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Jett Superior laid this on you on || October 12, 2008 || 6:45 pm

[Here's the thing about guest poster ciii: He writes from his Mellow. I try and write from my Mellow, but then I have the third glass of wine and everything comes out all trucked-up. You guys know how I do. ciii and I have spent a little time getting to know one another outside of blogstuffs and I think the two of us are barefoot, chigger-nibbled, wading-in-the-creek, rock-skipping childhood friends in another dimension and we've only just reunited in this one. If you look real hard, you may just get a hazy glimpse of that place; I am the pistolbritches with fuzzy braids and he has a shocky cowlick and gentle demeanor. We both have skinned knees.]

So, I’m here in the Casa de los Superior. Nice digs.

I must admit that I’m a bit Nervous about this Whole thing. It’s my first-ever Guest Post. And, quite frankly, Jett writes like Tom Morello plays guitar. And I write like Neil Peart plays the guitar. And I’m pretty sure that she got me confused with some other Dude that she had in mind for this Gig, but then when I said ‘yes’ she figured it out, but was to nice to say anything. Jett’s sweet like that. So here goes…..for Good or Ill.

Oh, look! Booze!

Cheers Jett!

Auto Pilot

Sometimes, the Best conversations are had by talking about Nothing in particular.

My tumbler was down from Four Fingers to Two and that was the last of it. No worries though. The contents are starting to Caress my Outlook the way Good Scotch should. The Sun was playing Peek-a-Boo on the Horizon. One last game. Peek-a-Boo. Good night Red Giant.

I had split a mess of Walnut and Maple with the maul behind the Helpful Goat Brewery prior to the Single Malt. Booze and wood splitting, as a combination, are best avoided. A 20lb maul coupled with the relaxation properties of Scotch is a sure fire way to remove those unsightly toes. The wood split easily as the Weight of the maul worked. Almost effortlessly.

After the Dynamic Duo were secured, perfectly in Sleep, Cutie Mcwifey buggered off over to Roo’s place for some InterTubin’ and general Girly Business.

As I was starting to fret on the scarcity of Libation in my tumbler, and thinking about getting a Book and my Headlamp, my Brother, along with his trusty Hound, Luna, came strolling down the Driveway. He had Beer. Things were looking up. I tossed a few more pieces of fuel on the Fire.

As the Moon rose and the Sun journeyed to wake up Australia, we talked about the taxing day that he had. There had been some miscommunication involving Childcare. Schedules had to be rearranged. Fingers were pointed. You know the drill. Our conversation then drifted to the State of the Nation. We spent very little time on that particular topic as there was Fire, and that Particular topic makes me want to throw myself on it. So we switched gears.

We played “Name that Tune” as my Neighbor and his friends were having their Thursday Night Jam. “That sounds like ‘The Sunshine of Your Love’.” Or, “Holy shit! Are they playing Devo?” And it went on like that for a while. Naturally, the Topic of music came up. My Brother is on a Quest to listen to the complete Tom Waits discography. A bold adventure indeed. I ask him if he has ever heard of a band called the Arctic Monkeys. He says he has and gets all excited and we talk about how much Ass this song kicks. And it does. Listen to it. I’ll wait.

Told ya.

Then we talked about how our Kayak trip to Everglades was going to be just what the Doctor ordered. We discussed the 99 miles that we would cover and exactly how much potable water we were going to need for the 7-9 day Trip. 72 lbs per person total. If’n you were wondering. That weighs more than my kayak. We agree that we need to start familiarizing Ourselves with Tide Charts. Then we reflect. Quietly. Each of us envisioning our own scenario of a perfect trip. Or that’s what I was doing anyway. He was ‘probly thinking about Midget Porn.

Somehow, the topic of Conversation switched to Religion. Or. More precisely, Mythology. We decided that if we were kickin’ back in the day, Zeus would be our Boy and we’d tell Poseidon to go fuck himself. Unless we happened to be on the High Seas. My brother proceeds to say that Poseidon could, indeed, go fuck himself. Him and his Kracken Sea Monster. From there, of course, we started talking about the classic movie, Clash of the Titans. I know, right! And how it really sucked ass that Hera put Perseus in the middle of that Arena just because Zeus turned her son into a Goat or some such, but how it kicked total ass that the other Gods gave him the Spear and Magic Helmet.

I’ll give you one guess where the Conversation went after that. Bingo! Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd in the classic Kill de Wabbit sung to the tune of Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries. We laughed like Bastards until our eyes were soaked with Tears as we reminded each other of different scenes that Adulthood had robbed from our memories. The image of Bugs Bunny in full Valkyrie regalia and Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen is too much and, anyway, Luna just broke my empty Tumbler by fucking around in the Chair, so we called it an Evening.

Oh well. It ain’t a Party until something gets Broke. And the Fire is Dwindling.

I said Goodnight to my Brother as I was picking up empty bottles and headed for the Recycling Bin when I realized I had a big ‘ol shit eatin’ grin on my face. We hadn’t done anything. We weren’t that drunk. We didn’t make any Prolific conclusions. We just talked. We drifted on a Current of conversation. Paddles up. Bare feet in the Water.

And the Water was fine.


4 worked it out »

  1. that girl 10.13.2008

    Ciii – this was good – dammit, now I’m nervous..

  2. Carolyn...Online 10.13.2008

    It always kind of comes back to Bugs doesn’t it?

  3. ms picket to you 10.13.2008

    i always feel wildy hungover when i read ciii. in a good way.

  4. Captain Dumbass 10.15.2008

    I wish I could hang out at your place.


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