 Hey there! It’s Monday and Happy Halloween to you all!
I confess that I didn’t get a whole lot done this weekend. I was too engrossed in the non-stop 4 days of classic horror movies on Turner Classic Movies. I’m very fond of the really old stuff…The Mummy, Frankenstein and Dracula from the 30’s. Late last night I even saw a silent film from 1925 called “The Monster” that had that mad scientist vibe. The thing was, it was kind of a funny (as in humorous) film and I think it was intended to be that. On the political front, it was almost as entertaining as “The Monster” though I don’t think the participants intended for it to be so funny. Let’s see, the Queen of the Unindicted may have yet another shot at being just that…indicted. The FBI is reopening its investigation of her email shuffle. This time it involves her longtime aide, Huma, the wife of deranged former New York congressman Anthony Weiner, aka Tony the Perv. It seems that she and her hubby shared a laptop where she downloaded tons of email from Her Majesty. The FBI, as part of an investigation of Weiner sending dirty messages to a 15 year old girl, discovered the emails. Reports claim that there are some 650,000 emails on the laptop to go through. 650,000? Judas priest. I guess I really am a nobody. I don’t think I’ve ever had an account with 650,000 emails in it. Need to work on that! Send me email, people, I’m on a mission! But wait, the fun and games don’t end there! It seems that the Trump was hosting a rally in North Carolina. There was an African American in the audience who has been a longtime supporter of the Trump. For whatever reason the crowd turned on him – possibly because he was the only African American in the crowd – and began pointing at him. The Trump stopped his speech and told the security guards to eject the fellow from the rally. Despite being thrown out, the guy says he’ll still vote for the Trump. Oh, and, ALERT, in case you’ve not heard, the deranged criminal Michael Vance is dead now. All of us who live out in rural areas can rest a bit easier. The sad part is our friend, Dewey Co. Sheriff Clay Sander was shot in the process, though it sounds as though he’ll be okay. We at CCB wish him well. It seems that Vance led sheriff’s units on a bit of chase, but OHP brought it to a swift and final conclusion. Eh, maybe Vance wanted to run through Sonic or something. After several days on the run, anyone would be hungry I suppose. Take, for instance, a story from Huffington Post in which a guy driving around Phoenix was spotted by police as having warrants for his arrest. They get in a pursuit, but somehow said pursuee manages to lose them. He decides he’s hungry. He knows if he goes to jail he won’t get anything but a cheese sandwich and a juice box. He decides to go through the drive through of a fast food place. He pulls up, places his order and gets lit up (spotlighted) by a police helicopter that had been searching for his Big Mac ass. He knows his time is near. He leaves the drive through without getting his meal (guess he has a refund coming?). The cops soon catch up to him, and take him away where there’s a cheese sandwich on Wonder Bread awaiting him. Seems our shirtless rolling gourmet has been charged with unlawful flight from law enforcement, aggravated assault, and unlawful imprisonment. Guess it’s a good thing he had already paid for his Happy Meal, otherwise they would have added that as a charge – driving off without paying for a fast food order is probably a felony in Phoenix where the idiot sheriff is on a mission to throw as many people in jail as he can squeeze in. All of those charges add up to a heap of cheese sandwiches, me thinks! Let this be a lesson to all you criminal wannabes...either keep up with your meals or carry a spare sandwich with you when you're out and about. You never know when the Law will swoop down upon you! Speaking of criminality, Cousin Fred is back at The Compound. Seems the State of Colorado refused to extradite and even dropped the charge against him. The judge in Cortez refuses to enforce the laws of Montezuma (America’s Meanest Town). It will likely be a little tense when we head back to Montezuma in November to begin filming, but we’ll deal with it. My biggest problem now is that there is nothing left of Hellkat One’s trailer, but the frame. While the Wife is out of town this week on another of her fabulous vacations, Cousin Fred will be staying here in the main house, but I need to figure out something quick. The Wife will be back here on Saturday. Happy Halloween!  Happy Wednesday everyone…we’re half-way through another stinking week. Sweet relief in the form of a weekend is at hand. Hang in there. Thhhppppppt!
