Have you ever tried to handcuff a Bigfoot?

Happy Presidents’ Day everybody! Do you suppose that’s a proper greeting? I can’t think of any of the presidents who have held office in my lifetime that I was so thrilled about as to wish fellow citizens a “happy” Presidents’ Day.

Judging from the latest line up of candidates, I’m not sure we’ll ever get there. I saw one click-bait company on the web is now offering an article called, “13 Reasons Trump Will Be the Best President, Ever.” Frankly, I’m afraid to open that. Guess I’m afraid it may make sense.

We’re back at The Compound now, everyone intact. Friend Lamont is parking his RV near Hellkat One’s trailer where Cousin Fred lives. I guess Friend Lamont will stay here until we head up to Colorado once production on the reality show, “Naked and Untamed” begins in April.

Made it back Saturday just after the ‘big’ earthquake here. Came into the house to find the Wife under the table chain smoking her filterless Pall Malls and muttering something about the earth opening up to swallow her.

Fortunately, there weren’t any aftershocks, at least that we could feel, otherwise I’m not sure I would ever have gotten her out from under there.

Early Sunday morning, about 3AM, I couldn’t sleep. I was up watching the knife show on one of those channels that always seem to have just what you need at a price that you can’t resist at 3AM.

The littlest dog, was looking out the patio door between the vertical blinds and began a low growl that got louder. That eventually became fierce barking so I got up and looked out into the dark thinking there was a coyote or something moving through the yard.

Although I couldn’t see much, it was 3AM after all, I thought I saw some movement back into a shadow. It wasn’t a coyote. This was an upright biped, or at least it looked that way before it disappeared into the shadow.

I got the Wife up and told her to find her phone – she’s forever hiding it from herself for some reason. I grabbed my shotgun and told her to call the Sheriff if I started shooting. Of course, it would have taken the sheriff’s deputy on call at least 20 minutes to find his pants, shoes, and gun and another three hours of driving aimlessly around the countryside trying to find The Compound, but they would have made it here eventually.

In the meantime, I’m out the door with my flashlight and weapon. I found nothing, not so much as a hint or track…nothing that would indicate something was out there.
I came back inside to find the Wife at the table, her hand hovering over the last digit of the sheriff’s office phone number. A lit filterless Pall Mall dangling from her lips. There was an almost empty bottle of Four Roses Whisky on the table.

I gave her the all-clear and told her to go back to bed. The Wife looked at me like I was insane and got up from her seat. She shuffled back to her bedroom muttering something about “And a happy F%$#ing Valentine’s Day to you too!”

I got online to check to see if anyone had walked off the 18th hole of the William S. Keyless Country Club, but all seemed well there. Since they put up the perimeter fence with razor wire across the top, I’ve noticed there haven’t been any country club members walking off the property without paying their bar bill.

About that time, there was banging on the north door. It was Cousin Fred, who had heard the commotion and saw me sweeping my halogen “Varmint Light” across the property in search of whatever or whomever that was. I told him what I saw. He offered that perhaps it was the Bigfoot and that maybe, just maybe, we didn’t have to leave The Compound to film the series after all.

I told him I seriously doubted it was the Bigfoot, but that we would look for tracks in the daylight.

You know, one of my joys in producing this blog on a nearly daily basis, besides sharing my personal adventures with the three or four of you who read it, is that I get to share the benefit and wisdom of my experience.

Today is no exception!

It seems a couple in Ft. Smith, Arkansas (Cousin Fred says he bets he knows who this is), decided to spice things up a bit. So they bought a pair of handcuffs (I know, nothing says romance like lockable restraints) and the woman handcuffs her husband to the bed (probably to keep him from going to the Dixie Pig bar where it was naked olive oil wrestling night…with pigs).

Only problem is, she can’t find the key. Tsk, tsk, tsk…dang, now that is a problem, isn’t it?

Rule number one when playing with handcuffs is to always ensure you have a key. Both parties should lay eyes on it and it needs to remain in plain sight.

Okay, so you’re in this predicament, what do you do?

Well, first of all, chances are the handcuffs aren’t real police handcuffs with hardened steel, so I’m betting in a worst case scenario, a simple hacksaw would cure everything.

Here’s another tip, just about all handcuffs utilize a universal key. That’s so one cop can undo the handcuffs that another cop put on someone. Doesn’t matter that the manufacturers are different, they’re all the same. And it’s that way globally…I know, because I once had to buy 400 pairs of handcuffs from some little town in eastern Germany (long story).

Consequently, if you know what you’re doing, chances are you can pick the lock. It's actually a very simple lock to pick…trust me on this, I’ve had to pick them (again, long story).

Failing all of that, you probably have an AAA membership. Guess what? Locksmith service is part of that. Now, granted, in Cosmic City that means getting some guy who works for Roach’s Towing out of bed and to your door which means you’ll have to listen to him tell you that he’s lost count of the number of people he’s had to bust out of handcuffs, but…it’s an option.

I think the LAST thing I would consider doing is calling the cops. Not only will you become the butt of all shift jokes at roll call, but police have to collect info on subjects for any call they roll on.

So let’s say Officer Friendly and Officer Steroid show up. They chuckle at your situation and ask if you want them to arrest your wife for illegal detainment before using their universal key to free you.

They tell you they need to see some ID so they can fill out their report…still snickering about the fig leaf you have covering your business. You hand over your ID, just wanting them to leave so you can try to find some shred of your remaining dignity (hint: it’s in the back of your closet beneath your collection of 1970s Stag magazines).

But then, the cops realize you have a warrant.

Now, they’re slapping their cuffs on you and dragging your ass off to jail – fig leaf and all.

That’s exactly what happened to our Ft. Smith naked pig wrestler. Cops show up to help, figure out genius has a warrant…goodbye, Mr. Kinky.

So what have we learned?

1. ALWAYS make sure the handcuff key is in sight before playing female prison guard with a bad inmate (also, watch out for the nightstick).

2. Go buy new blades for your hacksaw in case you don’t follow rule #1. Do it now!

3. Get the AAA Premium membership. Call today!

4. Never, ever call the police to get you out of handcuffs. They enjoy it too much.

5. Stay the hell out of Arkansas!

That is all!
 

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