing his metallurgical rants from atop the hood of his vehicle. It was true. I had already secured the south gate for the night and would secure the north gate once The Brother-in-Law departed. “No problemo,” he muttered as walked off to his big truck. He raced down the driveway, stopping mere inches from Siding Sam’s Buick. The Brother-in-Law began honking the horn. Siding Sam stood defiant on the hood of the car. The Brother-in-Law eased his truck forward pressing into the side of the Buick. Siding Sam, began screaming like a twelve year old girl. He then climbed up on the roof of the car on all fours where he began barking like a dog, showing teeth and lowering the front portion of his body with his ass in the air. The Brother-in-Law shoved the Buick sufficiently into the middle of road giving himself enough room to escape. He left to the north. Siding Sam climbed down off the Buick and examined the damage. The driver’s side was completely caved in. He went around to the trunk where he removed a bicycle. He shook his fist at us and announced he would return. He rode off to the south, leaving the damaged Buick in the road. As we were taking in that scene, there was another scream from the stage. This time when he fell, Cousin Fred managed to grab one of the cables on the way down and was swinging to and fro across the stage. Gigi was clapping her hands and yelling, “Look at my climbing monkey boy, now he is the Tarzan. Swing Tarzan swing!” Just another evening at The Compound. That is all!  Okay, here’s something a little different for CCB. It’s also a new use for your Go Pro. This is a video shot Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake, CA during a media orientation flight by the Blue Angels. There’s no annoying music behind the video, you just hear the ambient sound from inside the cockpit. It’s long, I’ll grant you, but definitely worth the time. Highlights include a number of 360 degree rolls and that famous Blue Angels 36 inches from wingtip to canopy. If you’ve ever wanted to experience a high-G regime in a tactical aircraft, here’s your chance…without puking your guts up (just ask Cousin Fred).
And, yes, I am an alum of the Team (1976-1980)...and yes I know how old that makes me. Thhhhhhpppppttttt! Enjoy! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3dLPGbpm1c&feature=youtu.be&t=5m49s  Terrific Tuesday all you asthmatic and irritable peoples – I tell you after four solid days of horrific winds, I’m ready to move underground. I’m beginning to think gophers have the right idea.
You know what’s wrong with me? Hint: It’s a rhetorical question…I’m not actually looking for actual responses. Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I go out of town for a day and the world goes to hell. Seriously. Let’s see, The Trump held his first Cabinet meeting yesterday and went around the table insisting that every member praise him in front of the cameras. Of course, they praised him, there were probably goons with guns outside of the Cabinet Room to purge any disparagers. Oh, the latest leaker, Reality Winner (how unfortunate a name has she) was photographed doing yoga in prison. There are reports that The Trump is going to fire Robert Mueller as special counsel – a move that would be very Nixonian (Nixon’s still dead, right?). Oh, oh…Dennis Rodman is headed back to North Korea for another playdate with that lunatic Kim Jong Whatever. And, a bunch of beer-bellied conservatives with weapons showed up in Houston because a bunch of internet trolls planted rumors that a statue of Sam Houston was being torn down. Just another Monday, I reckon. In the meantime… Cousin Fred and I headed to Enid yesterday, which, for those of you outside the dried bovine excrement throwing distance of The Compound (a local sport in which it’s important to have horrific winds to your back) is the second nearest city after Cosmic City (one Walmart and four liquor stores). We were over in Enid to meet up with a former roadie for the last Rolling Stones U.S. tour. Ian Colgagger is his name and he had a set of the cabling needed to make the humungous video screens work that we need for The Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival this summer here at The Compound. We pulled up to the guy’s residence which sits in one of the older neighborhoods. He actually owns the entire block and has had all of the other structures leveled. Guess there’s something to be said for mammoth rock n’ roll. He has a big fence surrounding the entire block. His house, a very mature 1940s bungalow sits perched a mere 20 feet from the front gate at the curb. There was a sign over the entrance that reads “Chez Colgagger”. Cousin Fred commented, “This must be the place.” Ian met us at the gate and after examining our IDs, let us inside his compound. He was a huge man…and, that’s an understatement. He was at least seven feet tall and wearing torn jeans, a t-shirt, and an old denim jacket with the sleeves torn off. Did I mention the eye patch over one eye? “You have the cash,” he asked? Cousin Fred responded, “Yeah, we have the cash. You have the cables?” “Yeah, I have the cables. Follow me.” He led us around behind the house to an old and increasingly decrepit looking detached garage. As we followed him, Cousin Fred elbowed me and pointed with his chin the handle of a gun tucked into the small of Ian’s back. It was at eye level to the two of us. “Nice place you have here,” Cousin Fred commented in an obviously lame attempt at small talk. “Big open space. I like this.” Without stopping, Ian responded, “Yeah, I can see the unwashed hordes coming from a long way off.” Cousin Fred turned to me and mouthed the words, “Unwashed hordes?” I shrugged, keeping an eye on the weapon tucked in Ian’s waistband. When we got to the front of the garage, Ian said, “Wait here.” He pushed and pulled the old carriage style doors open on the structure and stepped inside, drawing the weapon from his back. We heard a loud cry of anguished obscenities followed by two shots. Cousin Fred and I hit the ground, the silty dust rising up around us. A mass exodus of rats emerged from inside. They were followed by Ian Colgagger carrying a dusty box. He dropped the box in front of Cousin Fred, who raised his head high enough to peer into the box. Ian tucked the weapon back into the waistband of his pants. “There’s your cables. Where’s the money?” I reached into my pocket and handed up the folded wad of bills. At this point, I didn’t care if the friggin’ box was empty. I would happily have paid for an empty box. Cousin Fred was going through the box. He pulled out what appeared to be a rat’s nest and threw it on the ground. Next came one of the cables. He pointed out that the insulation was chewed through. Colgagger shrugged and said, “A little electrical tape and it’ll be good as new. You both should leave now and take your rat eaten cables with you. You’re beginning to irritate me. It’s not good if I get irritated. I haven’t had my meds today.” We both jumped up and started for the front gate. I can honestly say I set a new land speed record for a return trip from Enid – 90 miles in 40 minutes. That is all!  Yep, it’s Thursday. We’re darned near the end of the week. I’m happy to report that Cousin Fred was able to find the necessary cables and cords we’ll need to power and feed the huge video screens we’ve leased for the upcoming A Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival this summer.
