So people have been saying, hey Bill where’ve you
been? Haven't heard from you since New Year’s. Well you know how it
is in the winter, you just sort of lay low and wait for spring. And up here there’s still snow on the ground
and ice floes in the lake.
I been shacked up since February with this New Age woman,
owns a rock and crystal store in Silver City. She's got a clothesline pipe
up in her backyard, painted a different color every foot. I been watching that snow go down, from three
feet through March to less than a foot now.
She’s been real sweet, and real appreciative to have a man around. But pretty soon I’ll have to get up to the
Fort, chase out the bears, take inventory, you know.
I did do one thing this winter. Friends, I was at the Malheur National
Wildlife Refuge, during that “occupation”.
I know, I know, you think I’m not the tax protestor kind, and I’m not. I was just out in Oregon, running an errand
for a friend who owns a marijuana dispensary below the bridge -- all COMPLETELY,
or mostly legal -- and I heard about this sovereign citizen sounding thing,
this takeover.
I figured I’d go by, mingle in there, see if I could
score some of that CRAZY pussy. ‘Cuz friends,
there ain’t no pussy like crazy pussy, and these anti-government types are as
crazy as it gets. I was thinking of a
nice blonde mama, wearin’ a big ol’ cross, talking about a thousand years of
darkness with that crazy-ass shine in her eyes.
I mean Hell, if Chuck Norris could get one, why shouldn’t I?
And I got to the refuge at the height of the party. Lots of groupies, coming and going, horses,
ATVs, all the free food you could eat thanks to tons of donations. You know some of those idiots were bitching
because some smartass sent them lubricants and jellies. By the CASE, for FREE. Friend when life hands you a lemon, you just go
find some nice body to squeeze it all over, and make lemonade together, over
and over again.
But that party was a sausage fest. Some of the groupies were women, but . . .
well I don’t want to say they were all too old or ugly, . . . they just weren’t
for me. This long-haired nut David, kept
posting stuff on the Internet, he was more attractive than some of those women,
and he was always ranting about “Jew conspiracies” and crazy shit. So, that party got boring pretty quick.
But just when I was about to leave empty-handed, the
cops shot Roy Finicum. Friends, THAT was
something. When people heard about that
at the refuge, it was like turning on the lights in my old kitchen at
night. All those fearless patriots, they
scattered like cockroaches. They ran for
their toy trucks, they were spraying gravel on the way out. I was a little too drunk to drive right,
right then, so I just sat down on a stump and took it all in.
After I sobered up enough to drive, I wandered around the
refuge and did some shopping. Those
bitches ran out so fast, they left most of their gear behind. It looked like a Cabela’s threw up in
there. So I loaded up my ride with the
choicer stuff, including some of that lube.
And then I rolled right on out of there, right past the FBI.
Oregon wasn’t quite done with me though. I got turned around on those back roads, and there’s
no reception out there, so I ended up asking for directions at this ranch way out
in the middle of nowhere. There was just
this lady running the place. Her husband
had passed from cancer a few years ago.
She was older, but she was a no-bullshit lady, and
she’d taken good care of herself. Anyway,
I complimented her place, and she offered me some coffee, and long story short,
I ended up staying in Oregon a bit longer.
And when I left, I was a bit lower on that lube.
Man, that was good coffee.
