|
Chief Blogger’s note: This was intended to be posted on Friday, but my host wasn’t cooperating in the upload. Would suggest reading the posting on Thursday to kind of bring you back up to speed. Thanks!
Happy Black Friday everybody! Hope everyone had a great holiday yesterday. Cousin Fred and I (and, Lassie the barking goat) had a nice meal in our room (they wouldn’t let Lassie into the restaurant). I had a chance to call the Wife who informed me that she is now banned for life from the casino in Canton for reasons that she would not disclose. It occurred to me then that I needed to get back home to keep an eye on her, but we really need to get this pilot finished and our signed talent all check out of this resort on Sunday morning. So I guess I’ll stick it out. Cousin Fred and I spent a great deal of time over Thanksgiving Day discussing the best way to go about shooting the pilot. There were a lot of random ideas being thrown about by both of us. Even Lassie, the barking goat seemed to be chiming in occasionally, though truthfully she probably just wanted another piece of pumpkin pie. Cousin Fred suggested storyboarding as a way for us to visualize how things would look on camera. Problem is, neither of us is much of an artist. So our storyboards were mostly stick figures. I guess that worked since our reality actors are supposed to be naked while searching for the Bigfoot. But, back to Wednesday. As you may recall we left Lassie with the Hot Tub ladies back at the resort and drove to Montezuma hoping to find anyone who would give us a clue as to where we might find the Bigfoot. When we escaped the Bowie knife guy, we moved to the trailhead at the far end of town. After grabbing the gear we had brought with us, we started up the trail which seemed entirely too easy to follow. Obviously, this trail had been cut in for hikers and recreational types so they wouldn’t get lost going up or coming down the side of the mountain. Cousin Fred located what he called a sub-trail. A path, really, that branched off the cut-in trail. His suggestion was that we take that since it was unlikely the Bigfoot would be using or crossing, for that matter, the main trail. I have to admit, it made sense to me…scary when something Cousin Fred suggests actually makes sense. So, we veered off the main trail onto the sub-trail. There we found several sub-sub-trails branching off the sub-trail we were on. Cousin Fred, reaching back to “old Moonshiner craft,” had a clever method for marking each trail that we moved onto so we would be able to find our way back down to civilization…well, back down to Montezuma anyway. After two hours, my lungs were heaving for air. The gear I was hauling felt as though it weighed 100 pounds. I was beginning to feel nauseous and realized that the altitude sickness was creeping up on me. I noticed that Cousin Fred was looking as though he was feeling the altitude, as well. I was just about to suggest we turn around and start back down when suddenly a voice boomed from out of the trees on both sides of us. “Security alert, security alert! There are intruders among us! Away the security alert force! Trespassers stand fast or you will be fired upon!” I immediately raised my hands. Cousin Fred did the same. I looked up the trail to see someone toward us. It was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than 14 with a large assault rifle that he was pointing at us. I was about to say something when a woman and a girl, maybe 16, appeared from one side of the trail. Both had weapons which they were pointing at us. I heard something behind and turned to see a man with a shotgun coming up the trail from the direction we had just come. “This is private property. What do you want here?” I spoke, “I’m sorry if we’re trespassing. I didn’t see any signs or anything. We’re filmmakers,” I showed him the camera equipment. “We’re up here looking for a place to shoot a pilot for a reality show.” “Oh,” he said. “You’re shooting a prepper reality show? Well, why didn’t you say so?” He lowered his weapon. The others did too. “Uh, well, actually…” “Only too happy to show you what we’ve done up here on his mountain. Course, I’ll have to ask you to not reveal our true location when this airs on TV. Me and the family having been living up here for two years now…completely off the grid.” Turns out, the guy, who identified himself by his first name, Evan, (and that was probably a pseudo) had moved his family to the mountain from Dallas, Texas because he was convinced the end of civilization as we know was coming to an end. He introduced his wife as Betty, the son as Hunter, and the daughter as Ethel Mae. Ethel Mae? They couldn't come up with a better pseudo than that? He told us he bought 80 acres on the side of the mountain years before and had slowly been working to improve the property for a vacation spot. He said that once he realized that the collapse was coming soon (said that message came to him while watching Fox News at 2AM) he had fortified the acreage and that the place was now covered with booby-traps and such to keep the “unwashed hordes” at bay when the collapse of civilization began. He was, at once, disappointed and relieved when he learned that the focus of our pilot was on finding the Bigfoot rather than preppers. He said that he was glad someone was finally making an effort to eradicate the Bigfoot, as it had been a constant source of problems for them. Turns out the beasts are partial to turnips, which Evan and family view as a staple. Cousin Fred and I looked at one another. We had found it...Bigfoot Nirvana! According to our host, the Bigfoot was everywhere on this mountain. We would have no problem finding one. Evan gave us a map and suggested that we use the trail that we were on before we moved onto the trail that brought us here. He said there was an old line cabin about 100 meters beyond where we veered off that we could use as a base for our filming. He said the Bigfoot appears with some regularity just before sunset and then after dark. With that, we moved back off the mountain, Cousin Fred’s system for marking trails moved us swiftly down the mountain and back to Brutus and then back to the hotel for copious amounts of beer and chicken wings. Good morning everyone! And Happy Thanksgiving to you all. Cousin Fred and I (oh, and Lassie the barking goat) are still “roughing” it up here in the high country of the Rockies at the Keystone Inn. We’re getting intermittent snow showers here this morning, but there isn’t much to do today so I think we’ll all probably hunker down inside the room. There’s a Thanksgiving buffet downstairs in the restaurant. I’m sure we’ll hit that later this afternoon.