Okay, enough with the Dale Carnegie cheerleading (act enthusiastic and you’ll BE enthusiastic). I’m facing a rough day here at The Compound. Cousin Fred’s extradition hearing is today. The State of Colorado wants him to come back to face charges of being a pervert with a video camera in Montezuma (America’s Meanest Town)…oh, and also a charge of his jumping bond and leaving the state. Truthfully, he was just interviewing possible “talent” for the upcoming “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” reality show that we’re planning to shoot there. So I’m thinking that if they extradite him back to Colorado, it’s where I want him anyway. And, now that Hellkat One’s trailer is nothing more than a still smoldering frame, I have no place for him to stay…at least until the Wife leaves on yet another of her fabulous vacations this week. I suppose though that if they extradite him back to Colorado, he’ll be in jail and not of much use to me. Decisions, decisions… I got my first note from the Francesca who is also in the county jail awaiting extradition back to upstate New York on grand theft charges. Oh, and a jumping bond charge from Oklahoma. She’s taken up the threatening tone that she displayed the first time she was in there. She’s telling me that without her the production in Colorado will fail. Blah, blah, blah. That Cousin Fred is nothing without her. She also had some choice words for Gigi who long since has become a “dot” on the horizon in her chopped Lexus. I tell you, it’s not easy being me. And, maybe none of this really matters anyway after the reading I did yesterday on some new theory being floated out there called, “The Theory of Vacuum Decay”…and, no it doesn’t involve a broken-down Hoover. Over the years, science has thrown out a lot of time and space sort of theories…all of which ultimately lead to our destruction at some point in the future. There was the theory of chaos that if you were to explain to someone in the MOST elementary example possible would be a butterfly in South America flapping its wings and causing tornadoes in Kansas. South American butterflies must die! No wait - that would set off a swarm of tornadic activity here probably causing Tornado Payne’s head to explode on live television! Maybe The Trump could devise a plan for the military to pull the wings off butterflies…o’ the humanities! In the 1990’s I worked with a guy who told me about another scientific theory, an offshoot of chaos, the name of which I don’t recall and have never been able to find anything more about. That theory as he explained it to me was that by doing yard work we’re actually accelerating the ultimate destruction of our planet. No, seriously. And, that things have gone so far now, that even if we all stopped mowing the lawn, it’s too late! Aaaargh! Damn you Snapper! That theory, as I recall, had to do with everything in nature being part of something larger than Cosmic City’s lawn police who will beat you about neck and shoulders if your lawn isn’t up to their standards. Yes, you heard correctly…every blade of grass, every weed, all of it are part of a bigger ecological picture. By pulling weeds or spraying the crap out of them with the Round-Up and mowing our yards, we’re signing a death warrant for some future generation. Now, isn’t that nice? But, wait, there’s more! So this latest thing I read on the theory of vacuum decay is based in one of the fundamental concepts of the universe that says that all matter moves from a state of high energy to a more stable “ground” state of lower energy (called the Higgs field). Vacuum decay theorists aren’t so certain that the stable ground state of lower energy is as stable as previously thought – that there may be a hidden amount of energy waiting to be released. With the right boost to cause its release would set off a chain reaction that essentially manifests itself into the off-switch for the universe. And, it’s not reversible once things are set in motion. These theorists have put all this into a computer and modeled a simulation that points to the ultimate destruction of the universe. We’ll never see it coming. So go out and max your credit cards! Eat a pound of bacon every morning. Nothing on your menu but smoked ribs! No wait, don’t get carried away. There’s no predicting when or even if this will actually happen. When you couple this with a theory put forth by astronomical theorists last month that the universe is much larger (huuuuuge to quote The Trump) than previously believed (it doesn’t contain billions of galaxies as previously thought, but actually contains trillions of galaxies) the sheer size and shape of the universe is enough to give you headache thinking about it. Makes a case for legal marijuana, don’t you think? Please note that I compressed pages of information into about one paragraph above. To learn more, Google vacuum decay…drink yourself into a stupor and tie yourself to the chair. We’re all going to die! That is all.  Good morning, everybody and happy freakin’ Monday to you. You know, people frequently ask me how it is that I can get up at 3:30AM every day. I tell them that it’s the only time I have to myself that I can wish a gazillion people on Facebook happy birthday, run through the overnight news and attempt to write yet another CCB post. I really needed a quiet Monday morning here. It was a hellish weekend with law enforcement and blazing fires. More on that in a second. First… My quick peek at the news this morning revealed doom and gloom for the Trump and the flying circus that was his campaign. At least that’s the case if you listen to the roving political strategist the Corpulent Ché Guevara. Why people still listen to him is beyond me. He was on national television this weekend saying that he sees no way for the Trump to win. You know, it’s a weird quirk in human nature that none of us is interested in backing a loser. We’re two weeks out from a general election and a respected (barf) talking head of your own party says he sees no way forward for you? Talk about the kiss of death even if no one cares what the Corpulent Ché has to say (olé). Seriously, if I’m an average angry male sitting at home and hear that the GOP’s “elite” (double barf) have turned against the Trump, what do you think I’m going to do on Election Day? I’m going to sit at