Indiscrete Combinatorial System

...philosophy is for robots

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

military man

Now I can't say that I've been in the United States Army (too flat-footed and short-sighted) nor have been in the Kiss Army (they were already bloated capitalists by the time i was old enough) but I was in one very important military organization. The army of Cobra.

I remember the abandoned inner-city jungle gym we used as our base camp and the chatter of our Cambodian knock-off AK-47s as we target practiced on empty cans of Keystone Light. I remember my Sergeant, Ol' Sarge we called him, taking all of us to McDonalds for drive through. Ol' Sarge let us get anything we wanted, as long as it was off of the dollar menu and we got a water to drink. Also he made us holler, "COBRA!!" at the top of our lungs right into the loudspeaker. Sometimes he made us mow the lawn too. Then I got my CPA and we kind of headed our separate ways.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

1st Story

The town I'm from -like every town- is full of characters. This particular tale revolves around a guy named Zombie Huerd. The Huerds are an infamous clan, one of the other notable members having survived a toilet falling on his head.
Zombie lives on a couple of acres north of town in a little trailer house. He is known for two main distinguishing characteristics. First, his sewage pipe runs right into the backyard. This has resulted in a foul and reeking toilet-paper-clump festooned poop-pond. This pool of festering cess is where Zombie's extensive population of ducks and geese swim and feed. Zombie, in a miracle of recycling eats these filth feeding fowl -thus making more shit to feed the next round of birds. Also in Zombie's twisted menagerie was a honest-to-goodness black bear. This ushers us into part 2.

--Part 2.--
Zombie loved the hell out of this bear. It was easily his most treasured possession. He treated it better than his own children (to whom he fed shit-plumped geese). For example, every spring Zombie would rent a horse trailer and move the bear into it while he shoveled out its cage. Quite often Zombie would invite his friend Wolfie Hagen and they would make an evening out of it -drinking a case of Pig's Eye Pilsner apiece and taking turns with the pitchfork.
Soon enough it's about 9 at night and Wolfie is a lifetime problem drinker. There's a boatload of Wolfie stories that old guys tell to each other every night at the VFW. Wolfie has more plastic and steel in him than a Lincoln Navigator. So by 9pm on any night he's holding more barley than a grain silo. He looks at the sofa-sized omnivore lounging in the horse trailer and thinks,

Hey, when's the next time I'm going to get a chance to wrestle a bear?

It was a good twenty minutes before Zombie could get the bear off of Wolfie. He had to pry it's jaws off of his forehead with a jack handle. The doctors say if it wasn't for the metal plate reinforcing his temple Wolfie never would have survived.
Sadly the bear did not. The cops were called and the animal was put down.

Epilogue:
Zombie was forced to pull an Old Yeller. He got a DUI the next night and Goober Hockstedtler the cop who busted him said he was crying like a girl and that was more likely why he was swerving than the pitchers of Bud he had swallowed.

Weather

What a lovely fall day it is outside.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Number 1

Pinch Tindermarsh is the new King of Storytelling.