![]() Happy Friday everybody! Looks like we’re in for a few windy days here at The Compound. Whenever the outlook is for wind, lots of wind, more wind than we’ve ever previously seen, I generally put on a DVD of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan to run on continuous loop. Then Cousin Fred and I pretend we’re on Ceti Alpha V. If you’re getting the (now increasingly) obscure reference, good for you. If not, may I suggest diving into a weekend of vintage cinema? Nothing else to do, it’ll be too damned windy. The best part is whenever the scene in that movie comes up where Khan is getting on Kirk’s last nerve and the camera zooms in on Kirk as he yells, “Khaaaaaan!,” Cousin Fred and I are there yelling along with him. The Compound mutts soon join in. It’s quite the cacophony of aural impaction. The Wife loves it. She starts yelling on her own, but her yelling usually involves obscenities, some that I’ve never heard before. That’s followed by empty Old Crow bottles being lobbed at our heads or a lit unfiltered Pall-Mall being flicked at us. Ahhhh…life on The Compound. Speaking of life on The Compound, yesterday things got a bit weird. We had an unexpected guest…again. Cousin Fred and I were sitting around the kitchen table trying to brainstorm a “hook” for our new television pilot idea. We aren’t coming up with much. Cousin Fred keeps trying to turn it into naked ghost hunting. I’m resistant. After Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed, I’m pretty much done with nakedity for a while. I swear, we were minding our own business, when off in the far distance, I heard something. The Compound mutts heard it too. Their heads turned in the direction of the east. Cousin Fred looked at me with panic. About then it occurred to me what we were hearing. The Wife charged out from her bedroom screaming, “It’s a raid, it’s a raid!” I’m starting to think, “Raid. What raid?” Cousin Fred jumped up from the table and ran out the front door. He was screaming, “Dive, dive. Prepare to dive!” The sounds were getting closer. The hairdressing hydrologist Gigi, standing in the entrance tower to the underground bunker on the north lawn sounded an oo-gah claxon over and over. Cousin Fred mounted the tower with a single leap and down inside he went. The heavy steel hatch banged shut behind him. I moved out on the front porch and watched as three military helicopters flying in formation approached from the east. I see Cousin Fred is watching also, through the periscope which has raised up from the entrance tower. One of the helos peeled off the formation and took up an offensive position hovering above the entrance tower. I can see a door gunner hanging out the side, his M60 pointed directly at the periscope. The periscope descended. I knew the routine. I rushed back inside to find the only necktie I own, a bedazzling yellow SpongeBob SquarePants tie autographed by Tom Kenny. I tied same tie and moved back to the front door. Two goons with guns were standing outside the door. One of them saw that I’m now wearing a tie and spoke into his cuff, “The pig is tied. Repeat, the pig is tied.” Both turn and start the long walk across the center lawn toward the helo that landed. I fell in behind them (I know the routine). As we were walking, I see the third helo had taken up a defensive perimeter orbit around the property. The helo on the lawn still had its engines running. The rotor wash caused sandburs to fly. The two goons with guns don’t seem to notice, so I tried to do the same though I look down and see that my bedazzling SpongeBob tie is snagging every airborne sandbur that flies past. Finally, at the entrance to the helo, one of the goons gestured me to step in. As I step up inside, I look back at the road and see sheriff units from two counties descending on The Compound. It’s the first time one of these visits have come during the day. It’s attracting a lot of attention. The third helo now takes up a more threatening offensive position above the approaching phalanx of law enforcement. No shots fired, at that point. I step inside the cabin of the Sea King helicopter. There he is, The Trump, dressed out for a day of golfing…polo shirt, neon red pants, golf spikes (I’m sure the Marines loved having those inside their helo), and a bright red cap emblazoned with the motto, “Grab ‘em by the putter!” “Hey, Blogger Boy! Come on back here. You want a McDonald’s Happy Meal?” “Uh, no thanks.” “Suit yourself,” he says as she stuff more McNuggets into his mouth. “It’s been a very stressful week for me, you know. My advisors advised me to get out of DC what with hurricane force winds approaching. Go golfing they said to me. So, we came west.” “You still have advisors to advise?” “Don’t get cute, Blogger Boy. Oh sure, it looks like the rats are deserting the ship. Truth be told, they’re all a bunch of cupcakes. I’m a passionate guy, I get very passionate about people not reading my mind and doing what I think I expect them to. Know what I mean?” “Well, uh, yeah, maybe.” “So their feelings get hurt and the next thing I know, I’ve got a resignation on my desk. Bunch of cupcakes, that’s what I have.” “Uh huh.” “I’ll just run the whole show by myself. I’m a genius, you know. I can do it.” “Uh, yeah…maybe…” “The fake news people are saying I’m trying to start a trade war. Why would I do that when I can start a real war?” “Well, uh…” “Hey, how do you like that new tax break I got all of youse?” “Uh…” “Okay, enough small talk. I want you to move back to DC. I need a communications director. I hear you used to work for the White House Communications Office.” “Well, yeah, but…” “Yes or no, Blogger Boy. Tee time is calling.” “No.” “Okay, screw you, Blogger Boy. Get out of my sight.” With that I felt the meaty hand of one of the goons with a gun on my shoulder. He shoved me out the door of the helo and sealed the door shut. The rotor wash increased exponentially as the helo lifted into the sky, but not before firing several rounds at my feet from the onboard cannon. I ran back to the house. The Wife was standing on the porch with a lit unfiltered Pall Mall dangling from her lips. “Screwed up another interview did you, dolt?” That is all! Comments are closed.
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