 Terrific Tuesday all you asthmatic and irritable peoples – I tell you after four solid days of horrific winds, I’m ready to move underground. I’m beginning to think gophers have the right idea.
You know what’s wrong with me? Hint: It’s a rhetorical question…I’m not actually looking for actual responses. Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I go out of town for a day and the world goes to hell. Seriously. Let’s see, The Trump held his first Cabinet meeting yesterday and went around the table insisting that every member praise him in front of the cameras. Of course, they praised him, there were probably goons with guns outside of the Cabinet Room to purge any disparagers. Oh, the latest leaker, Reality Winner (how unfortunate a name has she) was photographed doing yoga in prison. There are reports that The Trump is going to fire Robert Mueller as special counsel – a move that would be very Nixonian (Nixon’s still dead, right?). Oh, oh…Dennis Rodman is headed back to North Korea for another playdate with that lunatic Kim Jong Whatever. And, a bunch of beer-bellied conservatives with weapons showed up in Houston because a bunch of internet trolls planted rumors that a statue of Sam Houston was being torn down. Just another Monday, I reckon. In the meantime… Cousin Fred and I headed to Enid yesterday, which, for those of you outside the dried bovine excrement throwing distance of The Compound (a local sport in which it’s important to have horrific winds to your back) is the second nearest city after Cosmic City (one Walmart and four liquor stores). We were over in Enid to meet up with a former roadie for the last Rolling Stones U.S. tour. Ian Colgagger is his name and he had a set of the cabling needed to make the humungous video screens work that we need for The Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival this summer here at The Compound. We pulled up to the guy’s residence which sits in one of the older neighborhoods. He actually owns the entire block and has had all of the other structures leveled. Guess there’s something to be said for mammoth rock n’ roll. He has a big fence surrounding the entire block. His house, a very mature 1940s bungalow sits perched a mere 20 feet from the front gate at the curb. There was a sign over the entrance that reads “Chez Colgagger”. Cousin Fred commented, “This must be the place.” Ian met us at the gate and after examining our IDs, let us inside his compound. He was a huge man…and, that’s an understatement. He was at least seven feet tall and wearing torn jeans, a t-shirt, and an old denim jacket with the sleeves torn off. Did I mention the eye patch over one eye? “You have the cash,” he asked? Cousin Fred responded, “Yeah, we have the cash. You have the cables?” “Yeah, I have the cables. Follow me.” He led us around behind the house to an old and increasingly decrepit looking detached garage. As we followed him, Cousin Fred elbowed me and pointed with his chin the handle of a gun tucked into the small of Ian’s back. It was at eye level to the two of us. “Nice place you have here,” Cousin Fred commented in an obviously lame attempt at small talk. “Big open space. I like this.” Without stopping, Ian responded, “Yeah, I can see the unwashed hordes coming from a long way off.” Cousin Fred turned to me and mouthed the words, “Unwashed hordes?” I shrugged, keeping an eye on the weapon tucked in Ian’s waistband. When we got to the front of the garage, Ian said, “Wait here.” He pushed and pulled the old carriage style doors open on the structure and stepped inside, drawing the weapon from his back. We heard a loud cry of anguished obscenities followed by two shots. Cousin Fred and I hit the ground, the silty dust rising up around us. A mass exodus of rats emerged from inside. They were followed by Ian Colgagger carrying a dusty box. He dropped the box in front of Cousin Fred, who raised his head high enough to peer into the box. Ian tucked the weapon back into the waistband of his pants. “There’s your cables. Where’s the money?” I reached into my pocket and handed up the folded wad of bills. At this point, I didn’t care if the friggin’ box was empty. I would happily have paid for an empty box. Cousin Fred was going through the box. He pulled out what appeared to be a rat’s nest and threw it on the ground. Next came one of the cables. He pointed out that the insulation was chewed through. Colgagger shrugged and said, “A little electrical tape and it’ll be good as new. You both should leave now and take your rat eaten cables with you. You’re beginning to irritate me. It’s not good if I get irritated. I haven’t had my meds today.” We both jumped up and started for the front gate. I can honestly say I set a new land speed record for a return trip from Enid – 90 miles in 40 minutes. That is all! Comments are closed.
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