![]() Friends, it’s Thursday morning. The rains are continuing here at The Compound this morning. If there’s any advantage to DISH and KFOR-TV squabbling, it’s that I’ve started getting my weather from Channel 9. Tornado Pain (sic) called this exactly right. As opposed to Happy Hands Morgan on Channel 4 who likes to predict rainfall totals to the hundredths of an inch, only to be wrong…again. Though I do still miss seeing weather hottie Emily Sutton on Channel 4. Lacey Swope on Channel 9 is a close second. As an added bonus, Lacey Swope friended me on Facebook. Emily Sutton took out a no-contact order signed by a judge in Grant County. A quick check of the forecasts indicates that there is a chance of rain nearly every day headed into the weekend. Perhaps Lake Mountebank will re-form and Cousin Fred can forget the artesian well nonsense. Now granted, we’re always grateful for rain in this part of the world, particularly at this time of year, but the pit that Cousin Fred dug Tuesday is unstable. I’m concerned about the sandy soil caving in on Cousin Fred while he is down there digging. The next day, there he’d be, all naked and muddy as he’s dug out of the pit, on the front page of the Woodward News, whose motto from the Latin is “More Pictures, We Need More Pictures on Page One!” But, the pit is creating even more problems for me. I was about to head outside yesterday morning to pull the extension ladder up out of the hole in an effort to protect Cousin Fred from, well…Cousin Fred, when I saw a white pickup pull into the drive. Both doors of the vehicle were marked with the seal of Oklahoma and identified the vehicle as belonging to the Oklahoma Corporation Commission, the world’s most unethical (but somehow still legal) governmental organization. But as you longtime fans of CCB know, we pointed that out a long time ago. Near the end of the truck’s bed were the words, “Artesian Well Inspector.” Holy crap! Cousin Fred digs a hole 15 feet deep and now I have the OCC crawling up my ass?! So, the inspector of fake artesian wells gets out of the truck with his clipboard and an envelope. He asks me if I have a permit for digging an artesian well? Of course not, I respond. It’s not really an artesian well. It was a well-meaning drunken prank inspired by a hairdressing hydrologist. He told me that isn’t really his problem. I had publicly declared the pit an artesian well and now was required to have a permit. He handed me an envelope and told me to insert $500 cash into it and mail it to any one of the three OCC commissioners of my choosing. He then handed me three brochures, each one featuring a different commissioner with their home address and a brief description of why they deserve my money. And, if I don’t, I foolishly asked? He said they would turn The Compound into a field headquarters for ODOT to secretly hatch their sinister plans for acquiring more right-of-way (than they can possibly use) from ag producers, followed by paving over all of rural Oklahoma. Just because they know what’s best for us. With that, he departed. No lectures about digging safety or rate sheets about paying so much per thousand gallons produced by the well. No weird groundwater removal fees to help pay the costs of Her Majesty Mary Queen of Fallin’s next cosmetic surgery. Just a “voluntary” donation to one of the three OCC Commissioners to help defray reelection costs. Isn’t that special? I hoped then that Cousin Fred had $500 stashed somewhere since this was his doing. At that point, I was more determined than ever…there will be artesian well on this place, if I have to sink a pump to make it appear so! So yesterday, once I was able to get a completely sober Gigi outside Hellkat One’s trailer to question her belief that the spot of “The Hole”, as we’re now calling it, is in fact the correct one. She certainly laid out a reasonable explanation for why that spot would likely produce an artesian well. Or, even failing that, she felt that we could have, at the minimum, a spring-fed Lake Mountebank. It’s great having your own amateur hydrologist around. I began making plans in my head for boat ramps, bait shops, lakeside cabins and even a dam at one end. Oh, yeah, there’s the downside. I’ll have to build some kind of earthen dam at one end to keep the water here, lest I flood little Fargo. But, hey, enough of that nonsense. I saw something this morning on the Huffington Post web site that caught my eye. A woman, who worked as a Registered Nurse at a state mental hospital out in the great state of Washignton, decided she’d had enough and couldn’t take any more. She goes to Walmart (center of universe for freaking weirdness) buys one of their sheet cakes and then decorates it herself. On it, in yummy blood red frosting, she declared, “I quit!!!” Nurse Sara said it was her way of giving her employers a piece of her mind, not to mention a piece of cake. According to Nurse Sara, the hours were long and staff are not given enough training. She also said that management spent far too much time writing staff up for violations and meting out punishments. The hospital responded with an official statement saying, “This was quite likely the most unusual “resignation” letter ever submitted to Western State Hospital. Meanwhile, we thank the 2000 dedicated staff who do come to work day and night because they find it both challenging and rewarding to help our patients on their journey to recovery.” Huh? How big is this place that they would have 2,000 staff? Well, 1,999, I guess. And, “journey to recovery”…??? Really? It would be interesting to know how many people actually recover in one of those places. But, I’ll save that for another posting. The HuffPost (it’s what us hipsters call it) site also listed three other cool ways to quit your job. Let’s see, there was: 1) A female TV anchor up in Anchorage, Alaska (what better place to be an anchor?) who announced on air, “F**k it, I quit!”…hahaha, classic; 2) A female film animator who made a video of herself doing an interpretive dance of Kayne West’s “Gone”…too much work, me thinks; and, 3) A guy who quit his job at an insurance company (no, not Figley-Salz) by dressing up as a banana and hiring a mariachi band to perform for the office…not sure I get the banana/mariachi thing, but whatever. Comments are closed.
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