Last night was another hot tub party up on the roof of the resort. Lassie and I did not attend. I was too whipped after a full day in Montezuma gathering location information. More on that in a second... To his credit, Cousin Fred got the three young women from the night before, plus a couple more women who are slightly older (probably mid-30s according to Cousin Fred) and the two older women’s husbands to sign talent releases to appear in our pilot. The language in the release is very clear that participant talent agree to appear naked on camera and the work could involve dangerous activity (assuming they actually find a Bigfoot). The Husbands were only too happy to sign up after eyeballing the young women in the hot tub. All of the talent agreed to work for $1 each with the understanding that if the show moves into production, they will be the first considered for the entire season for a fee yet to be disclosed. Further to his credit, Cousin Fred withheld the Mezcal until everyone signed their agreements. We have talent! And, we sort of, kind of have a location to shoot the pilot though that comes with its own baggage. So, yesterday, knowing that a winter storm is beginning to close in on this area of the Rockies, we decided to make the trek back over to Montezuma and get a look around the area. We left Lassie with the Hot Tub Girls at the Inn. Lassie looked happy and the girls were trying to play fetch with her. The thing about the Meanest Town in America (Montezuma), is that nobody is ever on the streets. Seriously, it’s almost like a ghost town. You can see people watching you from inside…a curtain gets pulled back…a shadow standing in the window, but no one outside. Okay, sure, all of the “streets” are dirt roads, but still… The mountains surrounding Montezuma make for a beautiful setting. I’d think people would want to be outside enjoying life as much as they can. As we drove along one street, I actually spotted someone sitting outside on their porch. I told Cousin Fred to pull Brutus over and we’d see if the guy could help out by giving us directions to places of Bigfoot sightings. The porch was much higher than the road, so I was having to crane my neck just to see him through the porch railing. He was kind of a scruffy looking dude whose skin gave him the appearance that he hadn’t bathed in days. In one of his hands, he held a huge Bowie knife that he was sharpening against a whetstone in the other hand. I was taking all of this in, when I heard Cousin Fred speak from behind me. “Howdy, pardner! Say, that’s a fine looking piece of quality cutlery you have there. American made, I presume?” He didn’t acknowledge us. Just kept working that knife blade against the stone. Cousin Fred kept talking (I was beginning to get creeped out), “My colleague and I hear tell of Bigfoot sightings in these parts. Wondering if you could help us out by pointing us in the right direction?” At that point, Jim Bowie stopped with the sharpening. He looked directly at us…I swear his eyes were yellow. He raised himself from his seat and stood at the railing staring at us. With a swift movement, he drove the tip of the knife into the railing and uttered, “I work for a living.” With that he turned and walked through the door and into his house. The Bowie knife remained…the tip buried into the wood of the railing. Cousin Fred was unimpressed. “Well, he was just rude. I remember from the last time we were through here that there is a trailhead further down this street. Let’s go down there and look around.” I was for anything that would get us from in front of David Bowie’s place. Tomorrow, Cousin Fred and I hit the trail and find more than we bargained for! Ahhhh…another Wednesday, another hump day…smell the anguish! Okay, it’s not that bad. Actually, it isn’t bad at all. Cousin Fred and I (and Lassie) moved from Limon, Colorado yesterday to Keystone, deep in the heart of the Rockies.
Where I wanted us to focus our raw video reality show pilot is the little burg of Montezuma, Colorado, but the town of 42 people doesn’t have a hotel or any other facilities for that matter. Known as the meanest town in America, Montezuma’s claim to fame is town officials suing all of the registered voters in town as a group and dragging them before a judge over some disputed election. They don’t like outsiders there either. They tow and ticket vehicles parked along the roadway. These are outside visitors parking there to take advantage of the hiking trails in and around Montezuma. Like I said, America’s meanest town. Bet they have a contest in the summer where the town’s kids gather to pull the wings off flies or something. Ah, but what Montezuma has going for it is its notoriety as a hotbed of activity in terms of Bigfoot sightings. So, we decided to base our activity out of Keystone, a mere seven miles to the west. It’s still off-season so we’re staying at the Keystone Inn for less than $100 per night! This is a very nice place and they allow pets. Of course, Lassie had to bark and rollover before the manager would buy into her being a weird breed of dog with horns and let her stay. We were able to get up here early enough yesterday to make a quick run to Montezuma in the afternoon. I was able to shoot some background scenes around town and up on a few of the trails. So I have some decent b-roll footage to use when we start editing the pilot. I got a decent sleep last night, though I did wake up at 1AM and saw that Cousin Fred and Lassie weren’t in the room. I thought maybe he had taken her outside for a potty break (though he’s been working to get the danged goat to use a toilet). But, then I saw a note on the table in the room that said he and Lassie were up on the roof. I went up there to find Cousin Fred and Lassie the Goat in a huge hot tub on the roof of the hotel. There were three other twenty-something post-college females in the hot tub with them. All (except the goat who was looking kind of stressed) seemed to be enjoying themselves wiggling and giggling and taking hits off a bottle of Mezcal. I turned around and went back to bed. Now, here I sit. Cousin Fred and Lassie are snoring their fool heads off and both reek of chlorine. It has occurred to me that we don’t have any “talent” for our pilot yet. Who knows, maybe Cousin Fred was able to talk those women in the hot tub into appearing in our pilot. At any rate, that will definitely be the crisis to solve this morning. The Wife seems altogether thrilled that we won’t make it back to the compound for Thanksgiving. Told me she’s headed to the casino in Clinton, where, and I’m quoting her here, she can chain smoke, binge drink, recklessly gamble, and then sit in the nightclub and holler out requests of the lounge act to sing “My Philadelphia Home.” I