Hair's the thing...German U-boats on the north lawn...ODEQ and ODOT, never around when you need 'em...the Wife's aim is improving, Cleveland may hire her as QB

So it goes sometimes that you just fall into things unexpectedly, good or bad. Do you know what I mean?

For instance, one day you’re walking along minding your own business, the next thing you know you’ve fallen into your neighbor’s illegal septic system (where is ODEQ when you need them?) and all because you were trying to see what your neighbor was really building inside that shop near his house. Or, you go to bed poor as dirt and wake up to discover you hit the lottery and are now filthy, f-you rich. Okay, the second one has never happened to me.

This morning I’m up reading through the overnight newsfeeds and find that this new book coming out next week about The Trump’s first year presidency has had even more leaks than before I went to bed. You’ve gots to love to a 24-hour news cycle.

What has this to do with me falling into an illegal septic system or winning the lottery, you ask? Patience dear blog reader…patience.

So among the alleged crap cited in the alleged book, which has included…let’s see…that The Trump goes to bed alone at 6:30pm where he eats McDonalds cheeseburgers (he’s supposedly convinced someone will poison him), watches the news on three TV screens at once, and then gets on the phone to rant about coverage of him…allegations that his son is traitor…ummmm, that he berates staff constantly…and then, there it was…the hair thing.

It seems, according to alleged book, that Princess Ivanka confided to friends that her dad (aka, The Trump) had scalp reduction surgery to pull together hair follicles closer to shrink an ever increasing bald spot. And then whatever hair remained was whipped around and sprayed with stiffening spray to lock it all in place.

But, wait, there’s more! The reason his hair is so orange is that he applies Just For Men to his hair, but is too impatient to leave it on for the time you’re supposed to and his hair gets that orangish-blonde glow to it.

After reading all that and thinking, “who cares?”, it hit me! I care!

And, do you know why I care? In case you long time, dedicated readers of this nonsense (all four of you) have forgotten, the very person who cared for The Trump’s locks prior to and for a short time after being elected is our one and only Hairdressing Hydrologist Gigi!

She’s on The Compound!

Of course, now she only answers to the name Hans Richter as she plays her part of a WWII German U-boat sailor in Cousin Fred’s weird little (a certainly creepy) Das Boot scenario.

I’m telling you people, this is like winning Powerball and MegaMillions jackpots in quick succession. This is like ODEQ finally doing what it’s supposed to and shutting down your neighbor’s illegal septic system and revealing what the hell is going on in his shop.

I immediately began thinking of ways to exploit Gigi’s…er, Hans’…firsthand knowledge to our own best advantage. After all, what good is inside information if you can’t use it to your own advantage? That’s always been a personal motto of mine…well, that, and “Leave no glass of Jack Daniel’s unfinished!”

I raced across the north lawn toward the entrance tower of Das Boot. Apparently, Cousin Fred has installed sensors out there, because my approach triggered alarms inside that I could actually hear above ground. Shouts in German of “man die torpedos” and “bereite mich vor, auf meine marke zu schießen.”

The periscope came up out of the tower. I looked directly into the lens and shouted, “Mein Herr, I wish to speak with first mate Hans!”

The periscope moved higher to survey the area up near the Main House. He was looking to see if the Wife was with me or anywhere near.

I could hear the Wife cackling softly somewhere behind me in the darkness. I thought I could see the faint glow of the end of her Pall Mall as it dangled from her lips.

The hatch opened slightly. I could Cousin Fred peering out at me.

“What do you want, Cousin?”

“I want to speak with Gigi or Hans or whoever. Suddenly, The Trump’s hair is a big deal again.”

As I spoke another Old Crow empty smashed against the metal tower. We were under fire from the Wife.

The hatch slammed shut and locked. The Wife was in full cackle now. Cousin Fred shouted through the hatch that they need more spätzle and sauerkraut.

All of this before sunrise.

That is all!

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