As I said upon my return from Iowa, the Hogtown Irregulars took a vote for club officers during my absence, elevating 7 members to the status of High Marshall. We've a meeting tomorrow to try and sort this all out, and it's not like I care what we call one another in the privacy of our own club (okay, High Marshall is a fricking tad much), but the rules are so complicated now I don't even know who my High Marshall is and apparently nobody knows who his High Marshall is. Nor do the High Marshalls know who their underlings is. My original suggestion was to have some sort of penny ante dues to pay for the odds and ends used during our meetings, and things like why we shouldn't be using the keg I must bring back for my deposit for target practice or making a TV stand out of them. Little stuff like that. I'm not one to be picky but the junk car we had towed in for shooting fun shouldn't have had a new battery thrown it it and driven away just because Eart's sister Verity needed a ride to work. Every club needs rules or stupid problems crop up. It isn't as if I'm ungrateful for all of the hard work in teaching me hog hunting, but we never seem to get around to actually hunting any hogs and I know that the fires are still burning but not all of Florida's hogs can be moving to Alabama.
But all the meeting was supposed to do was suggest how much we should chip in for this and that, and maybe even find the car that Nap thinks might have been impounded. Yes, I'm new to all of this swamp guy stuff and I really don't want to step on any toes so maybe I should just stop trying to take charge all the time and chill.
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