was catching up on Oklahoma news this morning reading through the NewOK.com web site when I came across something I did not expect to see. Oklahoma’s own Joe Exotic (aka, Joseph Maldonado) announced his independent candidacy for president of the United States! And, he made the announcement from friggin’ Ohio?! I would have thought Joe Exotic would almost certainly have made the announcement while hugging one of the tigers in his “zoo.” But hey, what the hell do I know about anything. He posted a video of the “press conference” from Ohio on his YouTube channel – Joe Exotic TV Live. The announcement was kind of a long rambling speech that made him sound a bit like The Trump on acid. What really makes the video fun to watch (particularly if you’re really drunk) is that whoever was holding the camera was apparently really drunk. Seriously, the shot is played with a steady overlay on the edges of the screen, but Joe Exotic - dressed in a black leather ballcap, a black leather jacket, and a black shirt (couldn’t tell, but I’ll bet it’s black leather too) – is jiggling and constantly moving. Dear Joe Exotic – next time, don’t hire the drunk at the end of the bar to be your cameraman. Or, get him to use a tripod. Anyway, he goes on a rant about John Kasich, governor of Ohio (guess that’s why he was there), which is kind of odd because Kasich comes off as a pretty reasonable guy…particularly when compared with some of the other loons the GOP is fronting this go-around. The most amazing part of the video is the end where it sounds as though there is a room full of people clapping. Guess he lured everyone away from the hotel bar with the promise of free drinks after the press conference. Here’s the video of his press conference (be sure to take your seasickness pills before you watch it). Oh, and here’s another clip from his YouTube channel, just in case you want more of Joe Exotic TV Live! So, we’ll be keeping an eye on Joe Exotic’s campaign for you…at least until the next Oklahoma legislative session get started. I can hardly wait! Good morning everybody! I’m up and trying to get moving. Still having issues in my back. Just takes me a little longer to get going in the morning. After about 45 minutes of taking little tiny steps and moving around all hunched over, things finally start to loosen up.
Cousin Fred offered to throw a rope over a tree branch and suspend me upside down for a bit. He said I just need to things stretch for a time. He calls it Western Arkansas Chiropractic. No matter how bad it gets, I’m not letting that maniac near me with rope or anything else. This morning finds us in the Coyote Motel in Limon, Colorado. For this I’m grateful…particularly after our adventure yesterday just north of Lamar (more on that in a second). This place offers a fine (read as free) continental breakfast (with one of those waffle making machines), Wi-Fi, and it is pet friendly. Somehow, Cousin Fred has taught Lassie the Goat to make a barking sound. We were able to pass ol’ Lassie off as a shaggy dog (with horns) that craps little round crap…a lot. Oh, and there’s a Pizza Hut right next door. This is civilized living I’m tellin’ ya…well, at least in terms of southeast Colorado, it’s pretty civilized. The goat is sleeping next to Cousin Fred on his bed. Lassie seems content enough…it has to beat being a Hefner Canal goat, I bet. Only problem for me is that the two of them snore, but not in unison. So it’s a constant drone. Funds are tight, but I think tonight I’ll opt for my own room. I need sleep. Yesterday around noon, we rolled through Lamar and then headed to a remote ranch north of the city. Cousin Fred said he thought he knew where we might be able to find some talent for our raw video reality show pilot that we’re up here to shoot. I pointed out to Cousin Fred that we’re a long way from the Rocky Mountains, but he insisted we at least talk to the people on the ranch. I went along…why, why, why do I listen to him?! The ranch had a big sign over the entrance that read “Tierra del Perro Pagan.” From the entrance, we drove for nearly a mile before dropping down into a small valley where there was an assortment of shacks, tents, and lean-tos with a big open area in the middle. The residents were without a doubt the largest assemblage of hippies I’d ever seen this side of Taos. There were multiple generations of them. All of them were wearing animal skin robes. The only evidence of modernity were the Savage (brand) rifles and shotguns they all seemed to carry. I was just beginning to think we could shoot an entire season of reality shows right here. This must surely be some sort of lost atavistic tribe of humanity. Perhaps some weird derailment in the evolution of humans that caused this band of DNA misfits to plant roots on this spot. Or…maybe they’re just a bunch of burned-out freaks with no place left to roam. Turns out it’s the latter. Among the pack was a junk bond salesman from the 90’s. There was even the guy who negotiated the sale of Harley-Davidson to AMF in the 70’s…there’s still a price on his head by the Hell’s Angels. Cousin Fred and I were invited to come sit in the open area at the center. Soon an iron pot containing bean curd was being passed around the circle…each of us using two-fingers to dip some out to eat. I noticed that several of the herd were eyeing Lassie. Not sure whether they were thinking goat sacrifice or BBQ goat in a pit. I think Lassie noticed too, she began to bark like a dog. Cousin Fred was engaging some of them in a conversation about whether they would be interested in appearing in our pilot. Most weren’t interested, mostly because most of them had outstanding federal warrants, some dating back to the 60’s. As that was going on, I snagged a piece of flatbread that was going around on a plate and made my way back over to Brutus, where Lassie remained on the backseat. I pretended to be feeding the goat (actually didn’t pretend, the friggin’ animal snatched the flatbread out of my hand) as my other hand eased over to the driver’s side door handle. I jumped into Brutus and fired it up. I began doing donuts in the open area raising a huge cloud of dust. Lassie was thrown to one side of the backseat by the force of my reckless driving and commenced barking fiercely. In the middle of it all, out from the cloud of dust came Cousin Fred who jumped into the passenger seat and away we went! I heard the sounds of bullets whizzing over our heads as I drove like a fiend to get back to the highway and on to Limon. Damned hippies. Good Monday morning everyone! Some weekend, eh? The Sooners won (barely)…Cowpokes lost (yipes)…Bedlam this coming weekend is gonna be a bloodbath…a shootout…the gridiron contest of the century…fill your favorite sports cliché here!
