Turkey

Oh, I got so busy being snarky I forgot to tell y’all about the turkey! So, I’m in the bathroom getting ready to get in the shower when I hear what sounds like the world’s worst turkey call, right up by the house, and I am livid. It’s bad enough that hunters hunt down here in the neighborhood, but that some guy was clearly in my back yard? He was about to get an up-close introduction to my dog. I go to the window and… there is a turkey, just standing around right by the old fountain, making his little turkey call.

And who is not five feet from him, frozen in horror? The new kitty!  If you just imagine 0m! as the shape of the cat, that was the shape of the cat. Her eyes were huge, her back was arched, and her tail was straight up. And then she circled around him, facing him the whole way, to get closer to the garage before running off.

He hung out in the back yard, just eating stuff. I assume either acorns or bugs.

And then, when I came out to go to work, both of the cats were hiding on top of my car.

Quick Things

1. I’m sure the non-Christian readers of this Tennessean piece found it deeply relevant to their lives. I’m working on a similar piece for heathens. Are we doing enough to spread our love of drinking, pillaging, cursing, digging up dead witches, and writing long poetry about how Odin has dicked us over? Have those us us un-dicked-over by Odin written enough poetry mocking the bad luck of the dicked-over? Have we considered Idris Elba naked enough? What? That’s totally a legitimate heathen form of outreach. He’s playing Heimdall. Not my fault if other religions are boring and you don’t get to consider the joys of god-fucking. That will be my suggested headline “The Joys of God-Fucking Lost in a Busy World.” Subhead: “Sucks to be you Skallagrimmson.” Yep, I’m mocking the long dead. Yep, this is why pre-Christian germanic folks spent a lot of time kicking each other’s asses.

2. Dear Webster Franklin, your casinos are situated on a river that floods regularly. Not only that, but the ground you’re standing on? That is a vast ancient flood plain. It is as fertile as it is because it is a vast, ancient flood plain.  Good luck trying to make sure this never happens again. You’ll need the river to not be a river and the flood plain to not be a flood plain.

3. Yes, I did laugh when I read this, but I am still in “Devil’s au pair” mode. In fact, I’m going to email it to my dad so that he can laugh.

4. The Commercial-Appeal is doing a great job putting up a lot of flood pictures. Man, my heart goes out to folks. There’s got to be some way of both letting the river do what it needs to do to be healthy and of not having people’s lives destroyed repeatedly. I don’t have any good answers.

Governor “Baby” Haslam Disses the Troops

What the fuck?

Haslam spokesman David Smith said the Republican governor had a previously scheduled commitment today to attend a luncheon at the West Tennessee Strawberry Festival in Humboldt. Smith said the governor’s office was also not officially notified of the visit by the White House.

Our petulant baby governor needs official notice from the President before he can be bothered to go to Fort Campbell to celebrate the awesome job they did? Being a snotty brat to the president is more important than supporting our troops? The state doesn’t have an airplane he could take from Humbolt to Clarksville?

I tell you what, if Ron Ramsey really is secretly running the state, he needs to get Governor Baby on the phone and tell him to set aside his partisan jackassery and go show those folks the state is grateful.

Jesus Christ, in my whole life, I never thought I’d see motherfucking Tennessee Republicans showing their asses to the military, but I guess these are strange days.

A Little More Sleep Never Hurt No One

I woke up before, way before, my alarm, got up, peed, went back to bed and then slept through that fucker like it didn’t even bother to go off.

What woke me up?

Do you even have to ask?

Tick crawling up my side.

Tick, I appreciate your efforts to make sure I’m not late for work, so I wrapped you in toilet paper before flushing you down to your watery grave.

This is the one design flaw with Frontline. If the ticks don’t bite the cats, they don’t die. They just ride happily into the house and, since both cats have decided that sleeping in my bed is super awesome (and it is, I admit), the ticks end up there. I try to give it a sweep every night, but that hasn’t been effective.

Still, shoot, I missed walking the dog. Sorry about that, dog.