#colleenlindsay- Hero; Mooner Lied

 

OK, so I’m a liar. The dealie that was to make me incommunicado has been delayed a week. Of course it wasn’t delayed until after I was already there. Now, I will be incommunicado all of next week because I have to go back. Which gives us time to discuss a few things.

I am still waiting for your entries into the bloggie contest, and I am especially awaiting responses from #colleenlindsay and #americacalling with special bated breath. That pound sign business is my attempt to twitterate Colleen Lindsay and Calling America, and get their attention.

Colleen is a publishing professional with many years experience and who is living the life experience of cancer. She is living cancer in real time and on Twitter. I admire her attitude and frankness and I think we could be buddies. I know who she is, specifically. Her name, her photo is posted to Twitter, and she makes comments about herself. From all of that, I get a feeling that I know her.

And please, don’t start that dog person/cat person crap with me. I don’t have any cats, only a dog. But that isn’t because I don’t like cats. Gram always said that cats are more trouble than dogs, and I bought in to that shit. Dixie is more trouble than any of my ten ex-wives, and cats are so aloof I bet I could ignore my cat and it would be happy.

So, I figure I know Colleen and that we would get along famously.

America Calling is another dealie entirely. What I am certain of, is that they have a Twitter account and that they started following my bloggie and my new Twitter stuff. I know that they, like Colleen, post voluminous numbers of tweets on a daily basis. I know that, contrary to Colleen, their tweets reflect a distinctive anti theme. Anti to Democrats, liberals, President Obama and many of the values I hold sacred.

I don’t know if they actually write anything or express any views. But I do know that they make conservative comments about events, and provide reference to articles and situations they think support/express conservative views. I know that they sound as angry about our President as I am about brain-dead conservative right-wing religious fuckballs. But they don’t have a face to see, like Colleen’s.

I guess what I might be attempting to say is, “I know what they are (probable right-wing religious Republican or Tea Bagger fuckballs), but I don’t have a name or face for Calling America.” Maybe they are a bot. You know- some mindless, soul-less computer program with keywords as triggers. Like a mean spirited HAL 2000.

Like some evil Republican locked a poor computer genius in the basement until he created this content bot. Then, he flew the computer guy back to his native China, or Malaysia or to the Ukraine or wherever, and sicked the bot on Twitter World.

Then, all of that leads me to think that they chose to follow my rantings for some reason other than to support me. Maybe they consider me to be a threat to the American Way, like taxes for education. Or maybe one of them is a closet liberal and he snuck me onto their follow list over to Twitter.

But like my Gram says. She’ll say, “Who gives a shit Mooner. Iffn they follow ya, they’s followers.”

Now, I don’t mean they follow me like lemmings. If that were the case, I’d be leading them to this tall cliff I know out to Lake Travis.

I know it is supposed to be “sneaked” and not snuck. But it should be snuck.

When I read Colleen Lindsay’s tweets, I get lessons to remember if I become afflicted with a malady more significant than infected anal glands. While I am a truly manly man, I’m told that I can be a crybaby. I’ll remember Colleen’s battle and try my best to follow her lead.

Speaking of ass glands, remember I told you I took a cell phone photo of my recently-incised wound? The one that made me faint. Well, my new phone, the one I got after I fell into a swimming pool with the last phone and the same one I used for ass photos, is quite sophisticated and has a great camera.

Sister and her wife Anna took my phone on their trip up to Yellowstone last week because their digital camera was down to the shop, and my cellular takes great photos. Sister is big on taking pictures for nostalgia sakes, and Sister is quite nostalgic.

Anyway, I got my phone back when the ladies returned last Friday, before they could show their vacation pictures to the family. When I returned home early Monday, we set Yellowstone show-and-tell time for after dinner Tuesday night. Sister and Anna, Streaker Jones and Gnat, Dixie and Squirt, Aunt Hilda and Dubbie J, and SAC Ellen all gathered with me to the TV room after dinner to see the photos from the amazing National Park.

Dinner was fried okra, stuffed zucchini squash and cucumber salad- all made from our garden’s crops, and broiled catfish from one of our ponds. And Carta Blanca beer. Wait. The catfish were from our pond, and then I broiled them.

We all get seated and Sister hooks my phone up to the TV with the RSTLNE connector, or whatevertheshit you call those cords, and starts flipping through the pictures. She starts in reverse order since that was quicker than backing all the way through. Sister also knows that she needs to get straight to things or my ADHD is liable to sidetrack events.

So. The first is a picture of the two wives hugging at the airport in Austin when they got back home, followed by a picture of the two of them hugging at the airport up to Wyoming as they were getting on the plane to fly home. Then we had the rest of their trip in reverse order- maybe 200 photos. Roads, deer, bison, bears, birds, trees, campsites, mountains, campers and shit, the two lovebirds that are my sister and Anna, and each over-and-over-and-over again.

This trip was right after that bear attacked those people awhile back, so bears were a central theme. I was starting to lose interest when Sister said, “We’re almost to the end,” and this picture hit the screen.

“What’s that, Sister?” asked Anna. “I don’t remember that.”

“Huh,” Sister replied, “What the hell is that?”

Aunt Hilda said, “Dubbie J thinks that looks like one of those apes from back to Africa.”

Gnat said, “It looks like the dark brown shag carpet on the floor in that rat nest apartment I had in Moscow.”

Then Gram pipes up, “Looks lik sumbody shot one a them black bears inna ass an dumped im onna side of tha road.” Then she added, “I heard they caught that crazy bear. Serves im right, but that’s one ugly wound..”

This is when I woke from my daydream and looked at the picture. “Oh my,” I gasped, and fainted dead out.

I know you are wondering why I didn’t delete that nasty picture of my ass from my phone, so I’ll tell you why. You know that I try to be a better man at every opportunity, and this is one. I’m going to look at that picture every once in a while until I can look at it and not drop like a pair of wet Jocky shorts.

But if I’m going to loan my cell phone to people, I need to remember to warn them.

Anyway, I will try to keep in touch before I head back to incommunicado’ville, and I will fill you in on my trip when I get back. In the meantime, it’s 103 degrees and I’m grabbing a cold sixer of Carta Blanca and heading to Sam’s pool.

Manana, y’all.

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