home watching “I Love Lucy” reruns. It’s the same reason that people despise exit polls. But enough harsh reality. On to the goings-on here at The Compound over the weekend. To recap, as you may recall from Friday’s post, we (me, Cousin Fred, and Gigi) arrived back at The Compound late evening on Thursday after a long, long drive back from Vegas Baby!. I immediately took up a position on the front porch of the main house expecting all hell to bust loose when Cousin Fred took Gigi inside Hellkat One’s trailer where the Francesca had set up house again following her return from Colorado. With me so far? During the day Friday, Cousin Fred came up to the house where we were making plans for moving things back to Colorado to begin shooting the next season of “Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed” when I asked him about the sleeping arrangements in the trailer. Come on…you want to know, don’t you?! According to him, Gigi is sleeping on the bench that doubles as seating for the dining table. Cousin Fred slept on the couch in the push-out section. He says that the Francesca was alone in the bed in the back though he could hear her muttering most of the night. I pointed out that I thought Cousin Fred was playing with fire here. No good was going to come from this. He agreed and asked if it would be possible to move the Francesca into the house. I told him there was zero chance of that. Even though the Wife and Francesca seem to get along pretty well, she wouldn’t put up with anyone being in the house. Hell, she barely tolerates me. I told Cousin Fred that he needed to sort it all out and to please hurry up and do so before the Wife returned from her latest fabulous vacation. He said he would figure something out. Uh huh. I moved to lock the door when Cousin Fred left. Friday evening about six o’clock, I hear a ruckus out front and peer through the blinds to see the yard is filled with law enforcement. There were sheriff units, there were highway patrol units, and there was even an animal control unit from Cosmic City. I get outside to see them loading a handcuffed the Francesca into one of the sheriff units. They were arresting her for violating the terms of her bond that kept her in the state. I walked up to Cousin Fred, who was looking concerned, and asked if this was his solution? In the meantime, I see the hairdressing hydrologist Gigi standing in the doorway of Hellkat One’s trailer smoking a cigarette and gazing out at the spectacle. Cousin Fred informs me that he didn’t call anyone. It turns out that last overpasses on roads coming into Oklahoma from either Colorado or Kansas are equipped with special cameras to catch anyone that might be making runs into Colorado for legal marijuana to bring back. The Francesca’s image, taken as she careened down the highway in the chopped Lexus, tripped a database alert that set local crack crime fighting teams into action. So then I see one of the State Troopers on scene over looking at the trailer. He calls Cousin Fred over to point out that the tags on the trailer are long expired. I see the Trooper walk over to his unit to call in the tag. It obviously came back as registered to Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin. The Trooper dropped it completely with a shake of his head, but then asked Cousin Fred for ID. That was my worst fear. I knew what was coming next. A quick check turned up the bond in Colorado which prohibited Cousin Fred from leaving that state. The State Trooper promptly arrests Cousin Fred for jumping bond in Colorado. There’s an extradition hearing set for Wednesday morning in Cosmic City. Finally, all of the law enforcement departs The Compound, having arrested everyone that could be arrested, I guess. Gigi disappeared back inside the trailer and I didn’t hear another peep out of her. Early Sunday morning, I got a text from the wife that she was extending her stay for an extra day and wouldn’t return to The Compound until Monday. She has another fabulous vacation coming up at the end of this week, which is probably just as well given all the weirdness unfolding around us here. Yesterday afternoon I was watching the Vikings – Eagles game on TV, or more to the point, watching Sam Bradford run for his life because his offensive line seemed incapable of holding back the Eagles. I heard the mutts barking furiously at something. As I moved into the garage to let them in through the side door, I thought I caught a whiff of smoke. When I stepped outside, I witnessed Hellkat One’s trailer fully engulfed in flames. Gigi was standing about 30 feet away with a bag at her feet. She turned and saw me still standing outside the side door. She smiled and waved. She picked up her bag and threw it in the backseat of the chopped Lexus. She drove off The Compound and out of sight. All that’s left is the metal frame of the trailer. No fire department showed up, it went so fast. I went back inside to finish watching the game. That is all.  Hey there, everybody! Congratulations. If you’re reading this means you’ve survived yet another work week. That is cause for celebration, don’t you think?
No celebrating going on here at The Compound. Just watchful waiting…for the gunfire to commence. Cousin Fred and I packed up our gear yesterday morning in preparation for leaving Vegas Baby!. I really wanted to get out of the city limits before the virginal vegan awakened. I was last to leave the suite, Cousin Fred had already taken his gear down to the vehicle in the parking garage. As I approached my SUV, I noticed there was someone else inside - in the back seat. Cousin Fred saw me approaching and did his best to look nonchalant about it all. It wasn’t until I opened the back to put my bag in that I recognized the third party. It was the hairdressing hydrologist GiGi! She was trying to be nonchalant as well. She simply said, “Hello,” and smiled. There wasn’t time to sort it all out, I was determined to get beyond the virginal vegan’s reach before she even knew we were gone. Plus, the Wife is off on another of her fabulous vacations, so I had to get back home to look after the mutts. In the meantime though, the Francesca would look after them. The Francesca! Doh! I took a quick look around the garage and didn’t see any of the Trump’s thuggish security people running toward us. It