RushLimbaugh and RickPerry Destroy Garden; Gram Gets Bent


So. An unexpected pleasure that became a benefit of my rescheduled incommunicado event, and return to Austin, was for me to be able to spend time with the SACster’s sister from out to the Pacific Northwest. Her sister, let’s call her Kathy, is a research scientist in the behavioral issues field. She and Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson have become fast friends, so when we made dinner plans for last night, Sammy was on the list.

I am trying to get more in tune with the whole “commonality of interest” syndrome. Since Dr. Sam I. Am and Kathy both work with human behavior, they have much to talk about. I must admit I was a touch taken aback when they started discussing a joint research project that would entail scientific observations of me.

Maybe it’s not a syndrome but simply a dealie. But like Gram says, she’ll say, “Who gives a shit Mooner?”

Kathy wanted Mexican food, so of course we went to Vivo, and for the first time ever we had wait staff not named Caitlin. We did have Katelyn’s husband, Garrett, and his pal Kyle, and still no Carta Blanca beer for me. Caitlin and Katelyn were working inside but we, of course, sat out to the patio.

We’ll call SAC Ellen’s sister Kathy, because she remains uncertain if she is comfortable having a close identity with my rantings. She and I share mutual leanings on most important issues, she is smart as a whip- which seems to be a family trait, and she laughs at all of my jokes. Well, she laughs at most of my jokes.

Some of my jokes.

Anyway, she’s smart, well read, thoughtful and compassionate. When we first got seated for dinner and our drinks arrived, I asked her if I could use her name here to the bloggie. She thought long and hard, with her pretty facial features scrunched studiously.

“Well, here’s my evaluation of the available evidence, and my unscientific conclusion. I say unscientific not because I lack the skills to evaluate, but rather because I don’t have any baseline data to use for comparative analysis.”

Deep breath, then, “In my rural home area, the bulk of the settling populations who migrated from around the country, did so in the 1960’s and 1970’s. And in a strangely unscientific way, that census was a distinctly dichotomous array.”

Deep breath, re-scrunching of pretty facial features, and slow exhale. Then, “These war baby pioneers were either Hippies, like me, or persons holding opposite world views.”

Stare blankly into the distance, deep breath, adjust reading glasses and take a deep sip of Eastside Margarita. The Margarita was on the rocks, with a lightly salted rim. “The old timers in town call my group the Hippies, and have named our opposites the Hicks. I don’t approve of that name, Hicks, Mooner. I think it’s disparaging. Let’s call the others Them, shall we?”

Breath, scrunch, gaze and another long sip before, “However disparaging I might find the old timers’ name for Them, their politics are distinctly revolting. And often unnerving. More guns, no taxes, no public schools, kill abortion physicians not babies, Jesus is my co-pilot and let’s have a whale for lunch are but a few of the many mantra of Them.”

Me, I’m thinking maybe it should be “…many mantra of the Them.”

Now I get an expression-less look followed by, “I wouldn’t want to be hunted by my crazy neighbors for anything you might say, Mooner. I can put my face on a wanted poster any time I choose to, and without your assistance.”

See, I get that. And I love when a scientist talks science to me. Maybe I can get SAC Ellen to dress-up in scientist clothes before she zaps me with her stun gun.

So, we’ll call her Kathy had the Enchiladas Verde and fell in love with Vivo. Me, I still love Vivo, but I’m getting testy about the entire Carta Blanca beer thingie. Maybe I should offer to bring my own beer and pay them a bottle fee. I’ll need to research the records of the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission and their archaic rules. Wouldn’t want to put the Vivo’s liquor license to risk.

Which reminds me to tell you that Rush Limbaugh the Pig and his sidekick, the ostrich Rick Perry, got into more trouble with Gram while I was gone that short period of time. I told the two of them to stay in the closet and out of Gram’s sight while I was incommunicado.

But you guys know Rick Perry and Rush Limbaugh. They want to stay hidden in the closet, but just cannot control their impulses if their lives depended on it. Those two shitballs headed out to the garden in the middle of the night, because Rushie felt, and I’ll quote him here, “Ricky and I felt we deserved to take what we wanted as long as we left a little for everyone else.”

And armed with that asshole demeanor, they ransacked the just ripened sweetcorn.

To quote my Gram, she said, “Tha pig is gonna be a hulie how with a apple up his ass Mooner. An that fucking bird a yurs ul make me a nice chickin dinner.”

When I corrected her to the fact that Rick Perry is an ostrich, she says to me, she said, “Who gives a shit Mooner. By tha time I roast ‘im alive he’ll be squawkin lik a chicken.”

I decided not to risk telling her that pigs are the guest of honor at a luau. I did tell her, “I love you,” and, “I’ll plant more corn.”

When I inspected the garden, I once again realized that we had named these two animals correctly. Our big garden has, well had, four long rows of Silver Queen sweetcorn. Maybe a hundred big stalks of corn with just browning tassels when I last looked Saturday night.

Now, what we have are six lonely stalks, standing tall, and what appears at first glance to be the aftermath of a tornado. Uprooted corn stalks and empty corncobs strewn all over the place. At least they cleaned the cobs. Hell, they ate many of the cobs.

And let me ask you this. Have you ever smelled when an ostrich with a distended belly full of fresh sweetcorn takes himself a big old number two? Holy shit! Maybe the sixty-something feet of intestines in that bird might help to get that meal to sustain him for a month. However, the pile of ostrich poop resulting from the digestive process can only be called foul smelling.

I wonder if that smell is the origin of the word foul?

Just thinking about it causes me to need a Carta Blanca.

Manana, y’all.

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2 Responses to “RushLimbaugh and RickPerry Destroy Garden; Gram Gets Bent”

  1. Supernatural post and all very solid info….

  2. LV Handbag says:

    Fabulous post i love the pictures also next to each level….

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