Catch-A-Story

~~~

Pump, pump, pump that area

Last night I had a terrible dream. The neighborhood was being terrorized by a giant version of the Comcast turtles, Bill and Karolyn Slowsky. They still moved slowly, and their sardonic wit was just as sharp as jazz shoes, but instead of being adorably normal-sized, they were taller than telephone polls. They hurled javelins and they were covered in swastikas, and gravy. Oh and they pooped Volkswagens. I used to just dream about girls.

The dream seemed to go on forever. I woke up tired. I should have realized when the guy turtle started banging on a house roof with a pair of drumsticks that the dream was an effort by my subconscious to tell me I forgot to close the chicken coop door for the night. Alas, we awoke this morning to a yardload of escaped chickens. It was hens on the lamb.


Congressional hopeful Judy Feder
will not stop following me.

Ro and I managed to lure most of them back into the coop by tossing grapes and bagels inside. Suckers! Three of the girls were not so gullible. Since they refused to take the bait, we closed up the coop and tried unsuccessfully to take the renegades by storming them, or what have you. No dice. They're fast. Eventually, we opted to leave them outside the wire, with the reasoning that they would rejoin the rest of the herd this evening when we let everybody out again. As night fell, all would come home to roost. That was the thinking. That was the plan. There was just one flaw; we weren't home to let the girls out for the evening. This, as you can well imagine, was my fault.

Always
Be
Closing

After spending the morning watching the political shows and getting pissed off all over again, I was overcome with Shindler's List Syndrome. "This watch," I exclaimed to no one in particular, "This watch could have been self-winding itself as my arm knocked on one more door! These boots ... they could have traveled one more neighborhood in search of like-minded people who remember too-well the feeling of colonic violation after the 2004 election!" I felt compelled to dedicate another afternoon canvassing my town. This left Ellen and Ro to go out and do all the stuff folks have to do to keep sustaining life. They were gone. I was gone. Nobody let the cooped-up chickens out for the evening. That's why the three renegades are, at this very moment, nesting somewhere outside - somewhere in cold, desolate, Fox Country. It's going to be a long, sleepless night for all of us.


"Looks like you've been canvassing today."
"That's right, sir."
"How's it look out there?"
"There's a lot of love right now, Governor,
especially for an area that went 68% Republican in '04."
"You guys are making the difference. Thanks for
all your hard work."
"You're welcome."

Second prize ...

~~~