was time to go. So I drove. I figured we had fifteen hours of driving before arriving back at The Compound. Lots of time to figure out just what the hell was going on. Cousin Fred seemed near giddy that GiGi was with us. At some point on the road with the GPS telling me that I had another 12 hours of driving ahead, I looked over at Cousin Fred and mentioned that I was glad the Francesca was there to look after the dogs. I was hoping, of course, that he would realize that he isn’t exactly free and clear for bringing GiGi back to The Compound. It didn’t seem to faze him in the least. I looked in the rear view mirror, the reference to the Francesca apparently went right over GiGi’s head. I inquired about the Trump missing her services, to which GiGi responded that now with the third and final debate in the can, so to speak, the Trump’s daughter offered to take over hair maintenance duties and give GiGi a break. The first thing she thought of was finding Cousin Fred and returning to The Compound for a visit. As I listened to this, I was thinking, yeah more likely returning to The Compound for a knifing. It also occurred to me that the Wife would be sorry she missed the action. It would almost certainly be better than whatever fun she was having on her fabulous vacation. We pulled back into The Compound around 10PM last night. I was worn out from the drive, but didn’t want to miss any of the action. I stopped near Hellkat One’s trailer and asked Cousin Fred if he wanted me to put GiGi in one of the spare rooms of the main house. He smiled and said no, she would be staying in the trailer with him. I thought about once again mentioning the Francesca, but decided to let it go. This was going to be good. GiGi was oblivious to my comments, she was peering out the window at her chopped Lexus. “Is that my car?” Cousin Fred assured her that it was indeed her car as he opened his door and then hers. They gathered their bags and proceeded toward Hellkat One’s trailer. I saw a light come on inside. I floored the SUV to get to the main house. I ran through, slapping at the mutts greeting me, dropping my bag, grabbing a beer and moving out onto the front porch where I took a seat in the Wife’s rocking chair. After several minutes of no violence, I was beginning to think that I should re-think my faith in human nature. And, then the light went out. Not one raised voice, not even a single gunshot. Nothing. I fell asleep in the chair thinking that it would be a long weekend.  Hey, look at us! We made it to Thursday! We’re a mere few hours post-final-debate and nothing has changed. Oh.
Friends, I don’t know what you were expecting last night…I certainly didn’t know going into the debate what would happen. With the two clowns we’re stuck with, it could have been anything. I will say that I thought Chris Wallace did a great job of trying to keep a lid on maintaining control, more so than any of the other moderators they’ve had. Well, he tried his best anyway. Things started off with a few policy questions that quickly devolved into the Trump letting loose with whatever crossed his brain. On the Second Amendment, the Trump made it clear he was for the 2nd Amendment (that’s nice) and that the Queen of the Unindicted is also, but with a lot of strings attached (that’s bad) and then he suggested that when he’s president he will work to strengthen the 2nd Amendment. Huh? First of all, messing with the Constitution requires the full involvement of a do-nothing Congress. So, good luck with that. Just stick with I’m pro-2nd Amendment and she’s not. Or wait, is she not? Her Majesty fired back with a statement about living in Arkansas for 18 years and representing the people of upstate New York, so she knows heaps about guns. She loves guns. She sleeps with guns. Okay, she didn’t actually say the last two sentences, but she made it clear that she doesn’t have an issue with people owning guns. Uh huh. I guess she’s just going to take away everyone’s access to ammo. Seems I heard that recently, though I couldn’t find a quote so I may be spewing nonsense myself. Note to self: start buying up all the ammo you can find. It’s about to become a commodity. Things went to crap soon thereafter. For 90 minutes these two went at it about guns, abortions, the Supreme Court (the Trump has enough resumes of judges to re-panel the court 3 times over)…there were allegations of corruption and crime in the Clinton-led State Dept (yep, yep, yep)…there were accusations of sexual improprieties against the Trump (which he swatted away like so many flies). At the end of it all, did it change your mind, one way or the other? I’m not sure we even needed this third debate except maybe to save Fox News’ smoldering reputation. They should give Chris Wallace a raise. There was one bit of news that came out of that mess. Something I’d never heard before. Apparently, the Trump is betting heavily on a large Election Day turnout by so-called invisible voters. These are first-time, newly registered voters that the people who poll don’t know exist. If you tie that to a strong effort over the summer by the GOP to get people to register to vote, there may be something to it. Maybe, just maybe, Trump’s insistence that he doesn’t trust polls is something more than mere bravado in the face of lagging numbers. But then again, maybe the whole invisible voter thing is just another feint (read as, attempt at propaganda) to throw people off the scent and make whatever undecideds are out there think that the Trump does in fact still have a shot. Either way it goes, we’re doomed. But then again (I know, I’m overusing the phrase), one of the great things about America is that we have a legislative branch (moronic do-nothings in Congress) to keep the president in check. Okay, either way it goes, we’re doomed. Cousin Fred and I are headed back to The Compound this morning. Hoping to sneak out of here without the virginal vegan hearing us. I’ve left her the final contractual piece I owe the magazine. I’m done. It’s time to get back to working on reality TV, oh and finish the one-act play I’ve been writing. So much to do, so little time.  Good morning everybody and happy hump day. The Trump and the Queen of the Unindicted go head to head tonight. I can tell all y’all are simply breathless with anticipation. Am I right?