Cousin Fred and I have packed up Brutus and are preparing to head out for Colorado (with the goat named Lassie) to shoot our raw video reality show pilot for Chick Farris in Hollywood. If any of you faithful readers of this blog know any dope smoking people in Colorado (probably most of the population by now) who wouldn’t mind getting naked on television (happens a lot when you smoke dope), have them get in touch with me. In the meantime, here’s a couple of lessons in why you should avoid drinking and driving. I know, I know, you already know that, but this will drive it home (Get it? Driving home? Nyuk nyuk…I’m so clever!). First, the theme from Dragnet always sets the mood. First up, coming to us from the geniuses over at Huffington Post, is Dumbass A, who hails from New Jersey, which translated from the Algonquin means “Land of Fuhgetaboutit”. It seems our clever New Jersey Mob Princess wanted to avoid the chance of a DUI arrest as she headed from a New Jersey bar called Grasshoppers at 3:15AM. She and her companion, we’ll call him “Young Grasshopper” spotted the fuzz sitting near the parking lot of the bar just waiting for them to start their vehicle and drive away. Mob princess dials 911 and reports a woman being violently assaulted at another bar across town. Are you with me so far? Super Fuzz then peels out headed to the bar across town hoping to catch himself a perp in progress of perpetrating an assault on a damsel in perpetual distress (cops are funny that way). Young Grasshopper and Mob Princess drive away unmolested by the police and their draconian rules about driving around while commode-hugging drunk. You have to admit that seems pretty clever, huh? But, what happens when you’re drunk? You tend to do stupid stuff because reason and inhibitions fly out the friggin’ car window. Uh huh… It seems Mob Princess couldn’t contain herself, she was so clever. Young Grasshopper, relieved that he wouldn’t have to do the heel-to-toe dance with some cop on the side of the road, was probably egging her on. So what does our young sophisticate Mob Princess do? What any 20-something would do in a similar circumstance, of course…she went on social media and described how she had beat the rap. Calling the local law enforcement, “…silly piggies…” for falling for her trick. Very smart, Mob Princess, very smart. NOT! She was arrested two days later after her social media posts came to the attention of local law enforcement. She’s been charged with filing a false report to law enforcement and creating a false public alarm. What have we learned here CCB readership? Two things: 1) Stay OFF social media when you’re s**tfaced drunk, and, 2) Stay the HELL out of New Jersey. More Dragnet theme! Next up, also from Huffington Post, some guy we’ll call El Toro got loaded in Florida and drove his truck into a ditch. Okay, Robin, you’re probably saying…what’s the big deal? Many Floridians drink to excess and go in search of a ditch. Well, let’s start with the fact that the ditch was located in the parking lot of a McDonalds that was under construction. We’ve all been there…it’s late at night, you’re drunk, you want something to eat so you can barf whole pickles onto your bedroom wall later. No? Oh, guess that’s just me. But, I digress… What really made this blog-worthy is that El Toro, when he’s not enjoying his favorite past time of drinking himself into a McDonalds-seeking, zombie-like state is a Driver’s Ed teacher. Hahahahahahaha I swear, I can’t make this crap up even if I tried! Now, as we learned in the previous example of Mob Princess, what happens when you drink too much? No, besides puking your guts for two days straight. Right…reason and inhibition fly out the car window. So, El Toro tells the cops that he wasn’t actually driving. It was someone named Josh and Mr. Joshua ran away before police got there. Guess who took the rap for Mr. Joshua? Yep, El Toro, Driver’s Ed teacher. A spokesperson for El Toro’s school district reportedly said that El Toro will no longer be teaching Driver’s Ed, that much is for certain. Who knows, maybe they’ll let him teach typing or make him the football coach. What did we learn here, people? 1) If you’re drunk stay out of McDonalds parking lots that are under construction (there aren’t any burgers there); 2) definitely stay away from Sonic (you know why); 3) stay away from people named Josh or Joshua, they’re runners, and, 4) stay the HELL out of Florida. That concludes today’s “Adventures in Law Enforcement!”…more Dragnet Theme! Off for Colorado…it’s gonna be great! It occurred to me (only after receiving a hate email from a fan who pointed out that I need to work on my story continuity) that I’ve never actually told any of you faithful readers how our meetings with Chick Farris and his trusty aide in Vegas, baby! turned out.
