O' say can you see through the smoke and the haze...3-D nakedity...tequila-soaked watermelons...festooned gator skulls...put a "done that" check on this holiday.

Welcome to Wednesday…Day 1, Post-070417 Apocalypse.

Things have quieted down here at The Compound. Smoke continues to clear, though there is still a bit of morning haze hanging around. Bodies are strewn across the lawns, mostly sleeping off the effects of tequila-soaked watermelon and Korean Plum Wine Hooch. All will live…hopefully.

And then leave.

Events of the Fourth got underway here early yesterday when two large tour buses pulled up out on the road. Inside were the members of that weird alligator skull cult that last visited The Compound in February. They have the belief that alligators act as a conductor for ghosts who wish to appear on Earth. They all wear dried gator skulls on their heads and everyone (man, woman, and/or child) is named Wally.

I didn’t really expect to see them until October when all of the spiritualists are expected to re-descend on The Compound on the anniversary of the gunfight in the Cabinet Saloon to contact the spirit of Temple Houston.

Apparently, Gigi’s social media plea for people to come here and celebrate life, liberty and the pursuit of BOOM did not go unheeded. But, seriously, TWO busloads of gator heads?

Hopefully, we’ll be able to feed everyone. I had already cranked up Big Bertha, the smoker, cooking ribs upon ribs upon pork butts before I realized that the hippies from southeast Colorado only eat bean curd so there’s plenty for the carnivorous gator heads from Florida.

By afternoon the day was moving along nicely. Wiley Piemore and the Prairie Dawgs showed up and played the better part of the afternoon. The music seemed to put people in a good mood, though the hippies kept yelling out for Wiley and the boys to play Freebird, a song they didn’t know.

At about 7PM, after everybody was pretty well looped on the tequila-soaked watermelon that the folks from Florida brought and the hooch in Mr. Kim’s RV, Cousin Fred and Gigi began moving through the crowd handing out 3-D glasses to everyone. They were telling them to put the glasses on when the fireworks started. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but before I could ask, the two of them disappeared inside The Cab to “prepare” for the fireworks extravaganza.

At about 8PM, I saw the Sister and Brother-in-Law drive by on the road. They slowed as though they were going to stop, but when they saw the circus underway, they took off. Maybe it was because the supreme head gator head, Wallius Rexus, was standing by the entrance to The Compound wearing his gator head festooned with bright, colorful flowers and around his waist a grass skirt…that was all. Honestly, if I didn’t have to be here to protect the property, I would likely have driven on too.

Did I mention The Wife returned earlier in the day from her vacation at the no-tell motel on the west end of Shattuck? She went there when the AC here at The Compound went out. By afternoon, she had resumed her perch up on the roof of the Main House to watch as events unfolded.

She sat up there chainsmoking filterless Pall-Malls and occasionally lobbing an empty Old Crow whiskey bottle at one of the bean curd hippies if they got too close to the house. Hey, we all celebrate in our own special way, right?

And then, it got dark.

Around 9:30PM, Cousin Fred and Gigi emerged from The Cab. Then I knew why they were locked up in there for so long. Cousin Fred was dressed as George Washington. He stood very erect and commenced swinging a sword, which caused all of the hippie bean curd ladies to swoon. The gator ladies snarled and snapped, which I took to be the equivalent of a swoon.

Gigi was dressed as Ben Franklin. It appeared to me that Cousin Fred had actually shaved the top of her head. She kept yelling in as deep a voice as she could muster that she expected beer and an orgy of farting after the fireworks extravaganza.

The crowd went wild. I retreated onto the porch of the Main House.

Then came the fireworks extravaganza. F*ck, oh dear. We bought enough Oklahoma-illegal fireworks to put on a two-hour show at least. The whole thing was done in 10 minutes.

First thing, out of the chute, George had Ben place a huge frigging sky rocket on one of the launch platforms. George proceeded to light said sky rocket. A very drunk bean curd hippie rushed the platform saying something about shooting holes in the ozone layer. He tripped and fell into the platform. The rocket tipped over just as its chemical engine was achieving maximum thrust. The rocket shot straight into Mr. Kim’s RV with (by our estimates) half of the huge bladder containing the 100 proof hooch remaining.

The RV exploded like nothing I’ve ever seen before. A huge fireball rose probably 100 feet into the air. Flaming pieces of the RV arced over into the pile of illegal fireworks lighting them afire. Now, everything – all of the fireworks - was firing off at once.

Oh, the humanities!

People were running in every direction trying to find cover from the fireworks shooting in every direction. When the fireworks were depleted, the RV continued to burn. The hippies all stripped naked and began dancing a wide circle around the fire, still wearing their 3-D glasses.

Mr. Kim ran out onto the lawn with a garden hose trying to put out the flames, but couldn’t get within 30 feet because of the heat. He took his clothes off too!

I can hear the Wife on the roof cackling hysterically and screeching something about another year, another holiday f*ck-up.

She’s right you know. There doesn’t seem to be a holiday that goes by without some manner of mishap. The Trump has Kim Jong Uno and I have Cousin Fred. Somehow, I think I got the better deal...maybe.

That is all!
 

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