Actually, having press credentials has its privileges at times. I was among the huge throng of rabid media yesterday out at McCarran International Airport here in Vegas Baby! for each of the candidates’ respective plane arrivals. The Trump in his big flashy 757 skirted past the Queen of the Unindicted’s smaller, but somewhat more prudent 737 on a taxiway. It was a moment made for television particularly as Her Majesty’s flight crew ran out onto the tarmac to moon the Trump as his plane taxied past. Soon thereafter, breaking news that amounts to a pre-fight card began pouring in from all quarters. First, the government of Ecuador admitted that it cut off Julian Assange’s internet access in an effort to keep him from manipulating elections in this country by recklessly releasing Clinton emails. Of course, they swear there was no outside influence (okay, everyone, roll eyes skyward) and that they were acting on their own. Uh huh. Then, in a Rose Garden press conference with the Prime Minister of Italy, Obama said publicly out loud that it was time for the Trump to stop whining about election rigging. THAT was followed by the Trump inviting Obama’s half-brother who is an actual Kenyan and the mother of one of the Benghazi victims to set on his side. On Her Majesty’s side, there is that billionaire nut-case Mark Cuban and a Republican business woman that reportedly Mr. Bill has never sexually harassed. Oh, this will be great television people! Actually, it might have been more fun if Her Majesty had invited Alec Baldwin to sit on her side. That way during the debate he could have made those squishy faces that he does on SNL when he plays the Trump. Let’s see, Chelsea Clinton is now accusing her parents’ closest aides of taking sacks of cash during the feuds over the Clinton Foundation. Huh? Well, I say is now accusing…actually that was in a WikiLeaks leaked email. Damn you, Assange! So, she says that while everyone was arguing over the Foundation, the aides ran out the door with tons of money? Really? Try an audit, dear. Get over yourself. Other emails included the Queen of the Unindicted complaining about a stop at a Chipotle’s in Iowa for lunch early in the campaign and no one in the restaurant recognized her. Apparently, she was most offended. Word has it that she will carpet bomb the restaurant if she becomes president. There is also word that Her Majesty holds a six-point lead over the Trump in two major polls (NBC News & Survey Monkey) going into this debate. She leads with women and younger men by an eighteen point margin. So what do you think? Is it a foregone conclusion that Her Majesty is to be crowned? Eh, who knows? More than any other election since King George II beat out Mr. Internet, voter turnout matters. It really matters. That opinion was shared by the crowd of my newest friends from the American Association of Political Analysts who packed the suite last night in search of free booze, chicken wings, and hotel pay-per-view movies. All of that bunch was getting warmed up for tonight. Shouting things at one another like, “You know, I used to think you were a pretty good guy. But now, I realize you’re just an atavistic dolt on the Clinton payroll!” That would be followed by (in a much quieter voice), “So, what did you think? Was that convincing?” The virginal vegan Brooklynn Hodensack disappeared into her bedroom when the analysts started practicing their yelling at one another. That went on until the two candidates’ flight crews showed up. That’s when things really became tense with the two crews calling each other names like, “crop dusters” and “glider pilots”. Cousin Fred really became a pain in the ass. He kept bugging the Trump’s crew about where the divine Ms. Gigi might be staying. That led to one of Trump’s flight attendants producing a stun gun from her purse and putting it to Cousin Fred’s neck before releasing the charge. Cousin Fred is still out cold. It’s gonna be a food fight tonight, folks. Hopefully, you’ll all tune in for some quality family entertainment. I don’t really think there is a need for a third debate. I think most people have made up their minds as to which candidate they’ll vote for. Eh well, if nothing else, it will likely produce fodder for SNL’s writers. That is all!  Happy Tuesday everyone! It’s your favorite (or, in some cases, your most concerning) blogger, coming to you live from Vegas Baby!
You know the great thing about his place? It’s not the booze. It’s not the gambling. It’s not even the Vegas Baby! mantra of “what happens here stays here”. Nope, it’s that if you can hang here long enough, something will fall into your lap. Such was the case yesterday afternoon. I was tired of hanging around the Wednesday night debate site, hoping upon hope to find someone from the Trump’s savage narcissistic entourage and/or the Queen of the Unindicted’s pack of pantsuit wearing fiends that would talk to me. No luck there. So I left the campus of UNLV and started back downtown. It was mid-afternoon and although there are cases upon cases of booze in the Southern Living suite (the virginal vegan Hodensack has restocked following the “night of the Elvi debacle), I decided to sit in the bar downstairs for a while. While there, I met a guy from the American Association of Political Analysts (AAPA) who was in town for his association’s convention. It’s a representative organization for people who appear as talking heads on TV news programs. I asked his opinion of this mess that we’re still trying to pass off as a proper rite of democracy. He sat back on his barstool, looked around, and reached inside his suit jacket. He produced a plane ticket for Kingstown on the island St. Vincent in the Caribbean. The flight is due to leave JFK at 11:30PM on November 8. He tucked the ticket back into his pocket and told me that he plans to fall off the edge of the Earth once the election returns begin coming in. He said that he is scheduled to be a panelist on Fox News’s Election Armageddon Central 2016 on election night. He figures after spewing the network line for the better part of the evening, it doesn’t matter who wins. We’re likely doomed. St. Vincent is the best solution he can come up with for disappearing. I considered his position for a bit, but just became depressed. I mean, what hope is there if the political analysts, those people we’re already sick