Guess I was in such a state following a tumultuous few days after our return, what with the Junior Brown show, preparing for the Statehood Day program, Cousin Fred’s Land Run reenactment, an evening of November tornadic activity (they were getting uncomfortably close to the compound) and then my having to bail Cousin Fred out. Yeesh…what a week! Makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide for a couple of days. But noooooooooo…tumultuosity is spinning again! Ohhhh…there I go again, moving off course. So, the meeting with Chick went very well. He liked Cousin Fred’s idea for a reality show where naked realitors (actual Hollywood term) go off in search of Bigfoot. According to Mr. Broadcast Television, it has everything. Monsters (Bigfoot), nudity (Bigfoot and the Realitors), and spine-tingling adventure. Epic television, Chick called it! Chick “greenlighted” Cousin Fred and I to produce a roughcut pilot for him to see as long as it doesn’t cost him any money to do so. So, of course, me thinking this is it…my ship is finally pulling into port with all of the holes plugged with chewing gum…I sat up late last night switching between QVC and HSN to see where I could get the best deal on a digital video camera. Between the cost of the camera and accoutrements that you simply have to have when shooting a roughcut pilot for television…oh and lightning shipping (figure there’ll be a drone bombing the compound with my camera around noon), I only had to siphon a small percentage of my 401K to fund the purchase. Hopefully, I can convince the IRS this was an emergency. Assuming the equipment does arrive today via drone bombardment, Cousin Fred and I are planning to hit the road again next week to shoot our pilot. The only question is, where do we shoot the darned thing? A quick check of Bigfoot sightings showed a big fat ZERO for sightings in Woodward County, so I guess locally we’re toast. There was one sighting down near Lawton, but I figured that was more likely a meth head living under a bridge along Deer Creek. There have been a few sightings in the southeast part of Oklahoma, but that would have meant getting there via Illinois given Cousin Fred’s restraining order. That left us with going west. I guess there’s New Mexico with its wide open vistas and more landscape artists and burned out hippies per capita than anywhere else in the world. Finally, we’ve set our sights on Colorado. There have numerous sightings in the Rockies, plus with that state’s new relaxed marijuana laws we’re more likely to find “talent” willing to strip naked and walk through mountainous woods at night in late fall. Plus, it’s far enough outside of the restraining order so as to keep HRH’s personal phalanx of state troopers at bay. We’re planning to leave Monday, but there’s a complication…isn’t there always? Yesterday morning I come out of the house to raise my new giant flag (it can be seen from space and Sarah Palin’s porch). I look over at Hellkat One’s trailer and see Cousin Fred’s topless Bronco. I dropped him at the impound lot after I bailed him out. My suggestion then was that he head back to western Arkansas, but he pointed out we have a pilot to produce. I was glad to see he made it back to the compound in good shape. Obviously, he’s inside the 200 mile restriction of his restraining order, but I figure if I can keep him out of sight and out of trouble, we’ll be okay. As I’m standing there contemplating all of that, I see Cousin Fred emerge from the trailer wearing a pair of boxer shorts and an open robe. He’s pulling at a rope or something. It’s a leash! Out from the trailer comes the friggin’ goat! Yes, the Hefner Canal goat that he stole to make his Land Run reenactment! We’re doomed! As I was about to ask WTF?, he saw me and waved. “Morning, Cousin! A bit nippley out, ain’t it?” According to Cousin Fred, when he got to the impound lot the goat was in the passenger seat and refused to move. He said the impound driver told him that they gave up trying to get the goat out of the vehicle. So they just towed the Bronco off, goat and all. Cousin Fred said he took it as a sign and drove back to the compound with the goat. Great…now what am I supposed to do? The Wife, who was pleased at the thought that she would be rid of Cousin Fred and me next week was not so pleased at the prospect of having the goat, which Cousin Fred is now calling Lassie, around. I called the Nephew, who seems to have a particular fondness for having oddball animals around his place, to see if he would be interested in housing a goat. The Brother-in-law even offered to build a goat shelter on the Nephew’s place if he agreed to take Lassie in. In the end, the Nephew’s Wife said no more oddball animals around the place! When I caught the wife on her cell phone calling every BBQ place in Cosmic City to see if they would be interested in a fresh, chocolate donut fed goat named Lassie, I knew (again) that I was doomed. So, Cousin Fred and I are off on a new adventure next week to the Colorado Rockies with a pile of video equipment, a mere hint of a concept, and a goat named Lassie. It’s gonna be great! You’ll see! Good morning everybody! Still another posting of this Blog coming at you live and in living color from the Compound. Okay actually it’s too dark outside for living color. Can’t get enough, can you?
