![]() Happy Tuesday! I have it on good authority that the week is flying by. You know the weird thing about living here in the Great Northwest of Oklahoma? Everyone here is desperate for volunteers for anything. And volunteering brings with it a whole lot of meetings and no cash. Eh well…it’s still great to be here. Tonight I was supposed to attend my first VFW meeting, but here I sit in a RV parked outside of Chick Farris’s luxurious home in West Hollywood, or as we “moneyed” hipsters call it, WeHo. We arrived yesterday and I was a bit concerned about where we would park the RV. Chick’s street is the very definition of an anti-RV street and there isn’t a Walmart within 50 miles of there. Chick wasn’t concerned. He told us that as president of his homeowners’ association, he can keep the “natives” at bay for a couple of days. We have meetings today with our production team and then we’re outta here, headed back for home early tomorrow morning. But, more on the present later. Let’s return to the past, a couple of days ago while we were still making our road trip west. Before we got completely out of New Mexico, Cousin Fred produced two bottles of Crystal Head Vodka. It’s Canadian vodka that comes in these crystal skulls. Dan Aykroyd is one of the partners behind the product. That stuff is really expensive, but Cousin Fred said he figured that we deserved it since we were about to hit it big in Hollywood. Cousin Fred and I started tipping one bottle between Gallup, NM and Winslow, AZ. We parked at the Walmart Supercenter in Winslow for the night and Friend Lamont, who had been driving joined us in the back. The Winslow police showed up twice asking us to keep it down. Apparently, the bar at the end of the Walmart parking was complaining about the noise coming from the RV. We got a late start the next day, all of us (except Lassie the barking goat) with hangovers that would kill a horse. It’s about six hours from Winslow to Barstow, CA so I wasn’t particularly concerned about timing. The daily periodical that forbids me from mentioning their name wasn’t/isn’t running my embedded travel pieces anyway. Before leaving the Winslow Walmart parking lot, Cousin Fred disappeared inside for a bit and came out with a bag full of snacks. After putting the snacks inside the cabinets in the galley, from the bottom of the bag he produced a box of red chemlights, known commercially as Glowsticks. I asked what he intended to do with those, but he just smiled. Honestly, I was still too hungover to even care. I grabbed a handful of cheese puffs and sat down. It was mid-afternoon when we pulled into Flagstaff. I asked Friend Lamont to steer us toward the nearest point of the Grand Canyon so I could get a few photos to send back to that rancid daily periodical that won’t claim me. It was starting to get dark as we left Flagstaff and began making our way toward Barstow for the night. I have to hand it Friend Lamont, he really hung there with the driving. Lassie the barking goat sat in the front passenger seat, occasionally looking back at me and making a weird noise to indicate he wanted more cheese puffs. After the sun had set, and we were purring along the highway, Cousin Fred emerged from the bedroom in back. He stood wide-eyed looking around and declared, “It’s dark outside!” No shit cowboy…it happens at the end of a day. About that time, Friend Lamont steered us into a travel plaza place for fuel. He and I went inside. Cousin Fred said he would stay in the RV with Lassie the barking goat. After bathroom breaks inside, Friend Lamont and I came outside to see a crowd gathered around the RV. I muttered, “Now what?” Not actually wanting to know. As we got closer, I could see that Cousin Fred had placed one of the empty Crystal Head Vodka bottles up on the front dash with three or four of the red chemlights glowing inside. He had put a pair of sunglasses on Lassie the barking goat. There were murmurs among the crowd about “Satanist devil worshipers” and “look, it’s Baphomet” and such. From inside the RV, strains of AC-DC’s “Highway to Hell” was playing. About that time, Lassie began barking and the crowd moved back. I pressed Friend Lamont’s shoulder and suggested we get the hell out of there. He agreed. Soon we were flying down the highway with one glowing skull in the front, the other in the back. Friend Lamont was wearing the clip-on devil horns. Lassie the barking goat sat in the passenger seat still wearing sunglasses. Fortunately, for all, the novelty wore off somewhere around Oatman, AZ near the California border and we just kept driving. I’m pretty sure we scared a few motorists along the way though. And speaking of scary things that go bump in the night…faithful readers of this blog will recall that I’ve always been a huge fan of Batman. Of all the superheroes, Batman is definitely the coolest. I’m talking cool on a Tom Jones level here (don’t get me started talking about how cool Tom Jones is or we’ll never get this finished). Well, at least Batman is cool up to the point that some skinny bozo in a bad costume tries to impersonate him – and no I’m not talking about Adam West. From the Huffington Post site, we learn that a Disney World reject in Orlando, FL dressed himself in a Batman mask and t-shirt emblazoned with the Bat-Logo and walked into a dollar store to rob the joint. He was armed with a handgun (should have been the first clue…Batman would never use a gun) and left when two cashiers handed over the cash out of their drawers (no not their panties, you pervs, the cash register drawers) and he casually walked out. 90 minutes later, another dollar store robbery (four miles away) went down after a guy wearing a Batman outfit and carrying a gun robbed it. Police, AND I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP, are still trying to decide if it’s the same guy. Trust me, it is. Why in the world would you rob a dollar store? What do you get, a handful of dollar bills and all the Pez candy you can carry? Maybe he should switch to a Spiderman outfit and start robbing Sonics…it’s bound to be more profitable and you can spidey-leap from carhop to carhop taking the wad of cash out of their little aprons. Attention amateur criminals. Contact me for consulting advice on beginning your life in crime. You’re obviously too stupid to figure it out yourselves. ‘Nuff said. Comments are closed.
|
Archives
March 2019
Categories |