of listening to, are all planning to vanish to obscure rat-infested islands once owned by the Dutch? Who will fill our heads with their specialized random wisdom that they pass off as keen analysis? It begs the question, don’t you think? As I sat there trying to think of some new direction…perhaps a spirited discussion of the third-party candidates…my phone rang. It was Cousin Fred. Thank God, a (marginally) sane person to talk with. He announced that he is in Vegas Baby! and needed to know where our hotel is this trip. Turns out, he left the Francesca to drive back to Oklahoma from Colorado and he flew in. I gave him the coordinates and told him that the virginal vegan had staked out her bedroom in the suite long before I even arrived. She got the best room. I got the best of what was left. I told Cousin Fred he was stuck with the smallest bedroom, though I pointed out it was still bigger than Hellkat One’s trailer back at the Compound. As I hung up with Cousin Fred, I was watching a news story on the TV in the bar. It was about some guy who took the whole zombie apocalypse thing too far. Friends, as a public service, allow me to inform you, unequivocally, that there are no zombies. They don’t actually exist (outside of Hollywood). Oh, sure, I know, the guy on the all night knife channel will tell you there is a zombie apocalypse coming. They sell a line of knives made especially for killing zombies. Seriously? Who the hell would want to get close enough to one (if they did exist) to slash or stab a stupid walking dead person? That channel even throws in a Federal Zombie Hunting License (no bag limit, no expiration) with every order. Judas priest people are stupid sometimes (present company excluded, of course). So anyway, it seems some 24-year-old knucklehead in St. Paul, Minnesota was out in his neighborhood at 5AM hunting zombies…with an AR-15 rifle (no doubt, a certified zombie gun). He supposedly “spotted” a pesky zombie shuffling down the street (most likely one of his drunk neighbors) and took a shot. Now then, for those of you unfamiliar with the firepower of an AR-15 round, it’s a hot round. A high velocity bullet with a lot of punch behind it. After all, it’s made to kill people. But, I digress… So, Zombie Bwana’s errant round penetrates the wall of a home (always check what’s in the background of where you’re shooting) zinged past the homeowner’s head, who was lying in bed, and ricocheted around the room a few times. Harry Homeowner calls the cops (imagine that). The cops show up. Fortunately, Zombie Bwana gives up the rifle and surrenders to police. He tells them he was just trying to keep his neighborhood safe. On his person they find ammo marked “Anti-Zombie Ammo”. Did I mention that Zombie Bwana still lives with his mom? She of course tells police that her son isn’t crazy. The cops arrested him on a charge (believe it or not) of being ineligible to possess a firearm. Huh? That’s the best police in Minnesota could come up with? What about illegal discharge of a firearm inside the municipal limits of St. Paul? Or, reckless endangerment with a firearm (Harry Homeowner). Or, just being (obviously) batsh*t crazy. Nope, they stick him with being ineligible to possess a firearm. Why, you ask? It seems he was arrested last month for making terroristic threats. Well, isn’t that special? Could be worse, I guess…he could have been out hunting morons in killer clown outfits. Dumbass. That is all.  Happy Monday fellow citizens. In case you couldn’t tell from that four word opening sentence of today’s post, I’m positively giddy. Giddy…I’m telling you!
Why am I on such an emotional high, you ask? Well, while the rest of you wring your hands and worry about North Korea threatening a first strike; news that Vlad the Putinator has instructed his subjects to inspect and stock their bomb shelters; and, finally, speculation regarding why it is that Jennifer Aniston hasn’t aged in ten years (she claims it’s her Hollywood lifestyle) – I’ve settled into the latest Southern Living suite in Vegas Baby! And what a whirlwind time I’ve had since arriving here early Sunday. I have to say that my handler, the virginal vegan Brooklynn Hodensack, has truly outdone herself with the prep work this time. The living area of the suite is arrayed with no less than 16 televisions…we’ll have football tonight as well as baseball playoffs, along with the Nepalese giddy up championships from…well, Nepal. There’s one TV devoted to John Wayne movies. Oh, I’ll also monitor the latest usual scandalous news from the Trump and/or Queen of the Unindicted campaigns. The virginal vegan has given up on the idea that I’ll actually attend the debate here on Wednesday night. We’ll be able to view it from every angle and in twelve different languages right here in the Suite. This is heaven for me. I’m just sorry that it won’t go past Thursday check-out. Eh, it’s probably just as well. Wednesday night’s debate will close out my contractual obligation to Southern Living and I can get on with the other projects in my life. There is, after all, a full season of Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed to shoot up in Colorado. Plus, I’ve begun work on a one-act play concept that I hope to stage locally. See? I’m too busy to be working. Last night, as I was watching the PBR San Jose Invitational on television and wondering what kind of trouble I could get myself into, it soon came to me in the form of a local commercial announcing the International Elvis Impersonator Competition at one of the casinos. That was all I needed to know. Soon, I was out the door and down the street without leaving the virginal vegan so much as a note. Haha…let her worry, I told myself. She had left the suite hours before searching for a vegan meal in Vegas Baby! To say that the competition was weird and depraved would be a gross understatement. Let me put it this way, the winner was a guy from Italy named Bunnie (I’m not kidding). He was short, fat, and bald with really thick glasses, but I have to admit that his version of “Love Me” was dead-on to Nicholas Cage’s version of the song that he did in “Wild at Heart.” I know, right? Small wonder that he won! Following the awards presentation at the end of the evening, I invited all of the assorted Elvi back to the suite for a reception courtesy of Southern Living magazine. To say that the