 Yeah, yeah…happy freakin’ Wednesday everybody! Or, at least those of you who have managed to get some sleep. Me? I haven’t had what I’d call quality sleep since…well, the Carter Administration I think.
But, hey, enough about me. It’s been another wild 24 hours here at The Compound. After posting yesterday’s CCB post (posting post – love it when I do that), the Daughter arrives with the gigantic video screens that Paul McCartney used on his last U.S. tour. Those will be an important part of our A Clustering of Gigolos Music Festival later this summer. That way if a lot of people show up they’ll be able to see everything happening on stage. If a lot of people don’t show up, they’ll be able to see the entire show in Cosmic City. My phone began ringing about 6AM, I could see by the caller ID, it was the Daughter. “Hi,” said I not expecting to hear one of the lead characters from “They Drive by Night” on the other end. “Yeah, got your load out here. Says…uh…huge video monitors for delivery to a Cousin Fred.” “Uh, where are you,” I asked looking out the front window? “The end of this big-assed driveway. You coming out? I’ll dump these right here. I gotta keep moving. Time is money. You’re keeping me from making real money see. I can’t get involved in your petty bourgeois nonsense. I have make another haul see. Unlike you and your sidewalk philosophizing pals, I work for a living.” “Well, okay, just pull up in front of the Cab.” “No can do, Pedro. You get out here to take delivery or I’ll dump ‘em out here on the road, got it?” I saw Cousin Fred step out onto the porch of the Cab with a coffee cup in his hand. He began waving frantically at the Daughter, telling her pull in off the road. The Daughter lowered her driver side window and gave him the finger. I began walking down the driveway. Cousin Fred turned to look at me. I shrugged. “Eh, I guess she’s a Teamster now.” Now the Daughter was shouting out her window that there was nothing in the delivery instructions about inside delivery. Cousin Fred told me to stall her and he went inside to call Bert the Forklift Driver from Lowe’s in Enid. Knowing it would take Bert at least 90 minutes to get here, I told the Daughter to leave the truck on the road and come in for some breakfast. She reluctantly agreed. She shut down the engine and climbed down. Looking around at her surroundings she commented that it looked like a sketchy neighborhood. With that she locked the cab. In the end, we got all of the equipment unloaded and the daughter moved on down the road, but only after she threw me an envelope with an invoice. I asked if it included a family discount. She sneered and said, “Yeah, sure, family discount.” With that she was gone. That was when we discovered there were only monitors. No cabling, no dragon tails for power…nothing. A quick call by Cousin Fred to the guy he leased these beasts from revealed that McCartney owned all of the peripherals. Cousin Fred only got the screens. That started a scramble to get EVERYTHING we need. Finally, yesterday evening following dinner, I laid out on the recliner looking forward to an evening of Barney Miller reruns. Okay, actually I fell asleep during Part 2 of Wojo moving in with some woman. By the way, if you saw that episode would you please tell me how it ended? About 10PM, I stepped out onto the porch to look around – I do that at night before I lock the place down, just in case Bigfoot is crossing the property or something. I see two sheriff’s units down on the road. In between them is a dark SUV with lights flashing also. I looked around the porch, but didn’t see any jackbooted thugs raiding The Compound so I just went back in and got ready for bed. Suddenly someone or something that strikingly resembled Yoda (Star Wars) stuck its head out from beneath the bed. It was U.S. Attorney General Jeff Sessions…under my bed! “Hmmm…sorry to have startled you I am…hmmm.” “What are you doing under there? How did you get into this house,” I asked? “Matter how I got into this house it does not. Here to see you I am.” “Me? What for?” “My boss, the Trump, much stock in your counsel he puts. I need counsel. Yes, hrrrm.” “Oh?” “Fire me soon I worry that he will. It's all because of the Russian probe you see. I will not weigh in. Inappropriate for me to do so it is. Well, that and the whole travel ban episode. It in for me he has. A mortgage and a high-maintenance wife to maintain I has. My job I cannot lose!” “Uh, well.” “Me your counsel give. Your counsel what is? At the time, oh look. Leave now I must. Testimony to give before the judicial committee in the morning I have. Yes, hrrrm.” With that, he scurried out the door and down the driveway. The entourage soon sped away. After a day of events like that I knew there was little to no chance that I would sleep. Cousin Fred was standing on the porch of the Cab when Sessions ran past. I headed down there. “Who was the little feller,” he asked? “A soon to be fired man walking…or, scurrying,” I responded. With that we went into the Cabinet Saloon replication where Friend Lamont, Bert the Forklift Driver, and the Hairdressing Hydrologist Gigi were involved in a drinking game with a bottle of Mezcal. I joined in. That is all! Comments are closed.
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