I think Rita Sue said it best when she said (in response to being threatened with “Well, maybe I should just come over – pay your whore ass a visit“):
One of my all-time favorites from a favorite classic comedy…
get your laugh on. It’s Friday (I think).
Before my residence was even my home (dating all the way back to high school when it was simply where my “weed connection” lived), it was already referred to by anyone who visited as “the Trail’s End” due to its physical location at the spill-out point of a foot-trail that finales with a foot-bridge crossing a creek bed. The point of my sharing this is to emphasize the way that we regularly get visited by “wild” animals; either inside or somewhere on the property, and are called to action to do some chasing, nursing or exterminating – depending of course, on the wild visitor and its disposition. With the creek being right across the way, we have learned, for example, that we will get bullfrogs in the carpets if we leave the front door open for too long during the rainy season; or there’s the running possibly that we’ll be someday re-visited by any one of the handful of HUGE raccoons that hail from the sewer drains right at the curb (it’s a specific few of the much larger family of raccoons that we seem to have waged war with). There are always new creatures popping up in the extreme weather on either end of the scale, so we are pretty good about staying on our toes when it comes to response times and reactions in the context of an unexpected “wild” visitor from the adjacent creek bed. We have collectively dealt with such intrusions many times together in the past, and because of such historical successes in this realm, we were COMPLETELY UNPREPARED for last night’s surprise night caller.
I was walking from the kitchen with my hands full of stoner snacks and a cup of water when it all happened; as I passed by the entry hallway leading in from the front porch, a torpedo seemed to hit me…seriously.
I was thwacked so hard in my face by what I was sure must have been a grenade or some kind of rogue projectile firecracker or some shit; I saw stars briefly as my hands reflexively went limp in any grip I had previously had on my stuff. It was sometime around that moment that I realized the “grenade” was a bad theory – grenades don’t flutter into walls like drunken birds.
IT WAS A FUCKING BAT!!!
I have never actually seen a bat before last night up close and personally; and I’m sure that intentional – as I wouldn’t suggest to anyone to go out to the sticks and try finding one – they’re fucking creepy, lightning fast little fuckers. the entire saga of last night’s events pertaining to the intruding bat can be easily and quite accurately summed up in this video clip, though…so I figured, “fuck it…why not sum it up for everyone?”
…and I am sadly NOT exaggerating when I say that this is an accurate depiction of the responses to the bat being in the house that were put forth by me and my roommate last night. Enjoy!
A “Modernista” “Millionaire” heiress,
by the name of “Amber Moon”,
traveled the Americas far and wide,
drank scotch in every whiskey room.
From her “Horse’s Neck” hung a “Crowbar”,
its handle of wood stained in “Hangman’s Blood”,
to remind her of “Suburban” “Brooklyn”,
when her days were their’ furthest from good.
Her “Irish Coffee” from “Glasgow” posse,
included legends like the pair “Jack and Coke”,
Mr. “Beam and Seven” – the “Brain Duster” Eleven,
and many other famous scotch whiskey blokes.
With “Old Pals” like “Rob Roy” and “Farnell”,
and the “Four Horsemen” from “San Martin”,
“Raymond Massey” and the “Prince of Wales”,
Remember “Bobby Burns” and good ol’ “Rusty Nail”?
“Stengah”, “Benka” and the ancient “Chancellor”,
“Mizuwari”, “Fanciulli” and the ever-reliable Assassin,
“Whiskey Mac” followed by a classic “Sazerac”,
tracked “Blood and Sand” back from “Manhattan”.
I posted your mail,
seems like so long ago now…
you’re so far away.