virginal vegan was delighted is a gross overstatement. But, she’s a good Southern Living trouper and was soon mixing drinks at the Suite’s wet bar and ordering fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches from room service. The highlight of the evening was one of the entries from Japan who calls himself Elvis-san. By day, he’s a sumo wrestler, but by night, he plies the karaoke bars of Tokyo picking up gigs as an Elvis impersonator. Frankly, his odd musical stylings of E are a little creepy, but when you’re in the presence of a 300-plus pound man who makes a living pummeling opponents while wearing a diamond-studded diaper, it’s a small point barely worth mentioning. As the evening wore on and the crowd increased in the suite, I soon discovered that members of Clinton’s campaign had slid in. I tried to get anyone of them to comment on the latest email dump earlier that day from WikiLeaks, but no one would bite. At some point around 1AM, the virginal vegan disappeared into her bedroom. Okay, no adult supervision, now was the time for the real fun to start, I remembered thinking. I asked Elvis-san to show me a few of his sumo moves. We cleared a space in the middle of the room. By this time, the Clintonites had pretty much departed. I will say that the lesson was short-lived. Elvis-san and I faced off…he charged forward slamming me into a wall…I regained consciousness around 3AM. Everyone was gone by then, along with the booze. Eh, well, the virginal vegan will have time to restock this morning before tonight’s Vegas Baby! adventure.  You know, sometimes it’s hard trying to write this blog on a (nearly) every day basis. There are days that I have so much other stuff going on or just don’t feel like writing it.
But then, there are those days when the blog comes a knockin’ and says to me, “Hey, idiot,” it says, “we’re giving you fodder like you’ve not had in ages. Why aren’t you writing? Write!” Hmmmm…my blog is beginning to sound like the virginal vegan Hodensack. Such was the case this morning. I really wasn’t feeling like posting anything this morning. Cousin Fred made it back from Cortez yesterday. The Law Wagon actually gave him a ride back to the hotel. He was released on an own recognizance bond yesterday morning. The bad news there is that he is not allowed to leave the state until his hearing. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything to us. After all, the Francesca is free on a cash bond and isn’t supposed to leave Oklahoma, but she’s here. So here I sit with a bunch of bond jumpers. I was feeling kind of down and really didn’t want to have to face posting anything this morning. But, then…it was like manna from Heaven. Content rained down upon my sorrowful, pitiful self (hey, have some compassion readers!). I looked at the KFOR website and what do you think I saw? The morons of the Oklahoma Legislature have screwed us again! And, this time, the Federal government has had enough! Awwwww…smell the sweet stench of I-told-you-this-would-happen. The morons who “work” at 2300 N Lincoln Blvd got some bad news yesterday. It seems their slap-happy game of playing chicken with the Feds is over…done…and, they lost. Oklahoma’s request for an extension on complying with Federal law, which they have laughingly, arrogantly, and steadfastly chosen to ignore was denied. So now, we’re all trapped on this island of Oklahoma, unless of course you have a passport and/or military ID, both of which I have thank you very much. I got mine. Your Oklahoma driver’s license after January 29, 2017, won’t be good for much except maybe showing people how bad a picture you take when you’re out late drinking. AND, before everyone starts blaming the foreign-born socialist Muslim Obama…you may be interested to know that the Real ID act was passed in 2005, during King George II’s reign. In 2007, the Oklahoma Legislature in its moronic sense of f*** the Feds, passed its own law prohibiting the state from complying. So, let’s say you take the kids to Disneyworld on January 27, 2017. As you’re moving through the TSA checkpoint in OKC, you notice a small sign posted near the entrance informing you that your Oklahoma driver’s license will no longer be valid as identification to fly after January 29. You sneer, knowing full well that the Derplahoman (sorry, Lost Ogle) legislature would surely not leave you high and dry in Florida. Guess again. You try to board your flight to return home on February 3 having spent all your available cash and patience keeping the kids and wife happy in the land of gators, zika mosquitos, female serial killers, and hurricanes only to find you’re actually a refugee unable to return home. The sheer stupidity of the Oklahoma Legislature is beyond anything I can comprehend. They have asked for waiver after waiver after waiver, which the Federal government granted because they felt sorry for a state with morons at the helm. Now, REPUBLICAN legislators are scrambling to get legislation in place that would allow Oklahoma to become compliant, BUT GUESS WHAT…it will be at least 2018 before the state can implement the measures necessary to bring Oklahoma in-line with Federal law. AND, then there’s the money side of this. It costs heaping great bags of $$$ to become compliant with Real ID. Maybe Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin shouldn’t have been so quick to return leftover cash back to state agencies. We’re pretty much doomed for now. If you have any plans for traveling anywhere anytime soon, you should apply for a passport. At least the idiots on Lincoln Blvd can’t stop you from doing that. OH…and, vote out every incumbent you can this year and next year. Republican, Democrat, Independent...gone. Maybe then someone with some brains and vision beyond the envelope of cash that a lobbyist hands them can actually do some good for the people of this state. That is all!  Good morning. After driving through the night, I’m here at the Keystone Lodge and Spa…all of you regular readers of CCB may recall that there’s only one place to stay in Montezuma (America’s Meanest Town), the city motto of which translated from the Latin is, “We don’t want you here. We don’t need your tax dollars. Now, git!”. But, the proprietor of said place to stay only rents rooms to people who delight in pulling the wings off flies and/or set ants afire with a magnifying glass.
