When Bison Speak; Fuck Republicans


So. It’s been a Tennessee weekend for me here to La Casita Johnson de Santa Fe. A new friend provided me with some brownies made by her cousin—rich brown delicacies cut into the size of large sugar cubes.

“Look, Mooner, don’t laugh at their size,” she told me as I giggled at the mocha nuggets in the triple-seal Zip-Lock baggie. “These are hash brownies, silly. One will mellow you out and a second will kick your ass.”

Friday night, after a long day at work, I ate one tiny brownie, fired up the grill and prepared a buffalo steak, potato, onions and scorching-hot peppers picked right from the vine. As things started to cook, I pulled a big handful of cherry tomatoes from their vines and scattered them around on the solid part of my grill. Grilling was a rather long process as I found myself especially interested in the sights and sounds and smells of our backyard.

“You’re fried, asshole.” It was the Squirt. I was on my hands and knees, sniffing at the herb section of our little garden.

“I’ve got a moral dilemma, my tiny pipsqueak of a poochie. Basil, oregano, sage, savory, mint or should it be a combination of them all?” I asked her.

“What in the world are you talking about? You don’t put mint on buffalo, shithead.”

She’s right, you know. Except I’m pretty sure it was a bison steak. I love mint on some occasions, but not on a cowboy grilled dinner. I snapped-off stems of basil and oregano and tossed them on a cooled fire. I like to finish things for a couple minutes on a cooler fire to allow the steak to get warm inside, but not cooked. I like the “moo” out of my beef, the “baa” out of my lamb and the…

What the fuck does a bison say? What do you cook out of a bison to cook it blood rare? Do they growl? Snort? Grunt, scream? I’m guessing some combination of bull snort and hippopotamus. Old McDonald didn’t have an “E-Eye-E-Eye-O” for bison or buffalo either one.

I didn’t like singing that song as a child. My ADHD would grab my attentions right about the “…had a farm…” part, and I’d be thinking of ways to pester little Susie Ashburn. My pesterings usually involved something to do with Susie’s long, braided pigtails. Buy my silly fucking book and read more on that subject. OK, those subjects.

After my cowboy grilled dinner, a chunk of cheesecake, two containers of Noosa brand honey yogurt, a half-bag of corn chips and another small cube of brownie, I sat on the couch and turned on the TV. The dogs settled into my lap and I flipped the tuner for maybe fifteen minutes before something dawned on me.

“I’m pretty stoned, kids.”

Have you guys tried Noosa brand yogurt? Spectacular!

I finally lighted on ESPN-U, the sports station’s fourth best choice of offerings. “Oh, look, guys, it’s Tennessee VS Arkansas. Let’s watch it for Squattie.”

My buddy, Bob, from over to Squatlo Rant, is a huge Tennessee fan. Regardless of their win/loss record, Bob is a die hard fan. “They’ll just get their asses kicked, Mooner,” Squirt told me, “let’s watch a movie instead.”

“I didn’t see anything that captured my attention, little lady. Let’s just do this for Bob.”

“Fuck Bob,” she said as she jumped to the floor. “Put a movie on the other TV and we’ll watch in there.

I did, they did, and I grabbed another brownie from the kitchen and went back to the game. Among the questions/comments I made—some quite loudly—as I watched the game were:

  1. Why is this video quality so poor?
  2. Those uniforms are so last decade.
  3. ESPN-U has really shitty graphics.
  4. Oh, would you look at that—Arkansas has another Stoerner at quarterback.
  5. This Stoerner kid looks just like his big brother except slower.
  6. Clint had more zip on his passes.
  7. Wow, look at the fog.
  8. OK, I need to read the sports section more carefully. Who inthefuck coaches Tennessee?
  9. This looks familiar.
  10. What would it hurt to have one more brownie?

I awoke Saturday am and realized that I had watched a rerun of the classic late nineties clash between Arkansas and Tennessee. Then I awoke this morning to discover that USC has fired the giant flaming asshole named Lane Kiffin. Fuckface Kiffin had coached Tennessee and screwed them royally before running off to USC a couple years back.

Anyway, happy Shutdown. Fuck all Republicans and Walmart too!

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7 Responses to “When Bison Speak; Fuck Republicans”

  1. Squatlo says:

    I appreciate the effort to struggle through bad graphics, grainy old film footage, and rebellious dogs, Mooner. But really, what’s impressed me is that someone in your circle of friends has acquired (and shared) hashish… even in sugar cube sized portions cooked into brownie mix. Wow. Remember how hash would seem to “expand” in your lungs, unlike other recreational narcotics? You could have lungs like an Olympic swimmer and still find yourself doing the bong-choke polka around the apartment in the old daze. Good times.

    And fuck Lane Kiffin, while I’m up. Prick got his, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Any man who would throw his own daddy under a bus to save his own ass isn’t worth paying every week, and I’m glad USC saw that too. We’re still trying to crawl out from under his NCAA screw-ups in Knoxville, and our personnel losses due to his abortion of a career as Tennessee’s coach will haunt us for five more seasons.

    Bah… The only good news on the college football front is that none of the teams that make my skin crawl are doing very well this season. So there’s that.

    Hook ’em, Horns… (and just remember, when y’all fire Mack Brown at the end of the season, Lane Kiffin’s available, tanned, and rested!)

  2. Mooner's on Lunchbreak says:

    Squat. OK, for starters don’t be pushing the Kiffer off on us. We’ve problems enough with a coach whose pasture has already grown to his feet. Good man, past his expiration date. Second, I always cut small, sticky chunks of hash and stuck them on the end of a neeedle. Nose as much as possible and then roll the charred leftovers into a dube.

    I forgot to say that the movie the dogs chose instead of watching Tennessee football was One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The Squirt loves her some Jack N.

  3. Katy Anders says:

    I still can’t quite believe that people eat bison.

    When I was a kid, we were taught in school that all the bison had been shot from passenger rail cars and that the three that were left were owned by Neil Young.

    Now people eat them. All of the time!

    This is why I don’t trust conservationists. If I want a passenger pigeon or dodo sandwich, then damn it, I’m just going for it.

  4. Mooner's on Lunchbreak says:

    Katy. What were the bison doing riding in rail cars? I would have thought they are too large to fit through the doors.

    And believe it. Bison is mighty tasty and not the least bit endangered. Great herds free range grazed for your dining pleasure.

    Which reminds me. What was it with that whole Buffalo Springfield dealie?

  5. Squatlo says:

    I believe Buffalo Springfield was a railway line, and the band adopted the name. Had Neil Young had his way, the band would have been called “Neil Young and some other guys”, but Stephen Stills got all pissy about that choice and threatened to catch a train if they didn’t change it. Hence…

    And I don’t blame people for shooting buffalo for being on trains. Can’t have that sort of thing, no matter how endangered they are. As Pea Eye said in Lonesome Dove, “Them bullsa hook ya…”

    (and Katie, avoid the DoDo sammiches… gamey as hell!)

  6. Mooner's on Lunchbreak says:

    Squat. And I always thought it was all about the Springfield 50-cal buffalo gun from back to the late 1800s.

  7. Squatlo says:

    I just made that railroad shit up, Mooner. You oughta know better than to take my word for shit on these blobbers!

    According to the Buffalo Springfield wickerpeedier page:

    Taking their name from the side of a steamroller, made by the Buffalo-Springfield Roller Company, that had been parked on the street outside Friedman’s house (where Stills and Furay were staying), the new group debuted on April 11, 1966 at The Troubadour in Hollywood. A few days later, they began a short tour of California as the opening act on a bill featuring The Dillards and The Byrds.

    For what it’s worth, I like my version of the story better.

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