Friday, October 29, 2010
Sitting here. Been in this chair for 49 hours straight now. Just sipping Nyquil. Just shooting the bugs. Never knew the bugs were there. All this time. Hmmmm. Nyquil makes your vision better. Smoke is getting a little thick in here. Turn the fan back on. There's two more bugs. Gone now. Kinda glad I ran out of the .38's. Went to using .22's. Quieter. Quieter is good. Get another handkerchief for the snot. Another round of Nyquil, while I'm up. Two more bugs on the way to the fridge. Neat, the way the bullet holes in the floor and walls heal and close up. Hmmmm. Rinse my mouth out with a little orange juice. Reload. CCI's are much better on the bugs than the Federals. I think when I get over my cold, I will start a Nyquil delivery service. Dang, took three shots for that one. I am surely not the only who has noticed. No place to get the good stuff after midnite. Too far to Humboldt. Reload. Think I'll play with the auto a while. Revolver has to be. Reloaded too often. Brrrr. Hate I hit the window while ago. Need duct tape. Need ear plugs. Need more Nyquil. Need a shirt with sleeves. Need more sleep. Yep, auto works better. Except for the hulls it throws. Out! All over the floor.Bugs can hide in the empty hulls. Rats. Back to the revolver. Neater. Dump empty hulls in garbage. No hide out for bugs. Nother round for me. Getting a little sleepy. Can't sleep in here with all. These bugs. Think I'll go out and sleep in the truck. Bugs can't get in the truck. Can they? I'll carry my Nyquil and gun and a couple. Boxes of bullets wiff me. Just in case. Nite All. Bad thing to have a cold, croup, flu, distemper whatever and just run outta sleep. Imagination keeps on going.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Well, I haven't Blogged anything for a while. I was telling a true story on 80 meters last night that seemed like it would make a pretty interesting blog for ya to read.
This story is unfortunately true. It all began back in 1969 or 1968. I was a young lad, avid Hot Rodder and beer drinker extraordinaire.
I ran around with some boys from an adjoining town, Greenwood MS, to be precise. One of these boys had a garage in his back yard where we would congregate to work on cars, drink beer and pontificate on the mysteries of life. Well, this particular boy, I can't remember his name to save my life, had a pet monkey, named Clyde. This wasn't a little bitty monkey. Clyde stood about 18" to 24" tall. He was a good monkey. He would hand you tools when you were working on a car and drink beer along with the rest of us.
Well, at that time of my life, I had an old Drag Chute off one of my race cars. It was orange in color and about 6 feet in diameter. We were sitting around one night, drinking beer, pontificating and so forth, as teenage boys will do, and decided that it would be a good thing to hook up the drag chute to Clyde's harness and drop him off the Fire Tower, located just East of Greenwood.
We did discuss this with Clyde, and he was in agreement (he'd had his ration of beer too)! So, we got busy and hooked up the drag chute to Clyde's harness. We then proceeded to the fire tower and climbed about 100 feet of stairs.
It was a calm night, no wind at all. A balmy July night in the Mississippi Delta. The crickets and locusts were singing and there was nothing but clear, warm weather.
We opened the windows, they were hinged at the top, and looked out all 4 sides for the best trajectory. We picked the least obstructed direction and then heaved Clyde and the chute out the window! One person threw Clyde and another held onto the chute until the slack came out of the lines.
It was a perfect drop, by skydiving standards, but somewhere along the line, Clyde sobered up! I remember to this day the HORRIBLE MONKEY SCREAMS that poor Clyde let out on his way down.
We all ran down the stairs to recover Clyde, but alas, he wouldn't let any of us within grabbing distance. He was still screaming, spitting and biting. He was still hooked up to the chute, so we finally grabbed the chute and wrapped him up in it. We carried him home, all wrapped up, and carefully put him back into his cage.
From that day forth, as far as I know, Clyde never would get out of his cage. When you even approached the cage, he would bare his teeth, they were sharp, believe me, and start screaming and trying to attack. Horrible, I am here to tell you.
The point of this blog is to warn you, NEVER, no matter how good the idea sounds, do anything like this to a poor, unsuspecting monkey friend! You are liable to lose a helpful, loving, beer drinking buddy, EVEN IF HE DOES AGREE AT THE ONSET, very quickly!