Friday, June 23, 2006

Yet Another Reason to Hate Mimes

I have to admit, I am a little worried about Jimmy waiting for a deer with that shotgun. First, I am wondering if he knows which end of the boom-stick is which. Second, I hope he has deer slugs in that thing, because if he thinks buckshot is for bucks, this is going to be real messy. And we all know who Jimmy is going to drag that deer to, for skinnin' and Turkey Bologna makin'. Me. Hell, it's not even deer season.

Being the civic-minded good Samaratin that I am, I headed over to the liquor store to find out if Jimmy was alright. Zanna took the Pinto to Walmart (something about needing wax for the taco, I guess we're having Mexican for dinner), so I took the Beast of Burden in. Like Zanna says, nothing like the feel of some powerful wood between your legs.

I bought a couple 40's, and questioned the register jockey, Peg-Leg Eileen as to whether there had been any unusual ambulance activity. So far, so good, Eileen, balancing on her one good leg, said a couple of truckers saw an empty pile of bottles and an empty pair of shorts by the road, and no Jimmy.

Then, since it was slow, Peg-Leg Eileen decided to regale me with the tale of how she lost her leg: "Aarrgh, it was during the war, I was part of the OSS team dropped behind German lines outside of Paris. We were trying to bolster some resistance among the Frenchies, when a single German soldier appeared out of nowhere. I was unprepared for the bold French reaction, didn't realized an entire infantry regiment could turn and run so fast. They left behind a small mime-field to distract the German. I was so infuriated at the "man-trapped-in-a-box" routine that I kicked the first mime in the head, and it bit me. By the time I shook it off, it'd left a pretty good wound. Of course, all the clean, white bandages had been made into surrender flags, so I caught the gangrene, and had it amputated below the knee. Imagine, a regiment surrendering to what later turned out to be a lost German Army Potato Peeler, First Class. With a speech impediment and a mop as his only armaments. Fucking frogs."

I'm going home, the hammock beckons. The true horror of war is to much.

5 comments:

LadyJane said...

I think that was my grandma...

spankcheeks said...

"The feel of wood between your legs," indeed -- all yesterday afternoon and until 3 this morning... sailors do it better!

P.S. Tranny -- I put a link to your blog on Spank Cheeks. Someday - and that day may never come - I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this justice as gift on my daughter's wedding day.

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