 Happy Thursday people! It was a long, sleepless night here at The Compound, but more on that in a second. First I wish to express my sincere condolences to the family of Stephen Hawking at his passing. He was a big thinker, a theoretical physicist, and we could use a few more like him.
I read “A Brief History of Time” years ago. Interestingly, the one thing I took away from that book, the one thing that absolutely stuck with me, was the idea that what we consider living in the present is actually remembering the future. I’ll let that roll around in your head for the rest of the day. But in the meantime…as you may recall the Wife never informs me as to when she’s returning from her fabulous vacations. Seriously. If I ask, she just grips her filterless Pall Mall between her teeth and grunts out, “None of your f*#king business!” Well, I think it is. So using proprietary (read as possibly illegal) methods, that I learned during my time working for unnamed elements of the U.S.G., I contacted the customer service line at American Airlines and was able to find out what flight she is on and when she is expected back. I tell you, with what I learned during those years, I could run my own criminal enterprise! Anyway, it looks as though she’ll back in OKC late Saturday night, which means she’ll stay overnight and I won’t see her here at The Compound until Sunday sometime. Time to spring into action! We have the mountains of video equipment and editing gear that Friend Lamont brought with him from Arkansas. That stuff has got to be out of here. I had hoped we’d be back out on the road chasing ghosts somewhere long before she arrived back here, but there’s no chance of that. We aren’t even close. More on that later. Cousin Fred claims he doesn’t have room for it in Das Boot, his underground living space. Fortunately, there is room for Friend Lamont, good to go there. So, last night I did the unthinkable. I actually went into Cosmic City to rent a storage locker for all that crap. I say it’s unthinkable because…well…have you ever really examined the storage places around here? They’re a joke. Your stuff is so vulnerable to theft, rodents, and water damage (if it ever rains again) you might just as well leave it on a corner downtown so the city employees can drive it away in the new pickup trucks that all city employees seem to get. But, I digress… So, there is ONE facility in this God-forsaken piece of Google Maps that I would actually deem secure. There is controlled access at the gate (they know who comes and goes), surveillance cameras (they can see you come and go), and the owners don’t have secret access to everyone’s stuff (I’m serious about that). Anyway, that’s where we dropped the stuff. It took most of the night to get it all moved over there, but it’s done. Now, I just have to figure out what I’ll do with the behemoth roll-around Weber Kettle cart that is not quite finished. Seriously, it takes up most of the space on the side of the shop/garage where the Wife parks. I’ve got to finish that and get it parked in the designated BBQ area here at The Compound. That thing is so big…foolishly big, I’m tellin’ ya…that I’ve decided to name it. As you may recall, I have a 400 lb. steel smoker that I named Bertha. This beast I think I’ll name Brutus (et tu, Brute). Again, if you have a tractor or portable crane kindly get in touch so I can this into the designated BBQ area. The Wife will burn it to the ground if it’s parked in her spot. So, now, onto the latest problems with the ghost hunting pilot we’re supposed to be doing. I received another call yesterday from Chick Ferris out in Hollywood. It wasn’t pleasant. He was screaming over the phone that we need to get off our lazy asses name the pilot and shoot the pilot. In the meantime, apparently word is spreading among The Trump’s dumps that we’re considering using them as talent in our latest project. Get this…there are no fewer than 21 people he has fired or encouraged to resign in the past year. I had no idea. Obviously, I’ve not been paying attention. The people want jobs. Phones here at The Compound are ringing constantly. I told Cousin Fred, we’re going to have to find another hook. I can’t have 21 ghost hunters busting into a place and stumbling around in the dark searching for something that may or may not exist. It would probably be reminiscent of an evening in The Trump’s White House, but it would be chaos! People would be having flashbacks! So, we’re back to work puzzling through the hook and a title for the show. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to speak up. That is all! Comments are closed.
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