I’m in a lot of pain this morning in my back and am hobbling around here like a really old man. Didn’t help that I had to make a speed of light run to OKC yesterday to fetch Cousin Fred out of the Oklahoma County jail. It seems that Cousin Fred got caught up in the fervor surrounding Oklahoma statehood day on Monday, particularly as I was rehearsing my part for the wedding between Miss Indian Territory and Mr. Oklahoma on Monday morning at Highland Park school. I played the part of a Baptist preacher. By the way, I’ll be signing autographs at the gates of the compound today from 9AM to noon. You can’t miss me…I’ll be the guy on the medical gurney alongside the road. The Wife will be only too happy to roll my disabled butt out there. But, enough of my misery… So, Cousin Fred got it in his head that he would do his own reenactment of the Oklahoma Land Run on the palace grounds on N. Lincoln Blvd. Guess it never occurred to him that the two events (Land Run and Statehood Day) were nearly two decades apart and that his actions might be misinterpreted. And, they were. Eh, he’s from western Arkansas, how could he know? I noticed Cousin Fred wasn’t around Monday morning, but didn’t think much of it. It seems that he drove down to the OKC metro area in the pre-dawn hours. Police were able to piece together his movements from surveillance (spy) cams around the city. At 0500 he stopped at the Polar Donut Shop on North Meridian where he loaded up on chocolate donuts and (according to the police report) mass quantities of heated caffeinated beverages. He left Polar Donuts with a sack full of something…bet it was donuts. He ran into a nearby convenience store where he purchased a four-pack of Full Throttle Energy Drink…whose motto translated from the jittery Latin is “You’ll never F---ING sleep again!” His next stop was Lake Hefner where (according to police reports) “alleged perpetrator was able to load one of the Hefner Canal goats into the front of said perp’s vintage Ford Bronco he allegedly calls Brutus.” Uh huh, probably lured the goat into Brutus with a chocolate donut. OKC Police have video of the Bronco careening down the I-44 with the goat sitting on the passenger seat and munching something...bet it was chocolate donuts…and Cousin Fred hunched over the wheel with a can of Full Throttle in one hand. His movement along I-44 was witnessed by several motorists even though rush hour wasn’t completely on. Several Baptists called into 911 saying there was a Satan worshipper with Baphomet seated at his right hand moving through the city. You could hear these callers talking over their conversations with 911 dispatchers, saying “Satan, get behind me!” whenever Cousin Fred tried to pass them. The Archdiocese of Oklahoma City called for an emergency exorcism. Now all of the OKC media outlets are on the hunt for the alleged Satanist and his lil buddy, Mr. Goat (aka, Baphomet). OKC PD deployed several units out to hunt Cousin Fred and his alleged goat idol, a Hefner Canal goat in a chocolate donut stupor (hey, we’ve all been there). OCPD was unsuccessful in locating Brutus…bet, they broke off the hunt when it go too close to their own donut and magazine break at the local 7-Eleven. KFOR (aka, News Channel 4) was working it hard. Kent Ogle kept going to the Bob Moore Chopper 4 in the sky for updates, but the News 4 chopper dude wasn’t having any luck finding the alleged Satan Mobile. Kent then turned to 4Warn Storm Team hottie, Emily Sutton, who informed viewers how the current barometric pressure in the OKC metro area would affect goat flatulence. Kent Ogle with a very serious look on his mug stared into the camera and in a very serious tone asked Emily if that would apply to demonic goats as well. Emily looked confused. So, now it’s 0900 and everyone has lost track of Cousin Fred and the goat. KFOR and all of the other media outlets went back to their usual morning fare. The Archdiocese of OKC took credit for ridding the metro area of Satan worshippers, all seemed well. And then… The Bob Moore Chopper 4 spots something while circling an accident…a man (allegedly Cousin Fred) riding the back of a goat (allegedly the Hefner Canal goat) straight down N. Lincoln Blvd. Cousin Fred was waving an old sweat-stained cowboy hat over his head and screaming “Waaaaaa-hoo!” Tucked into the top of his boot was a stick with a yellow flag. There was another stick with a chocolate donut at the end that was in the goat’s field of vision. They were headed for the State Capitol...er, Palace! At that moment, Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin had stepped out onto the balcony outside her palace office, fantasizing about addressing throngs of her subjects on the palace grounds after stripping a Democratic legislator naked and having he/she flogged to the delight of the gathered crowd. Suddenly, she spots what she thinks is a goat with a man on its back coming toward the palace on a dead run. She stands riveted, unable to move (hey, it’s not every day you see something like that!). Cousin Fred charges right up next to the building, hops off the goat and drives the stake with the yellow flag into the ground. He stands holding his hat over his heart and declares, “Someday, there’ll be churches and schools in this here land!” At that moment a piece of the palace dome came loose and hit Cousin Fred in the head, knocking him unconscious. Palace guards took turns Tasering him for fun. The goat in the meantime is racing around the palace grounds trying to catch that darned donut in front of its face. I was able to raise bail for Cousin Fred out for $500. I put Hellkat One’s trailer up as collateral (oh, the irony). His trial date is in March sometime…they’re still trying to figure out what to charge him with. Hopefully, it’ll all just go away. Oh, but he does have a no-contact order that prevents him from coming within 200 miles of HRH. Just another day at the compound. Sigh. Happy Monday everyone! And happy birthday, Oklahoma!
Cousin Fred and I made it back from Vegas, baby! in plenty of time for the Junior Brown show on Saturday night. Cousin Fred claims to be a huge fan, so huge in fact that he has standing no-contact orders in three states (Oklahoma included) preventing him from coming within 1,000 feet of the entertainer. Since the Wife volunteered to help with the Silent Auction in the other room, that left her ticket available for the show. I offered it to Cousin Fred who leaped at the chance. I had concerns about him getting himself into a jam with the performer or the police for violating the terms of the no-contact order, but he said not to worry – he had a plan. His plan, not surprisingly, was a clever(?) disguise wherein he wore an old leather motorcycle club vest from his days as a member of the wannabe outlaw biker gang “Sons of Panicky”. I say they were a wannabe gang…none of the membership actually owned a motorcycle. They were all former members of a high-anxiety support group, whose leader suggested that they form a group that would, as a pack, bolster their confidence in their abilities. It didn’t last long… But I digress. So, Cousin Fred was wearing his leather vest over a hoody. Atop his head he had a leather cavalry-style hat that was likely only held together by the molecules of dried sweat that permeated the leather. He pulled the brim down low over his face, which created problems as he tried to walk back up the aisle after the show. He didn’t want to tilt his head back to see where he was going and kept stepping on people’s heels. Then there was the fake, but no less huge-ish Lemmy Kilmister wart/cyst/growth on his left cheek. Oh, must not forget the knee length suede boots with fringe around the top. These, of course, were caked with mud from the Memorial Day Weekend in/around Lake Mountebank. To top it all off, he sprayed himself down with a heavy dose of Eau de Cendrier, just to ensure that no one would come near him. It would probably been just fine…Cousin