![]() Alrighty sports fans, things are certainly heating up here at The Compound. We have a group of madcap, madcap I’m tellin’ ya, Fijians down at the southeast corner of the main lawn. I hear a lot of grumbling from that camp…people questioning when stuff will begin happening. I’m afraid to tell them it probably won’t. Nothing worse than an angry, disillusioned Fijian. There are the members of the Florida gator cult camping on the far eastern area of the north lawn. They’re all adorned in their dried gator skulls and make weird snorting sounds upon greeting one another first thing in the morning. Probably about time for the gator cult to get new head gear. The stuff they’re wearing is getting pretty ripe. Oh, and there’s the refugees from the Burning Man festival…they’re camped here and there as they just try to figure out how to get home. They all seem so confused, yet beatific. I guess there is some amount of bliss in synthetic hallucinogens. The only real problem with them is that they keep trying to light stuff afire. Cousin Fred assured me that he and Gigi will keep an eye on them. Everyone, of course, awaiting the arrival of the Secret Ladies Society for the Study of Earthly Psychic Occult Phenomena (SLSSEPOP) – that group of ancient women from all over the country. They’ll bring order to this rabble. We’re eagerly awaiting their arrival in vintage Buicks. Even the law enforcement sitting across the road in front of The Compound are anxious to see this. In case you’re new to CCB and/or are otherwise uninformed as to the mission of these spiritualists…it all stems from a happening here at The Compound last February, soon after Cousin Fred raised the Cabinet Saloon replication (aka, The Cab) on the north lawn. The idea was that the spiritualists saw The Cab as a portal through which the ghost of Temple Houston would return. Nothing happened. The spiritualists, being spiritualists and always up for a party, figured to return on the anniversary of the infamous (notorious?) Cabinet Saloon gunfight in which Mr. Temple and Jack Love shot it out with the Jennings boys. That anniversary is this Sunday. Can’t wait. Things got off to a weird start last night when there came from The Cab a loud bang followed by a long figure stumbling out the front door. The campers all grabbed their bottles of rye whiskey and moved forward, offering said rye to what they thought must surely be HIM. It wasn’t. It was Cousin Fred, drunker than Cooter Brown. He lurched forward to the edge of The Cab’s porch and promptly face planted into the ground. The spiritualists, certainly disappointed but no less enthusiastic, returned to their tents to await something, anything. Someone give them a sign! I hate making excuses for Cousin Fred, but the pressure of the care and feeding of our guests is really starting to get to him. It reminded me of a guy I read about up in Wyoming who after police arrested him for public drunk for his own health, welfare, and safety. Police after all are so good about incarcerating people for their own good. He claimed to be a time traveler from 2048 who came back to warn all of us that aliens will soon invade earth. Now wasn’t that nice of him? He told police that the aliens gave him all the liquor before his time travel back to us. Wasn’t that thoughtful of those aliens? At least the poor guy was wasted on someone else’s dime. The cops may have bought into it (the law in Wyoming is so clever – don’t you watch Longmire?), but Travelin’ Man became increasingly disturbed when he realized it was only 2017. He was aiming for 2018. With that, the lead investigator become increasingly suspicious of his story and Travelin’ Man was locked up (for his own good). Actually, Travelin’ Man had a blood alcohol level of 0.136…friends, that’s loaded to the gills. Kind of like Cousin Fred, who is still face down in front of The Cab. Oh, he’s okay. I can hear his snoring inside the main house. That is all! Comments are closed.
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