I tell you it wasn’t easy making that drive here, but now I’m wound so tight, I can’t possibly sleep. And, I should be at the Montezuma County courthouse this morning at 9AM to (hopefully) bail out Cousin Fred…but, more on that in a second. I hit the eastern slopes of the Rockies around 10:30PM. There is a lot of activity by CDOT to get repairs and construction done before the ski season kicks off. In between the work zones and the up and down of the road as it hugged the terrain, I began to hallucinate. I kept telling myself that with each downhill, I was descending deeper into a hellish abyss, likely to never find my way out. I don’t actually remember pulling into Keystone. I have no memory of that last 50 miles. Oh yes, Cousin Fred. So, I get here and managed to get checked into my room where I dropped my bags. I was a bit peeved, as I had been trying to call him since somewhere in central Kansas, but to no avail. I went to his room and banged on the door. No answer. That’s when I remembered the community hot tub up on the roof. I grabbed a beer from the minibar praying that I would sleep again someday. I headed up to the roof, figuring that Cousin Fred and the Francesca were up there. I found the Francesca. She was in the hot tub along with six other women ranging in age from probably late-twenties to early-fifties. None was wearing tops. The Francesca gleefully introduced me to our talent for the upcoming season of Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed. I politely greeted everyone and asked the Francesca if we were casting any men. She giggled and said that Cousin Fred told her there wouldn’t be any pole dancing going on this season. I was trying to sort that comment (and logic) through my addled sleep-deprived brain when a new direction for the conversation came up. Where the hell is Cousin Fred? I soon learned that Cousin Fred is in the Montezuma County jail, which is located in Cortez. Yep, the town of Montezuma is so mean that they located the Montezuma County seat SIX hours away in the city of Cortez. And, then I learn that he has a bail hearing at 9AM. I looked at my watch and figured I could just make it if I drove on through the night. That’s when I really began to feel sleepy. The beer and high altitude were taking their toll on me. I did manage to ask her how Cousin Fred came to be arrested. It seems he had the Francesca drive him over to Montezuma and drop him off at one of the trailheads there. Because the town won’t allow outsiders to park anywhere inside the city limits, she dropped him off and drove about two miles outside of town where the state had thoughtfully put in a lot and marked it Tourist Parking. It seems she dropped him off at the trailhead along with one of our video cameras. He was apparently standing at the entrance to the trail and asking people coming down the mountain or going up the mountain if they’d like to be seen on television chasing Bigfoot up and down the mountain while naked. The entire time, he was filming their reactions, which I’m sure pissed off a lot of people. Finally, he asked the wrong bunch. Someone called the sheriff’s office and had him arrested for being a pervert with a camera in Montezuma…probably a capital offense in America’s Meanest Town. The Francesca returned to the trailhead at the appointed time, but found Cousin Fred cuffed and seated on the ground. She said the deputy seized the camera as evidence. They were waiting for the Law Wagon - a converted bus used to drive offenders from all over Montezuma County back to the jail in Cortez. I stumbled back to my room and worried for a bit about what I was going to have to do to free Cousin Fred. It would have to wait, my brain had turned to Jell-O. Still, I was kind of wired and knew sleep would be impossible. I looked at my phone to get a newsfeed from KFOR in Oklahoma City. I was bit surprised to find an article regarding the latest exploits of Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin. Although, come to think of it, I’m not sure why I was surprised…oh, right my brain was Jell-O. It seems that HRH made an announcement on Facebook that She is standing by the Trump even if he is a misogynistic egotist with a narcissistic disorder. She went on to say that while his comments on the leaked lewd tape offended HRH, She is equally offended by the Queen of the Unindicted. My goodness, HRH wants a new job and is schmoozing to get one. Hey, maybe the Trump, if elected, will appoint Her as a Federal judge. No…wait…I’m don’t think HRH is even a lawyer. Oh, who cares? If the Trump installs himself as America’s first benevolent dictator, he can do whatever he wants. Okay, enough of that nonsense, must get some sle |
Archives
March 2019
Categories |
RSS Feed