Happy Tuesday everyone. We’re off and running into another work week. I was out yesterday helping The Dad with our new timber enterprise around the farm. Okay, actually it’s just cleaning up the mess from the ice storm. The only individuals who will profit from this are the chiropractors. We have four huge mounds of branches and trees that we’ll torch when the conditions are right. Astronauts on the International Space Station should be able to view the bonfires once they're lit off. I’m happy to report that the Cabinet Saloon replication is now complete. Our friends at NWEC hooked up the power yesterday. The septic was finished the day before. Cousin Fred has moved into the upstairs quarters just ahead of The Wife plotting his untimely demise. Of course, I still have the District 3 county vehicle cruising past several times a day. In some ways, I really wish Cousin Fred hadn’t painted the neon white façade with CABINET SALOON in neon black. It really stands out. Hell, they can probably read that from the ISS. Most of the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Chapter (P.O.J.O.C.) showed up last night to properly christen The Cab, as we’re now calling it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend. After a day in the timber, I came home to nap before having to go into Cosmic City for a meeting last night. When I got home from the meeting, I could see there was much mirth and debauchery going on in The Cab. I was whipped and just came up to the main house and went straight to bed. I got up at my usual 4AM this morning and peered out at The Cab. There were bodies lying out on the porch of the place and even a couple in the yard in front of it. Hopefully, no one is dead. I was looking to see if Cousin Fred was up to have coffee with him. No signs of life. Guess it was a late night at The Cab…and that was a Monday night. Mirth and debauchery know no limits. Of course, I couldn’t see the back room of the ground floor, there are no windows back there. That’s where the gaming tables are set up. I counted sufficient bodies scattered about to know it would have been a one- or two-handed card game if there was any going on. And, while we’re on the subject...you know, over the history of CCB, we’ve tended to pick on West Virginia. They’re such an easy target. We’ve pointed out that the state motto translated from the Latin is “Again, why are we in the Big XII?” We’ve made fun of their criminal antics. There was the woman who tried to hold up a convenience stores while naked. She was a barrel of laughs. There were the two yippy dogs that somehow put their caretaker’s car in drive and drove into the front of a Wal-Mart. Oh, those mutts! Weird place that West Virginia. But we’ve reached a new level of weirdness, the likes of which I’m not certain even naked women robbing convenience stores could top. So there was a dude who went into a casino in WVA and sits down at a blackjack table. At some point, his luck started to turn and he was running out of money quickly. Now most of us would simply have gotten up from the table, made a few phone calls and cashed in the kids’ college tuition funds or taken a chancier gambit by faking our own death to collect on the life insurance before once again resuming play. But not this intrepid hillbilly…no sir. He made it through nearly a full half semester at a Big XII school. He was determined to think big and act big. He was desperate. Our intrepid enterprising hillbilly (we’ll call him Mr. Enterprise) gets up from the table, but only after laying down a $25 chip to hold his place. He then exits the casino and goes across the street to a bank where he hands the teller a note that says he has a bomb and a gun and she should hand over the cash. So, now Mr. Enterprise goes back across the street – with $5,000 in easily identifiable bills in his pocket - to the casino and starts playing blackjack again. But, Mr. Enterprise is a freaking loser and after dropping $500 at the table gets up and leaves. The only smart thing he did that day. Someone tips off the police who arrive at Mr. Enterprise’s home with a warrant and find the remainder of the money stuffed inside a couch. Ah, the old stuff the money in the couch while remorse for your evil deed washes over you routine. That's just so cliché. At his hearing last week, Mr. Enterprise informed the judge that he thinks that he took some drugs the day of the robbery (an obvious attempt at mitigation) and couldn’t remember robbing the bank. When the prosecution ran a video clearly showing dumbass…er, Mr. Enterprise…walking into the bank and robbing it, he acknowledged that it was him. Mr. Enterprise got 5 to 18 years. Maybe all that time will give him pause to work on his blackjack skills. That is all! Comments are closed.
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