Tickling Fancy

A deck short of a card and a duck call closer to victory...

Foot binding a Sasquatch could be both fun and educational as long as you remember that they like peanut butter and show up fuzzy on thermal imaging cameras.

So we were on our way to the Hippies' Turkeys or was it the Turkeys' Hippies.  Either way we needed the practice and they needed the free labor.

I had heard of other operations where a person was paid by being allowed to keep what they can carry after the harvest was complete and quotas met.  In this case our pay would not ave to be wrapped in duct-tape and surrounded by coffee grounds. 

The management seemed nice enough and harmless in a sitar-playing-flip-flop-wearing sort of way.  We were greeted by a warm hug and medical release / liability waiver forms.  All was going as planned till I read the fine print and had to ask why accidental castration was included on the laundry list of possible injuries.  The simple answer I was given put a very disturbing and entertaining image in my head.  The hippie lawyer simply said that one of the crews that had volunteered last season was from a local nudist colony. 

All I could think of this response was, "that poor naked bastard"...

Each of us was issued a burlap sack and a pair of long leather gloves before being led down a hall to a large door which held behind it what I could only describe as a sea of flipp'n Thanksgiving.  The warehouse where they kept the feathered death-row candidates was knee deep and nut to butt turkeys.  The smell was almost as bad as the executive facilities (back alley) at our favorite watering hole.  If only we had the good sense to walk away, but then again this was us.  Picking up a frozen turkey at the grocery store is easy albeit awkward in comparison.  Our direction was to grab them by the feet and keep moving.  After a few minutes of diving into turkey crap we started getting the hang of it and were described as naturals by our hosts.  I am not too sure how proud I felt about the compliment, but one cannot have too many fall-back careers these days. 

A few hours into the harvest we were advised that the daily quota had been met and we were now collecting for us.  Uncertain of what we were going to do with our feathered quarry we decided to only grab a dozen or so and thank our day's managers for their hospitality. 

Once back at the ranch we decided to keep a few of the would-be dinners as companions for Pinky and deep fry the rest. 

Success is measured in hands and bushels.  Fear is measure in lost seat cushions.

When asked if you mind a comment preceded by "no offense"  say yes and you will feel like less of a tool...

Don't forget to wink at the next police officer you see or wave and blow kisses at the garbage truck.

Keep it strange my friends...

Tuning the Jack Hammer

Warm and twisted suger cubes...

Starry-eyed wookie stunt doubles...

Disco Magic and spin cycles...

So randomness is hard to plan and even harder to duplicate.
Case in point, Reality TV has taken on a life of its own caught somewhere between fact and fiction by picking and choosing what reality can be.  Let's take a step back and a sideways glance...  feelings are not as easy to fake as emotions.  Although you were caught up in the drama and realize it was just for the cameras did you not become affected by the human condition and at the same time took solace in the fact that you were comfortably shielded by the fact that you were just watching / along for the ride.  I do not believe we can chalk this up to escapism as much as it is forced immersion into the human condition by witnessing and internalizing social interactions that we are not fortunate / unfortunate enough to experience...

When are my fifteen minutes up and can I spread them out Ala NFL by taking well timed time-outs?

Can we then pose questions on the poses taken? 

So much planning and no real training...

Had we truly started freeing the pink?

So much time had been spent on organizing that our muse had taken an extended coffee break.  This dawned on me as i got stuck on Animal Planet when trying to find the Gold Cup game...

Watching these turkeys get, for lack of a better word, herded and collected I could almost hear the light bulb get switched on. 

We did not need a dry run or another crazy scavenger hunt.  We needed hands on, grab a freagin angry bird, and run training.  I started making phone calls to every turkey packaging company I could think of to ask how and where one could become a Turkey-catching-grabbing type person...  It was not till the 50th phone call that I had found the needle in the haystack.  You gotta love some of the hippies.  The voice on  the other line told me that they were a time-banking operation and would love for a group of us to stop by to help with the "harvest" and in return we could gain the equal worth in service hours or products for our work... 

(Time banking is an awesome concept / practice:)  look it up)

We rounded up the crew and set to the task of organizing the trip.

Next stop Hippie Turkey Farm!!!

Channel surfing on borrowed time...

Procrastination and deadlines.

