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Of Foretold Things
By the Checkered Demon

I stood with my Father-in-law, both of us looking at the headboard of an antique bed. It had belonged to my Wife's Grandmother, then she'd died, and now we were picking it up. "Look at how that varnish is wore off on the left side", he noted. "That whole brood was hatched out right there. I don't know that I could tolerate that much history in my house." I told him we'd see how it worked out, but it didn't in the end. Too small, because folks were in those days. Certainly too small for a modern king-size bed.

So I find myself gearing up to haul my Father's bed down to New Orleans, to present it and other family treasures to my Son. Solid red oak four poster twin bed. Perfect for a single man. Another one of those foretold things men of a certain age find themselves doing, assuming they were trusting enough to cause a life in the first place. I'm keeping the WASP silver service for now. Silver is trending up.

So we'll unload and set it up. I'll return the truck I watched road music from to its owners, and we'll eat some seafood. I'll call Pat over by Picayune, and when he shows up, we'll roll on over to Kentucky. Bardstown to start. The whole thing is bourbon and machine guns.

Bourbon needs no introduction, and in Kentucky one can meet papered experts drinking in the haunted inn. One can lie back and sniff bourbon in the breezes here, marred only by endless semi trucks hauling whiskey out and returning empty. Getting transcendent is big business here, and the US of A does need its buzz. The pot states will do similar things I am sure. They'll have to elevate some though. There is a distinct lack of class among the drugoids, and it will be decades before they attain the class of a winery, never mind a proper distillery

Knob Creek is not just a good whiskey, it is an automatic weapons fairyland. Knob Creek machine gun park will allow you to fire anything you can afford to feed, and therein lies the great problem with automatic weapons: only governments can afford to run them.

A single 50 BMG round will go 3-5$ each, so a 50 round burst is like really good liquor. My personal wish is to fire a 40MM auto-cannon, and that's probably like a year at Harvard for a burst. We'll see. Just how long can one fondle that moment?

Spring is all sprung, and Coyotes are pulling down the Spring fawns and anything else that gets careless. Another birth has been recorded in the endless log, and the eaters wait. A life is a candle flame on a windy night, and fun is where one finds it. The good thing would be to live to see another. That would be fine, depending.


Son of a Lesser God



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