Oh, How Can You Be In Two Places At Once When You’re Not Anywhere At Aaalll?

 

So. I’m sitting around waiting for the electrician to show up. We’re having trouble with several outside circuits and I think a couple of my anti-deer floodlights need to be replaced. I love deer meat but absolutely despise deer. Deer, my Bambi-loving readers, are nasty cloven-footed rats that relish the idea that you feed and protect them by day, while they destroy your gardens at night.

Evil Devil’s-spawn, crop-ravaging tick-infested Baptist furbags.

I have these big floodlights with remote sensors staged around my property anywhere I have things needing protection from the fucking deer. The lights are backed-up with motion sensor cameras that follow any animal encroaching on family flora. If a camera stays locked onto a target for thirty seconds, the gunfire starts.

OK, not actual guns firing but the sounds of guns firing. The digital loop has ten second bursts for a minute. If whatever it is doesn’t hightail it from our property, the following are sounds of gunfire and dogs. The last line of defense is the recording of my Gram saying, “Iffn ya value yer life you’ll skee-daddle,” and that is followed by the sound of her racking the breech of her twelve gage.

I bet that the term “high tailing it” comes from the way a deer’s tail points straight to the sky when they run from danger. Fucking deer.

Anyway, several of the lights aren’t working, and the digital recording has started running amok. Gunfire and dogs and Gram, all three, can be heard 24-hours every day. It’s a tad unsettling.

So I called the electrician to make repairs and he has the same fluid schedule of all service providers. So I wait for the electrician, which reminds me of my very first exposure to Fire Sign Theater. I was just starting college and my friend Lloyd—Lloyd is my gay buddy who is the finest man I have ever known—Lloyd had a buddy who had a great stereo system. We got all wonkered and went to this guy’s house. I think his name was Mark and he lived with his brother and another guy.

We took a couple albums to play on the great stereo, a fat doobie rolled from some of Streaker Jones’ latest variant, and a bottle of Gram’s potion she called Young Love. I remember that the album I took was Disraeli Gears by Cream. I think Lloyd had the new Simon and Garfunkel album.

When we got there, Mark (or whoeverthefuck he was) had this strange shit on his speakers. It sounded like an audio acid trip. “What’s that?” Lloyd and I both asked at the same time.

“Oh wow, man, that’s Firesign Theater, dudes.” I think it was Mark’s brother who answered.

Turns out it was the first FST’s first album, Waiting for the Electrician or Someone Like Him. I was hooked in five minutes. I was a FST junkie. For the longest time I had every line of dialog from every album memorized. OK, as memorized as an ADHD-sufferer’s brain can do. My memory for memorized dialog most resembles a CD player that has gone on the fritz, jumping and skipping and backtracking through snippets of text. I guess the same thing as is wrong with our anti-deer recording.

For some reason I best remember this one line from that first album: “Would you like to send a letter?”

Still cracks my ass up.

Which reminds me. I just remembered who wrote that stupid fucking Bambi book. Some Austrian named Felix Salten. Or was it Salty Flaxen? He fled Austria when the Nazi’s took over and wrote a sequel while in exile in Switzerland. And the fucking Swiss, playing all nice-nice with the Nazi’s during the war and then stealing all of the booty plundered from the Jews and stored in their banks after the Nazi’s were defeated.

But what was the point of writing that stupid book, Bambi? I think it was actually titled Bambi—A Life in the Woods. Should have been titled Scrambi—The Life and Death of a Cloven-Hooved Wood Rat. What in hell was old Felix thinking?

Anyway, the electrician is here, and I just remembered to remind you that my book is out and for sale. Click onto the link in yesterday’s posting to get the book. OK, wait. Don’t buy the book before reading yesterday’s posting and disclaimer.

Manana, y’all.

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5 Responses to “Oh, How Can You Be In Two Places At Once When You’re Not Anywhere At Aaalll?”

  1. Squatlo says:

    Sounds like you have the kind of high-tech security system I want for my dream house in the mountains, whenever I’m daydreaming about my fortified compound in the woods. Motion sensors to trigger blinding strobes, followed by concussion-causing audio bursts, and then the PA system announces, “Release the hounds of hell!” Meanwhile, I and my lovely (and dangerous) wife are scurrying down the secret passageway from behind the linen closet that leads us safely out into the woods behind the house, where my night vision scoped assault rifle waits…
    Bambi problems? Put up an electrified salt lick. Consider it a bug zapper for venison. Leave a few severed heads on pikes at the perimeter of your garden, ala Lord of the Flies, and dare the fuckers to come across the property line.

  2. admin says:

    Squat. I’m thinking that you might have done serious thinking on this “mountain security” issue. I had to promise Mother that I won’t “kill” the deer if she won’t fucking feed them. But our drought has emboldened the hooved rats. The Squirt had to fight this one doe for the last pumpkin in our patch.

    Squirt’s a fiesty little hussie, and she loves her some pumpkin pie.

  3. bj says:

    I don’t KILL Bambi mySELF (I prefer photos of those majestic cloven hoofed beautiful creatures to guttin’-making absolutely CERTAIN no deer piss or shit gets on any of the meat; or more importantly… ME!- and skinnin’ and sawin’ one up) ….. BUT …. I WILL cook the stank outta Bambi’s ass wunct he’s DOWN! I still got folks badgerin’ me about makin’ anuther batch o’ jerky for ’em ……..

    There’s a persimmon tree just outside the backyard fence here in Johnsonville ….. deer USUALLY stay on the OUTSIDE of that fence and munch them tasty morsels ….. but t’other mornin’ early …. a spike buck was standin’ INSIDE the fence in the dog run! When me and Ruger went out the garage door, I reckon we startled that fucker and he jumped SKRAIT UP ,OVER and OUT of the yard and (yes, you are correct, Sir that’s where the expression comes from) Hightailed it . Ruger ’bout knocked me down … tryin’ to get back into the safety of the garage ….

  4. admin says:

    BJ. We share bambi sentiments. I have a buddy who “harvests” deer for folks like me. I treat them like livestock.

    As for the vid links… (sound of violins) “Mem-ries… may be beautiful, and yet…” But did you catch the follow-up vids from the second link? Funniest shit EVER. It’s all of these freaky breast feeding thingies.

    PS- I thought Ruger was gonna be protecting my ass and not vica-viscera.

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