Only problem is, we’ve nearly burned through the remaining royalties we got for the first season of Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed. What with sound system leases and video system leases and trucking interests to get it all here (at a family discount) and the non-driving Buddhist vegan with irretrievably poor vision OKC consultant…it costs money to throw a party this big! And, you people aren’t doing your part! Come on! Go to Ticketmister today and buy your festival pass. Cousin Fred and I are depending on you! For those of you familiar with CCB’s sordid past, Mr. Kim is en route The Compound today to set up the apparatus to make tons of his famous (infamous more like it) plum wine hooch (100 proof) for the festival. It looks as though we’ll have a bumper crop of sand plums this year, so we won’t have to buy a lot of product. Mr. Kim swears he can turn out the stuff overnight. Imagine the sight of countless (countless, I’m telling you) Gigolos and Gigolettes dancing naked to the sounds of metallic hop with a side of psychedelic glam-punk string band as Cousin Fred and I perform as the Deranged Mummers Parade. All while strung out on an endless stream of Mr. Kim’s plum wine hooch. Sweet dreams are made of this, people…buy a damned festival pass! With all these people hanging around The Compound and more on the way, it’s getting tough to feed everyone. Still, we’re managing. My big offset smoker grill, Big Bertha, is going nearly constantly turning out smoked meats. On my grill the beef meanders with the pork which fraternizes with the chicken which accommodates the slow-roasted vegetables…it’s an open-minded smoker, Bertha is. And then, this morning, in my overnight newsfeed, I find that a bunch of Japanese so-called scientists have released a report about the dangers of BBQ meat. What struck me as I was reading about the report is that my beef (pardon the pun) isn’t so much with the scientists as it is with the writer who wrote the damn story. Allow me to summarize… So this bunch of scientists (evil bastards) in Japan conducted a study on the effects of meat cooked over direct heat (that’s their first error…no one cooks over direct heat anymore) with the flames licking the bottom of whatever you’re cooking. Hint – it may cause cancer. No sh*t. Everyone knows that, it goes back to the ‘70’s I think. The crux of this study is that they are able to describe that process that forms the organic chemical bonds blah blah blah. The Japanese so-called scientists (probably a bunch of vegans) pointed out that the rats they injected with the compounds were getting MASSIVE DOSES of the stuff. Much higher doses then humans would possibly consume. F**k oh Dear. Hmmmm…I smell animal cruelty. Plus the language was full of mays and coulds and potentiallys. Typical. BUT, the writer of this nonsense must have been paid by the word because she really fluffed things up with statements like, “…processed meat, such as hot dogs, beef jerky, bacon and ham, were carcinogenic to humans…” Ummmm…yeah, normally I’m smoking unprocessed meats, but okay. And then this: “…Beef, lamb and pork raises the risk of death from cancer, Alzheimer's disease, heart disease and diabetes, scientists have found…” That was followed by quotes from scientists telling us not to throw out our grills – a good thing since Bertha weighs 400 lbs – just slow down on the consumption. Thhhhppppppptttttttttt! Let me tell you, friends…pork is our friend. There is nothing else in the world better than moist and tasty smoked pork. And beef? This is beef country, you dumbass scientists. Take your severely infected rodents back to the lab. If you wish to read this article yourself (trust me, it’s flawed), here’s the link: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-4582312/Grilled-meat-links-cancer-studies-claims.html Who wants smoked brisket this weekend? Better get here before Cousin Fred chews his way through. That is all! |
Archives
March 2019
Categories |
RSS Feed