Fred sat behind me. I didn’t want him next to me…the dude reeked. But, he kept yelling out stuff during the show like, “Hey, Junior, I forgive you for having me arrested in Degueuler Springs!” At which point, Junior would look in Cousin Fred’s direction all bug-eyed and then go back to playing, all the while casting furtive looks in our direction. After the concert, the crowd moved over to the Josie Adams Cultural Center (sorry, Centre) next door for the end of the Silent Auction and the drawing for the Peacemaker replica (more on that later). I finally had to steer Cousin Fred out of there once I saw he was standing in line to buy merchandise from Junior Brown himself. I knew that wouldn’t end well. Fortunately, it was a slow moving line. There was someone up near the table yelling at people to "stay calm and GET IN LINE!" As I walked up behind Cousin Fred, I could hear him on the phone with someone, presumably 911…”So, if someone has a no-contact order against you, but you’re in public building and wearing a disguise so they don’t become completely alarmed, is that okay?...What kind of a disguise am I wearing? Does that matter?” I grabbed Cousin Fred by the collar and moved him toward the exit. There are just some things that 911 shouldn’t be used for… Take for instance, the woman in Florida who used it to order up some chicken wings and a carton of cigarettes. The report comes to us from our friends at Huffington Post. It seems that the 911 dispatcher actually dispatched (dispatcher dispatched…ain’t English grand?!) police to the woman’s home without the requested chicken wings or cigs. They (the po-po) found said caller in a highly intoxicated state (go figure). The woman said she didn’t want to drive (she was too drunk), so in her law-abiding mind, she figured the cops wouldn’t mind doing take-out for her (I’ll bet she is a big tipper). Instead, they arrested her for misusing the 911 system (police, by and large, lack anything resembling a sense of humor). On the way downtown (where she would at least get a cheese sandwich, I’ll bet), she began kicking the partition separating her from the front seat. After several warnings to stop, they (the cops) hog-tied her in the back seat to prevent “her from injuring herself.” Uh huh. Let this be a lesson to you citizens of Cosmic City…if you want Cosmic City’s finest to deliver food or other health and comfort items DO NOT use 911. Simply call the nearest 7-11 (in our case, Hutch’s or Love’s) and ask whoever answers to send the cops - eating donuts and reading the latest copy of “Biker Babes from Sand Springs” near the magazine racks - to your home with some deep fried jalapeno snacks and low-point beer. They’ll be right over! Happy Friday everyone, hope your upcoming weekend is a good one. Just a reminder, tickets are still available for the Junior Brown concert at the Woodward Arts Theatre downtown. Ticket price is $50 and gets you into the silent auction that starts at 7PM, the show which starts at 8PM, and then a chance to meet Junior himself after the show. It’s gonna be great!
I’m hopeful that I’ll be able to get back there for the performance. Cousin Fred and I are still holed up in the Oasis Boutique Motel in arid Boulder City, Nevada. We have another meeting in Vegas, baby! with Chick Farris today. I’m planning to hit the road back to Cosmic City after that. So far, Cousin Fred has pulled enough out of the quarter slot machines around town to keep us in food, drink and lodging. The accommodations are reasonably priced, certainly a lot less than it would have cost us to stay in Las Vegas, baby! The rooms are remarkably clean and quiet too. That helped us get a power nap before we had to drive into the city after our long journey. The drive into Vegas, baby! yesterday for our initial meeting with Farris was only about 30 minutes using the freeway. Chick’s altogether able assistant told Cousin Fred that we would all meet at the Lily Bar and Lounge in the Bellagio. We got more than a few stares with Brutus when we pulled into the parking garage at the hotel. The attendant directed us to the back of the facility. We made quite a racket as Cousin Fred’s whip CB antenna kept scratching along the overhead in the garage as we drove. I think we also took out a couple of exit signs along the way. When we entered the Lily, the place was surprisingly busy. It occurred to me that I had no idea what Chick Farris looks like. I asked Cousin Fred if he had Chick’s number which he said he did. He told me it’s stored on his phone. Only problem is, his phone was still in Boulder City. “No problem,” said Cousin Fred. He starts working his way through the crowd, approaching just about everyone with, “Chiiick, baby! How are you? Oh, sorry.” Finally, I see some nervous looking guy in the back gesturing to Cousin Fred. He’s at a corner booth, at least I guess you can call it a booth…it was more like an L-shaped plush sectional sofa with a few small cocktail tables. At the same moment I saw what must have been hotel security zeroing in on Cousin Fred who was still working his way through the overdressed crowd doing his “Chiiiick, baby!” greeting. I grabbed him and steered him toward Mr. Nervous at the back of the room. As we got closer, I could see a slightly-beyond-middle-aged guy sitting there. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses like you would expect to see on a desert patrolling state trooper. He just seemed to stare straight ahead. He was wearing what I guessed was an Armani suit with a silk shirt that was open down to mid-chest. The guy definitely spent time in a spray tan booth. He had that sort of George Hamilton carrot orange look to his skin. As we neared the table, I looked back to see the hotel security guys starting to pull up. Guess they figured we wouldn’t be bothering any more guests with “Chiiick, baby!” Mr. Nervous was wearing a black business suit with a black shirt and white tie, but it was his shoes that really caught my eye. Black, pointy-toed things they were, with the pointy ends kind of curled up. His facial features were kind of pointy too. He looked like some nightmarish elf in mourning. At that point, I really wanted to run out of there. Mr. Nervous introduced himself to us as Mr. Farris’ trusted aide without actually telling us his name. I shook his hand. It was moist, with sweat I hoped. He then turned to introduce us to Chick Farris who turned his mirrored sunglasses in our general direction, but didn’t get up to greet us. I leaned across one of the tables to shake Chick’s hand, but he turned his head to the left and stared off into space. Mr. Nervous leaned into my ear and whispered, “Mr. Farris never shakes hands because of the germs. He is hypersensitive and vulnerable to diseases, you know.” This was getting creepier by the second. As I sat down, I suddenly realized Cousin Fred was back across the room trying to talk to two women who were dressed to the nines and doing their best to avoid any eye contact with him. Chick, without looking at me asked, “Do you know who I am?” Before I could answer with “not a clue”, Mr. Nervous informed me, “He’s Chick Farris, the king of all broadcast television.” As soon as he said that, something tripped in the back of my mind. A faint memory stored upon a decidedly mature brain cell issued forth. I remembered this guy. He had hit after hit on television, but that was back in the 70’s and 80’s. I even recalled that there was some scandal where his partner Bill “Billy the Tip” Tipmann turned up dead. There was an investigation, but Chick was exonerated. I guess a look of recognition had washed over me. Chick looked in my direction and muttered, “So, what do you boys have for me?” It’s a bit past 4AM here near Las Vegas, baby! Cousin Fred and I only just now pulled into a motel outside the city limits. We should have been here late evening yesterday, but as is usually the case I made the mistake of actually listening to my idiot cousin.
