Been spending the morning relaxing and will probably veg the day away. Still smarting from the HI (Hogtown Irregulars) trip to nowhere, and the only thing of any worth I'm going to do today is report the loss of the Mossberg I purchased on BAG Day. I really don't have to, and the thing is without a doubt burned beyond recognition but it'd be my luck to have some chump find it, restore it, then hold up a retirement home after pistol whipping half of the seniors living there and drop the thing as he flees the cops. The local Sheriff likes it when folks report lost or stolen firearms, and for as much as I rag on LE I don't have it in me to break a harmless law such as this one, so I'll give them a ring. Yeah-yeah, it was MY gun and the Constitution says nothing about telling the gendarme's about anything but I get all creepy feeling when I go overdue on a bloody parking meter.
We were casually exiting the burning woodline (running and screaming like little girls) when Clete took a header and broke his fall by catching the upcoming ground with his forehead. This made him far dopier than usual (something I would have bet cash money was impossible) and I unslung the gun to administer first aid. Slapping and shaking and calling his mother vile names wasn't working so I was forced to scoop him up and make a dash for it. I was preoccupied with his throwing up on my new shirt and trying to flip him over and hang him from an ankle when Nat shouted to me that I'd left the gun behind, and mouthing "I know that, you retarded inbred asshole who got us into this mess to begin with" wasn't getting through to him so I just shook my head and kept bogeying. It was better to let the gun die an honorable death than having it coated with barbecue ribs, once removed from Clete's engorged bowling-ball lookalike that normal humans refer to as a stomach, and that's precisely why I got the thing. Every man needs a rough-use gun that he can part with without shedding a tear.
We'll probably, Lisa and I, either eat out this evening or call for some pizza because I'm sort of grounded. Not that I'm not the boss of this house and can't do as I bloody well please. It's better to listen up to the womenfolk after returning home a day late from what was predicted to be a little drive through some "nearby" game trails and minus some of the clothing you left home with and that isn't including losing an eyebrow. Or two. Bad enough I've a scheduled Dr's appointment on Monday and will have all sorts of strangers looking at me like I ran headlong through a forest fire carrying a drunken detweiller who tripped and knocked himself out.
No comments:
Post a Comment