Of Horses And Bayonettes; A Liar’s Story

 

So. I’m up early this morning because I can’t sleep. Maybe I should say I’m up not because I can’t sleep, but rather that I’m unable to sleep. “I could sleep if I were able,” might be what I mean to say. And I’d be able to sleep were it not for the terrible noises emanating from the guest rooms here to La Casita Johnson de Santa Fe.

My Gram and Penelope Paxton-Parades—Gram’s best ever buddy—are here for a visit. Gram and the P-cubed flew in rather than drive Gram’s Ferrari and I had to promise to rent them a limo for the times they wanted to go trolling for young men.

“Git us one a them Humdinger jobbers, Mooner, ya know, one a them four-wheelers what can go up to the top a tha mountains. P-cubed says she ain’t never had her a mountain man an’ I wouldn’t mind one fer my sef,” was the detailed request for transportation.

“An’ make sure they put us one a them Creeper Crawlies inna trunk.”

I guess I’ve been missing the skinny goat hide and giant libidoed old woman that serves as the matron of my family because I’d already prepared for her visit. “I made a trip down to Albuquerque to stock up on some supplies for you two. Out in the store room you’ll find a case of your favorite bubbly, Carta Blanca and Mountain Dew; cases of Trojan Super Lubes and Magnum Armour XXLs; two rubber sheets; some ammonia capsules and a trashcan with a box of hazmat liners. As for your Humdinger, I’ve reserved a driver and a stretched Hummer limo for the week.”

P-cubed made a silly comment about “stretched Hummers” and we all laughed. They left the house yesterday about lunchtime after Ralph, their Humdinger driver, spent thirty minutes explaining the company rules and loading their supplies. When I un-crated the auto Creeper car sled, he asked me, “Why’s this thing got seat belts?” Gram answered, “Load ‘er up and come on back fer a testy rider.”

Ralph demonstrated far more native intelligence and fear yesterday afternoon that he seems to actually have. His is one of the voices traveling through the crawl spaces and heating vents in my old house.

Which reminds me. I was walking the dogs on the hiking trail that runs along the commuter train rails the other day and we passed Ali McGraw walking her black Scottish Terrier. OK, I assume it was her dog, but as nice as I hear she is, she might have been dog sitting. Or maybe she started one of those fancy dog walking businesses.

Anyway, the Squirt was in a pissy mood with me, so she started her snarky growl shit from thirty feet out as we encountered Mz. Love Means Never Having To Say You’re Sorry, and that set-off Yoda the goat dog. My former punching bag for a puppy mill hasn’t got much of a bark, but what he has is delivered with mucho gusto at maybe 25 decibels. As we got closer he was yanking at his leash like a crazed lion and barking like a lunatic.

“Woolpfh-woolpfh-woolpfh!… Woolpfh-woolpfh-woolpfh!… Grrr-woolpfh-woolpfh-woolpfh!!!” were Yoda’s repeated, slashed vocal cord warnings.

As Ali walked by I noticed that she is just as beautiful as when I saw her in Love Story,and the smile she graced me in passing stirred me something fierce. After taking another thirty steps I turned and looked back, and saw that she had turned back as well.

The Squirt stopped abruptly, her leash almost yanking my arm out the socket. “How are we ever going to get you laid if you just walk by like a dead fish? Yoda and I can bait and set the hook, dumbass, but you’ve got to reel them in yourself.”

The Squirt stood, eying me with lazer beams. “Miss McGraw is an animal rights activist, asshole, and she walks her dog every fucking day. Yoda and I had this planned-out to the second.”

“You guys did that for me? Why thank you so…”

Squirt stopped my thanks when she turned her back and walked away, and flipped over her shoulder, she quipped, “I read all about her on the INTERNET and figured she’d be a good match. Looks like we need to lower our sights so why don’t you walk us over to the retirement home on Alta Vista. I’ll act sick and the goat dog can act stupid.”

Which brings up another point. America—my beloved America—is within a few percentage points of electing a liar as its President. Not just a little white lie liar, a bold-faced, in-your-face liar.

The kind of liar who sells used cars or stocks or vinyl siding. The kind of liar who will say anything to get you to give him your money. Mitt Romney is a gutless lying asshole and he’s close to getting elected to run the greatest country on earth.

Then, again, maybe America is no longer the greatest country on earth. Maybe we’ve sold so much of our civilization that we’re mimicking the Roman Empire’s last days. I had a dream a few months ago where the Pope told me that Christian extremists were attempting to forge an Armageddon and artificially bring the End of Days.

Electing Mitt Romney would be a Hell of a start.

Fuck Mitt Romney and his handlers. Manana, y’all.