Smile if you can and laugh if you want to.  Who can stop you from doing either?
Take joy in what you have and stock of your dreams.  In sleep we are creators and in day light we are believers of those dreams.  Make it happen my friends.

Tickled to be Near

So I found the Rabbit hole? 
Velcro parachutes and nickle-plated bungee cords...

After a long day of setting up straw-man arguments do you light a candle or visit the local psychic? 

Freagin spray cheese is more tempting.

I was minding my own business and like an alien abduction it showed up just outside my field of vision when I lost my train of thought...
So we got the pink menace back o the barn while we fenced off the back forty catch that use t be a burn pit .  We would certainly get pinched if we left him at the tank. Chupacabras might show up for a cameo appearance.

Thongs are less complicated and pose less of a challenge that the simple task of re-locating the hormonal fowl, but in true form I managed to complicate this well outside of the usual expectations. 

Mesquite bushes do have a lot to share when you are wanting to catch something pink and wiry.  I was surprised that I managed to keep my manhood in tact after the sprint I had just completed.  Out of breath, holding the bird, and in need of stitches is how they found me.  Any man less anesthetized would have asked for help or at least waited till daylight to track the creature, but true to form I was in full effect.

I could only think of how much like sushi Pinky would taste like so close to Thanksgiving...

So much time had been spent in figuring out how to cause the largest amount of havoc that the relations between me and the pink phenom were wearing thin.

It was obviously time for a heart to heart...

I had saved the once living remnants of mescal bottles for just an occasion as this.  A little sal de gusano and Pinky was acting like I had found the ambrosia version of brine shrimp.  I sat there with the feathered pimp for a couple of hours bonding in the least creepy way imaginable communing with the big pink cock (male bird you dirty bastards). 

After sunrise I finally picked up the pickled bird and set him just inside the fence line with a strong sense of victory I walked back to the barn to catch at least a few winks.

"Sharks only bite when you  touch their privates", Ulah...

Is The Piper on a specific pay schedule?

Borrowed Stop Watch Glitter

Salmon would probably agree with the rush hour traffic.

Tuning in to a good read or setting up digital horse shoes?

Drug screening your gardner may not be a good idea.


So we were somehow legit again. 
Freag'n revolutionaries who would teach them all a lesson as soon as we figured out who they were. 
Was I missing something? 

Apperantly the Sherrif had been alerted to some kind of a wild animal sighting that he had to respond to out by the Overbee place.  Luckily it was after dark and he did not get a chance to travel around with a spotlight to put the Pastor's wife at ease.  She had called the station frantically telling the tale of a strange colored giant bird that had attacked her.  The officer could only grin and take her word for what was going on and later would express to the Cowboy that he suspected she had been hitting the cough syrup again.

Of course I got the call about Pinky within minutes of that conversation taking place and made my way back to the tank we had used as a sanctuary for Pinky so many weeks ago.  It seemed that he had lost interest in his surroundings and decided to stop by the Pastor's land for a little quality time with his domesticated turkeys.  That Pink horny bastard had apparently injured a few of the birds in his quest for affection. 

All I could do is hope that he would be enticed by the plastic lawn ornament I had brought with me and we could move him to a more secure location.  So I sat there in the truck with the plastic Flamingo in the passenger seat with the door open waiting.  Pinky came into the clearing just to the West of the tank to see if we had brought the usual brine shrimp treats for him when he spotted his next target and rushed at the truck doing his usual pre-game-I-am-gonna-get-some dance.  Something was different about him.  He seemed more aggressive.  Maybe the turkey tale had toughened him up.  The Feathered menace started squawking at me and flapping his crazy wings in an obvious show of force.  I started laughing and was met with a wicked wake-up call.  Pinky jumped into the truck and started snapping and pecking at me in what I can only describe as a the-girl-is-mine ambush.  I opened my door and rolled out of the truck kicking the door shut when I hit the ground.  Pinky somehow managed to shut the door on the passenger side with his feet. 

So there I was. 
Sitting in the bed of my own truck while Pinky and the plastic playmate made the beast with two backs. 

What could I do?

I opened the tool box / ice chest and commenced to hydrate and text my fellow revolutionaries on my progress.  Pinky was in no way bashful and was having his way with the oil-based friend he had made.  I toasted to their health and waited for the crew. 