After the Wife figured out that I was serious about making this trip to Vegas, baby!, she swiftly removed all of the credit cards from my wallet and hid all our available cash. She even went so far as to bury jars of coins somewhere outside of the compound and changed all of the password accesses for our banking and 401K accounts. She also flattened the tires on my SUV. As her final act, she etched into the brass of a bullet “Vegas or Dust!” and set it in front of my coffeemaker. I’m getting the message the Wife doesn’t want me going to Vegas, baby! But what’s a guy to do? Opportunity is knocking in the form of Chick Farris and his able assistant. This could be our big break! Cousin Fred, never one to be deterred by anything, told me not to worry. He still had one credit card with $600 left on the limit. Then he asked if I still had any packages of Buffalo Chips - the jalapeno flavored, caramel covered, hedge apple slices we tried to sell at the most recent home show – left over. I told him there were still three full boxes out in the garage. I was considering putting them up for sale on Facebook. I told him there was also two gross of the Indonesian mini-skirts that nutcase from Oklahoma City was trying to sell at the same home show. Once the SWAT team grabbed him and dragged him off for an all-expenses paid vacation in the county jail, we noticed that they left a couple of boxes of his mini-skirts behind (the rest were seized as evidence). Cousin Fred, upon hearing this news, clapped his hands together and assured me that we “were in high cotton.” I’m not sure exactly what he meant by that, but as is often the case, Cousin Fred’s enthusiasm trumps most measures of common sense. We decided to make the journey in Cousin Fred’s desert assault vehicle aptly named the Brutus, a vintage Ford Bronco with the entire top cut off. Fortunately, he left the windshield, passenger and driver doors in place so we were able to keep the windows up. That reduced some of the arctic chill created at road speed and allowed some of the heat coming from the vents to momentarily reach us before dissipating in the face of extreme cold. So, we strapped the boxes of Buffalo Chips and Indonesian mini-skirts and our luggage down in the back and away we went. Cousin Fred’s CB-whip antenna bent in the breeze with a small black flag emblazoned with the motto “Et Tu Brute?” flying from the top. I still wasn’t sure I understand what Cousin Fred’s plan was for the contraband goods we were carrying, but after Shattuck my teeth were chattering so badly that I didn’t really care. By the time we were approaching Tucumcari, NM, the Brutus was getting low on fuel. Cousin Fred began broadcasting over his CB radio that ETB Enterprises would be setting up shop in the Flying J Travel Plaza parking lot on the east side of Tucumcari. He announced we were selling exotic snacks straight from the kitchens of Western Oklahoma and that we had special gifts for all the trucker’s wives and girlfriends straight from sweat shops of Indonesia. With Christmas rapidly approaching we were a virtual Target Store (truer words have never been spoken) for everyone on every trucker’s list. We no sooner arrived at the Flying J than the Brutus’ engine gave out…we were out of gas. Fortunately, we were able to roll into a spot on the north side of the parking lot where all the traffic had to see us as they rolled in. By some miracle, we sold one entire box of Buffalo Chips and thirty-five of the one-size-fits-all Indonesian mini-skirts. We had rolled into the place with nothing more than a car load of crap and now had $300 cash. Ain’t America grand? I started to open another box of the Buffalo Chips, but Cousin Fred stopped me saying we would save them for further down the road and the return trip. After filling the Brutus, we hit the road again. We did the same at the Love’s Travel Stop west of Gallup, NM. We rolled out of there with another $200. I was actually beginning to think things were looking up for us and I began to allow myself to relax a bit (in between teeth chattering) and think about our pitch to Chick Farris the next day. But then…somewhere around Winslow, AZ, we began to pick up chatter on the CB about “cheatin’ varmints” and “snake oil salesman” and a “coupla hippies in an old Ford headed west”…at which point, Cousin Fred turned the CB off. After multiple stops along the way, including a quick trip to the southern rim of the Grand Canyon where Cousin Fred urinated over the edge – said it was a lifelong dream of his – we finally rolled into the parking lot of the Oasis Boutique Motel in Boulder City, NV at 4AM. Cousin Fred was dead asleep before he hit the pillow I think. We’d been at it for nineteen hours. I’m looking forward to the meeting with Chick and able assistant this morning. Stay tuned! |
Archives
March 2019
Categories |
RSS Feed