 

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5 Responses to “Of Horses And Bayonettes; A Liar’s Story”

  1. Squatlo says:

    Ah, Mooner, you’ve managed to rekindle my long-forgotten lust for Ali McGraw… somehow I fell madly in love with the lovely Ms. McGraw at about the same time my teenaged throbbing libido fell head over heels for Katherine Ross. Something about gorgeous girl-next-door brunettes, I guess. Jennifer O’Neil was the third leg of my bucket list trifecta…

    I’d be a mess if I actually met the woman, even today. Something about her smile just made my chest hurt when I was younger.

    I’ve gotta take a cold shower now, dammit. You did this to me.

    Fuck Mitt Romney, Rick Perry, Rick Santorum, and all of these GOP candidates who keep assuring us that “rape is terrible” but Jebus wants you to carry the rape-baby full term ’cause it’s all parta God’s plan.

    If I facepalm myself one more time today I’m going to need a helmet.

  2. bj says:

    I have two werds to say about Ali McGraw …. The …. Getaway! Fer shure she was a looker in Love Story and sexy as hell as a sweet lil’ teenaged thing and BOY did I ever notice her! I never wanted to watch the actual sappy ass moovie Love Story, but I shure watched HER innit more than once with more than one lady, too, BUT as Mrs. Doc McCoy and a full growed wanton type woman who wanted her man outta prison reeeeeeeeeeal bad she was the thing o’ my dreams. Next time you see her tell her I said that. I bet she hears about that Ryan O’Neil movie WAY more than she wants to. Might get ya’ some “points” with her pretty self!
    How far a drive does Gram and the P cubed have to the nearest college that they can troll? I’ll bet ol’ Ralph gets more information than he wants while a’drivin’ THEM two honeys! Wouldn.t it be great if he turned out to have a big ol’ roas’n ear dick like Mr. Dave? That’d keep Gram close to home … fer a minute, anyway!
    America is STILL the greatest country on Earth, but we got some fixin’ to do. After my President Barry Obama has four more years and then add eight more for Hillary or Elizabeth Warren and we should be a lot closer to good than we are now. Keep the faith, though, Brother. Me ‘n Ms. Baby voted last Friday and hit was PACKED! I hope the sun shines everywhere in America on November 6th, including Alaska. The higher the turn out ….. the better the chance of the RIGHT guy winnin’ that office … AGAIN! heh

  3. Squatlo says:

    The Getaway was memorable for a couple of scenes other than Ali McGraw hotness… Sally Struthers got my attention long before she was Meathead’s wife in Archie Bunker’s house. And the scene where Steve McQueen punches her out to shut up her screaming is classic, too…

    Speaking of Sally Struthers, anyone remember her in Five Easy Pieces?

    Of course, those were years ago (and about a hundred pounds) before she was crying for us to help feed starving kids.

  4. admin says:

    Squat. I find myself wondering what has gone so wrong when people trust a known liar to avoid embracing a black man–when an idolater garners more Christian love than an actual Christian man. This interesting phenom occurs even in the face of the fucking fact that Mormonism is more akin to the Muslim thinkings than it is mainstream Christianity.

    Those silly fuckers think that if they do enough good deeds (whateverinthefuck those good deeds might happen to be), then they will get their own fucking planet where they can have as many wives as they want.

    Somebody ‘splain to me how that differs from a Muslim’s 72 virgins dealie. Somebody please skin that shit back and demonstrate separate realities to me.

    Beej. I think Love Story got more young men to third base than Marvelous Marv Thornberry. As for high concentrations of young college boys, Santa Fe lacks a major university. But there seems to be ample numbers of fish in the barrel for at least a week’s hunts. Old Ralphie Boy called in for reinforcements and I haven’t seen the girls since Tuesday afternoon. Makes me glad I packed their Passports, if you know what I mean.

  5. Squatlo says:

    Mooner, trying to differentiate between religions and their peculiar tenets is folly. What it all boils down to is two thousand years of relentless conflict that basically involves each side claiming that their imaginary friend is better than the other guy’s imaginary friend. Ornamental baubles attached to the Promised Land are just there to keep individuals from wandering too far from the rest of the flock… To some of us, a Mormon version of heaven involving a mythical planet and magic undergarments is no more ridiculous than the Muslims’ 72 virgins or flying horses carrying the Prophet around… or for that matter, talking serpents, an old man gathering pairs of animals for a boat ride, or Joshua playing his trumpet so loudly that the sun stopped revolving around the Earth. The sun revolves around the Earth? Yep… Read your Biblee…

    The fact that any of this shit should matter in a presidential election in 2012 is proof positive that we should never underestimate the ignorance and gullibility of the average voter. We’ll always be disappointed if we do.

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