A few hours later the BBQ was in full effect and the same Peace keeper that had tipped us off to the situation was greedily pumping the keg as he was now off duty.  Pinky had humped himself into a post-nookie slumber, the fajitas were on the grill, and I sat both triumphant and concerned with my capture and pending relocation of my hormonal, feathered companion...

Lotioning your hands at the beginning of the work day at your desk = cool
Lotioning your feet at the beginning of the work day at your desk  =  not cool

My popcorn is mine and you should really get your own...

Do garden gnomes appreciate being compared to persons that will not leave at the end of a party?

Pink Chrome and Cupcakes

Hardly moving or stationary living?
Consequences lead the parade...

Wrinkled time makes for some awkward first encounters with oneself.

So we haven't quite figured out how to unfreeze the millionairs but they keep comming around to have themselves preserved...

The real trick is to know how tuff you are not and how willing you are to follow through when blufing.  This is a lesson not always easily learned...

So we had lost a bit of the following but continued the recruiting efforts at the gun range and the local watering holes... 

Where else could we find the cream of the crop?  I had no idea.

Many of our newest members were borderline schizophrenics with as many conspiracy theories as one liners.  Often times our meetings were more like Icke rallies than revolutionary parties.  Did this scare me?  You bet your drunken goat of a granny it did...

Too much attention was being given to who we were running from rather than why we were doing what we were doing.  To be perfectly honest I had somehow started buying into what I was peddling...  What had started out as a monster of a prank was now evolving and becoming just a bit more dangerous.

This was no longer your typical beer run during curling semi-finals...

Not since the Donnie Osmund Fan Club or the "Professional" Fraternity (that will remain nameless) did a simple excuse to have a little fun get out of hand.

It was like the Boondocks Saints had been re-written by a person living in a soft room eating soft food. 

So the core membership had not changed  but somehow started being less willing to broadcast its whereabouts.  Strange considering our normally personable demeanor.  What was happening?  Did we need a wake up call?  Did we need to be reminded of who we were?
In short, yes.

The Cowboy and I decided to help all of us we would need to dumb it up a little and set upon constructing the running of the gauntlet that could re-inspire.  Word on the wire was that the museum was going to have some sort of a natural history of flight exposition and we wanted in...

Now I must take a moment to recognize how little of a background check many night watchmen get these days... 

Rodneyy had been a loyal and trusted  friend of the Cowboy for a few years and had somehow managed to pass both the drug and background checks of a local security company that had won the museums bid by cutting its costs by using interns from the university's law enforcement program. 

After properly motivating Randy after the fourth round of a harmless liquid lunch with promises of barrel racers and swimsuit models, we had our inside man.  All we had to do is be at the south door of the museum at 03:00.  This would give the membership a chance to make the appointment and last call on just another Tuesday night. 

Final Headcount brought us to eleven. This was not our best turn out, but would promise to be fun.  Each member was issued a hand truck, three crates, gorilla glue, and a six pack in the parking lot. 

Like a circus entry we formed a single file line through the South entrance and began disbursing the contents of our crates after being reassured the cameras had been disabled.  The laughter was contagious as we set about our task.  Every member was sure to empty his crates and dispose of all six cans properly.  Our mission was complete and we dissolved back into the night.

The next morning the local news channels were abuzz with our victory with descriptions of the scene inside of the museum where vandals had glued over 12,000 plastic flamingos to the history of flight hall and just like that we were on top again.  One small detail would escape the news shows for at least ten more hours as the Cowboy and I had partially filled each of the flamingos with frozen bait shrimp just to let them know we meant business...  Oh the scent of victory.

Time waits for no man, but will find something to read while waiting for the right lady to pick out something to wear...

We should all re-focus this week and find our inner silly and buy it a shot.

Wind Up Pacemaker

Spinning a moldy record and hoping for an electric eclipse.

Running at stall-speed and breaking records.

Lucky by accident.

Did I miss second base?

In retrospect we are all silly when you sit and think about it.  Everything from slapping an itch to apologising to the person that just beat your ass.

So my heart goes out to the guy that should have paid more attention to "Waiting to Exhale" and later I can only laugh at how he knew what he was getting into.  So many movies set an example where life should be imitating art...
Example:  Practice the Jedi Mind trick when you are alone versus when you are hanging out with your best friend.

