Scientists Discover Dumb Bomb; Republicans Explode

 

So. Now that I have bitched my ass off about the American Congress and after watching talking heads supporting all sides of the debt ceiling debate, I’m all done with it. I have had enough.

It seems that the Republicans have self-destructed from a critical mass of childish dumb ass. It appears that scientists can now measure just how much stupid it takes to blow shit up. When you place power into the hands of uninformed bigots, you get the current Republican House caucus.

After reflecting on events over the last month, I find myself bursting with pride over our President. His mature attitudes and assumed role as a statesman have set the stage for the self-destructive actions of his opposition.

Bullies hate reason.

Which reminds me. The Squirt, Honor the cat and I were at the computer yesterday looking for a copy of the movie Slaughterhouse-Five. Squatlo told the story of the banning of Kurt Vonnegut’s book by some silly school board, and his story sparked my emotions like a baseball bat-sized firecracker punk.

OK, that might have been the dumbest analogy I have ever made. I was attempting to say that Squat’s story was a big cinder that fell into the tinder box of gasoline-soaked rags that is my mind. Those would be cotton rags, and premium gasoline of at least 90 octane rating.

I was sitting at my computer desk, phone in hand and movie rental stores on the screen. My desk sits beside a big window that looks out to an interior courtyard that’s maybe 40-feet square, and open on one end. The open end looks towards the back of the ranch towards the orchard then the big garden, and all the way to the lake.

My view through that open end is framed by our huge pecan trees. Stately and well-trimmed, their tall, straight trunks remind me of the Pines of Rome. I can see the garden beneath their bright green canopy, and blue skies above. This summer, a big herd of Mexican Red Tailed Hawks have taken roost. These guys a too fucking big to call them a flock. There are at least a dozen of the beautiful creatures and we haven’t seen a rodent or a snake all summer. These hawks are smart hunters with efficient skills.

So, I’m at the desk, phone in hand and the cat in my lap. I’m not yet fully comfortable having the little tailless Siamese feline sit in my lap. The thought of having twenty razor-sharp miniature scimitars nestled against my balls is somewhat unsettling. The whole purring dealie concerns me as well. It hasn’t yet happened in my awake time, but I had a dream the other night where I got a woody pecker from the vibration of the purring cat. I can handle having dreams about stuff that I can’t handle when awake.

I have a small quilt that I fold and lay across my legs anytime I sit with the cat in my lap.

The Squirt is perched on the back of the low couch that sits in front of the big window beside my desk. She loves to sit there looking out the window while she jabbers away at me, and now me and the cat. Today it’s all about how pretty the Mexican Red Tailed Hawks are as they float and circle outside in search of prey.

“Los halcones son hermosos, Bwana Mooner. Qu’ils cercle autour tellement eleve,” Squirt said dreamily as she watched the pretty hawks circle above.

“Sometimes I think I have a connection with them,” Squirt said. “Sometimes I think they are looking right at me.”

Anyway, I was talking to a big-box movie house and asking about do they have a copy of S-5, the cat is pretending to sleep, and Squirt continues to watch the hawks and prattle a constant update on their activities. I’m getting pissed because I can’t find even a VHS copy of Slaughterhouse-Five.

“Oh look. I think the big guy spots some prey,” Squirt tells the cat and me.

I looked out the window and saw that the largest of the hawks has separated from the pack and he seemed focused on something near the back of the house. I said, “Looks like he’s zeroed-in on something in the courtyard,” I then dial the next video store number.

A young-sounding female voice answers and when I opened my mouth to speak—BANG! The outside glass of my triple pane window explodes and all hell breaks loose in my office. In exactly one-half of one second the cat has shredded her way from my lap, said lap protected with a thick quilt covering, and up my not quilt-covered chest to my shoulders and head where she stopped.

In the same half second, Squirt has become Bark Woman. She’s barking and cussing at the majestic bird that sits, stunned and groggy, in the mulched flower bed below the window.

“Afr, arf, arf, arf, you mother fucker! Arf, arf, arf! Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!” And then, “Open this window and let me at him, Mooner. Arf, arf arf! I’ll rip his heart out! Arf, arf, grrrrrr!”

Now me, I found myself in somewhat of a pickle because I’ve got a ten-pound scaredie-cat perched on me. Honor has one of her back feet anchored in the flesh and fabric of my shirt collar on each side of my neck, and each set of her front claws is anchored in my scalp. She’s growling herself, and shaking with intense anger. The shaking is causing her claws to gradually sink deeper into both fabric and flesh.

“What tha fuck is goin’ on in here?” Somehow my Gram had managed to get from her wing in the house to my office door in seconds. “Sounded like a car wreck in here.”

The old gas bag surveyed the situation inside the room and starred giggling. “Look at chew, Mooner. You need ta find another way to attach yer hood ornamenter to yer skull. Yer gonna lose yer face if it falls off.” Gram giggled some more and said, “Now tell yer fucking dog to shut her yap an call the wind’a company.”

The hawk regained its senses and flew off, and I’ve got eight punctures in my shoulders and ten deeper wounds in my scalp. They burn as if the cat’s claws were poison tipped. I’ve got scratches from belly button-to neck up my front, and I’m iodine stained on the wounds and my fingers as well. I had to do my own nursing from fear that Gram’s ministrations would cause additional pain, and I’m not a skilled nurse.

Now, of course, I’m afraid to let the little dog and cat walk around the property without a human with them for fear that the hawk will make another attack. Thank goodness I’ve trained them to pee in the sink.

Which reminds me. Have you guys visited my store yet? Just go over there to your right at the Blog Roller and click on Mooner Merchandise Store. That’s where you will find all the neat things emblazoned with “Fuck Rick Perry”. I think my next like will be my “I Pee In Sinks” line. Would that be a great tee shirt to wear while dining at your favorite cafe? Or in the sitting room at the doctor’s office?

I promised to take the guys fishing and I’m taking Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry with us. My gay pig and ostrich are huge pains in the ass, but I’m thinking the big ostrich will intimidate the hawks into looking elsewhere for supper. One of those my bird is bigger than your bird dealies.

I’m ready to sit in the shade on the dock and sip a few icy-cold Carta Blanca beers. Manana, y’all.

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3 Responses to “Scientists Discover Dumb Bomb; Republicans Explode”

  1. Hey Mooner…yada yada yada and shit about the actual post…what I really wanted to say is that I had an actual Carta Blanca beer the other day! And as promised, I took a picture of myself enjoying its chilly goodness. Pop on over to my bloggie for your shout out today…

  2. Reck. First, thanks for your thoughtful review of today’s subject. I find it heartening that all the effort I put into it was appreciated by you.

    Second, I am sooo happy to hear that you finally managed to sample my favorite beer. I can hardly wait to see the pic.

  3. Squatlo says:

    Yay! Michelle finally sampled Mooner’s favorite brewski! Are the nuptials still on?

    by the way, divorced Facebook a few minutes ago, and nothing changed in my life. We made salsa, life’s good again.

    Adios. And Fuck Rick Perry, that slimeball little bastard.

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