Ducks Mahal

Let the bitch session begin:

I have done my best to separate myself from “Mainstream America.” I purposefully moved from the gallop-paced lifestyle of California to a slow canter of Mississippi. I’m not ready for retirement, really, but I got no ambition to climb a ladder either. Sorry, but that pursuit is for people who have something to prove of themselves, and largely I find ambition nothing more than chasing the wind. Does anyone do anything for others anymore? When it comes to ambition, within our US population of 300 million people only a handful is remembered well, and of the handful, four don’t deserve it. But for some reason, this world continues to find me and it continues to go out of its way to bug me. Worse than that, like Michael Corleone said in Godfather III as he gnashed his teeth and gripped his fists, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!”

I remember when Moses accepted his lot in life and left Egypt after killing an Egyptian and sojourned into Midian to escape the Pharaoh’s wrath whereupon he met seven shepherdesses and thereupon protected them from a band of gangsta shepherds. Well, I don’t really remember it because I wasn’t there, I remember reading about it. So like, I think these seven shepherdess babes were hawt. They all looked sorta kinda like Rachael Welch.

Then the father of the seven sheppardesses took Moses in as a son and gave Moses his daughter Zipporah for it is not good for man to be alone and it really is not good for man to be alone with seven hawt sista’s and not be married to at least one of them.  Then, a man could have several wives and the father could hand over a daughter for something. Hobab (the father) was all, “Moses, here, you take her, you can have her, here, take her,” like that. Moses was all, “Well, I don’t…” Hobab, “I INSIST. Take her. Enjoy!” Moses was all, “Well, I don’t …” And Zipporah was dancing and wiggling around and was all, “Come-on big daddy, you want some, jackpot!…” And Moses was all, “Well, I don’t…” And so Moses lived the rest of his days, or so he thought.  Moses went from Vice Pharaoh of Egypt to a Supervisor of sheep. That’s not the point, the point is he hid out, grew a beard, played a little R&B on the harp, smoked a little rope ^[a], burned some incense, got all fat and happy on Zippy and lamb and a nice goat bag of Merlot. THAT’S THE POINT!

But for you 20 or so digital personas I keep up and read upon from time-to-time, I really don’t have much interest actually touching any personas or even gazing eyes upon any such personas b/c I have gone out of my way to hermitize my Hermitage. I have five rod and reels, four guitars, two shotguns, a rifle, two handguns, two computers and one bed in my bedroom. In my wife’s bedroom room she has a deer head mounted to the wall from which she hangs scarves and necklaces from its antlers. In our guest bedroom we have no bed, but we have arts and paints and boxes and stuff. Our couch has a throw cover b/c we just are not anywhere close to Ethan Allen kind of people. We just don’t expect any guests.

And then some inbreed genetic throwback stumbles into our world, by itself that is okay, but leaves a mess. Some local low functioning asswipe not only dumped their little Fee Fee dog on my property but also a $3 package of raw chicken and said Adios and drove away. I’m sure it happened in the pitch of darkness, “Hey Mildred, lets drop Fee Fee off at that house.  That looks like a good house.” That’s how we got our current pit bull mix that cost us $1,500 to fix heartworms and hook worms and her dental work and she hasn’t even been spayed yet. The latest dump-off dog was dumped-off this weekend. It is a Chihuahua/Dachshund/Mouse dog I can’t seem to catch that walks fine on all four legs but can only run on three. WTF? Why do people do this to my poor ole heart?

We (I) named the little mouse dog Frodo. You remember Frodo from Lord of the Rings right? Well this morning my pit bull takes a walk with me to let the ducks out and Frodo runs over to the pit bull and its instant friends. Yesterday, I had 25 yards of topsoil delivered b/c I’m ramping up for Spring preparations and this morning this little dog climbs to the top of this huge pile of dirt and stands there posed like George Washington crossing the Delaware. Frodo lives under the house for now b/c I haven’t been able to capture her. The temperature is dropping to 27 degrees tonight (for you Celsius people that’s below freezing) and I will worry about this little friggin dog. Last night I heard her bark at some animal like she owns the joint. That’s nice Frodo, protect the home-front and wake me up in the middle of the night over a dinosaur possum. Good girl.

Footnotes:

a. Non-Speculative Qualifying Statement on Smoking Rope:   Genesis 9:3 “Everything that lives and moves will be food for you. Just as I gave you the green plants, I now give you everything.”  God didn’t say he might give.  He didn’t say I gave you the green plants, except marijuana.  He.Said.Every.Green.Plant.  Sorry, that’s the law.

And for you Southern Baptists who say the wine back then didn’t have alcohol in it.   Genesis 9:20 “Noah, a man of the soil, proceeded to plant a vineyard.  21 When he drank some of its wine, he became drunk…”  Sorry, that’s the law too.