We spend so much time on how not to make a mistake that we fail to recognize the sheer genius that went into committing the mistake in the first place.  We sit and over analyse ourselves into paralysis instead of just acting and letting the chips fall where they may and then get depressed over the time that we wasted when we discover an old man staring back at us in the mirror first thing in the morning.  I mean really where did life go?  Sad thing is it is looking right back at us.  we all talk about taking the time to do the important things and spend lifetimes making up our minds as to what those things are.  A wise man once told me that such thought and contemplation is little more than mental masturbation and can lead to lack of vision instead of blindness.  So much energy is spent on defining a good time and its limits that the good time itself completely escapes us.

Acting on impulse is not always a mistake or an excuse.

When is the last time you made a goofy face at someone at a stoplight just to get a reaction?
Have you ever just smiled because you can?

Ask yourself when the last time you ran out on the front porch in boxers, boots, and a cowboy hat holding a beer and shooting holes in the moon...

That is a good time.

Don't set up a script for your life and just live it if only for a weekend...

Yell obscenities in the shower.
Wear a wig for the hell of it.
Inspire those around you to laugh at themselves.

Release your Id my friends and embrace your crazy!!!

Silly String Tanga

Realizing your uniqueness is not so unique is a uniquely common experience...

Treading water may be a good way to describe the feeling of not drowning.

Remember, The Journey of A Thousand Miles is one hell of a long walk no matter how you spin it.

Are we ever truly ready for the unexpected?  That was the only thought running through my mind along with the monumental, how much is too much boxers showing out the back of my pants?

The answer to the first is plan better,  and to the second, it doesn't really freagin' matter if you are going commando anyways.  In both cases you should remember a good belt.

I honestly would trade all my afterthought for forethought any day of the week but in the meantime it makes for a much more interesting life.  Example?

For the most part a complete stranger will put up with being called by women's names for about twenty minutes before actually attempting to knock you unconscious with a pool cue after having the name calling pointed out by his much less hammered buddies.  My opinion, Mary needs to really chill out when drinking with the likes of us...

OK so a speedo car wash may not have been the best idea in a small south Texas town, but the cause needed the funds, it was a hot day, and we were bored.

First order of business was making the signs easy to read as well as easy to carry.
Answer:
Trashcan lids and sharpies

After spending a few minutes writing out CAR WASH on a few lids we needed to decide on a location that would be easy to see from the road and where the owners wouldn't mind the extra publicity.
Location, location, location?

One of the crew just so happened to be part owner of a small diner not far from the ranch and he was easy to convince to give us free rule over the parking lot and use of the water.  All he asked was to have first choice of the Speedo's we had procured for the spur of the moment event.

It was not long before we started getting noticed from the main road running through the town a bunch of the twenty somethings thought it was a funny idea and supported us just to be able to say they did and take pictures of the idiots in speedos washing trucks.  This and the older women weren't bad.  It made for a pretty entertaining afternoon.  It was the older single gentlemen that seemed to make things just a little too metro for the South Texas Town.  Although creepy at first, they turned out to be the best tippers and for some reason kept insisting that their tires were not clean enough...  Oh well.

At the end of the afternoon we had put together over $350.00 and about two dozen phone numbers.
The cash was very welcome and the numbers needed to be carefully sorted into three categories.
Six Pack Required, Fifth of Tequila, and I may need to have my stomach pumped later.

We were back in business...

Many would say that the cause was more of a non-cause invented to entertain the demented and give purpose to the under achievers.  To this I would have to agree that they were half wrong and leave it at that.

If asked I would just praise those involved and give the Man the bird and that as my friend Candid Ice would say is Real Talk...  To which I could only say, Sho Nuff.

So much time is spent on trying to decide how we will allocate our finite resources that we tend to forget the talents that we have in abundance and the perpetual joy they give both to the world around us as well as ourselves.  A smile, A creepy wink, and a cheesy thumbs up can go a long way if the timing is right and even further if the timing is questionable.  Not enough emphasis is given on the immeasurable power of honest joy...

My challenge to you is to find what you posses that cannot have a price assigned to it and make sure you share that with the world around you as if it were the most relevant Charity around.  A little bit of laughter goes a long way...

Big Love to All of You
E