Wednesday, September 10, 2003
uNCLE kARL'S bAT bALM hOMEBREW
Part 2 of the continuing saga of the Rancho BushCo Circle SS Silver Spoon Gang.
Where was I? Oh yeah....that Big Hubris Bat was feedin' on Uncle Karl and that woke up GW who was a hootin' and a yellin' and all manner a hell was comin' unleashed.
See: Part 1
Uncle Dick, that train robber fella with the crooked smile, near jumped outta his long-johns and was-a-flailin' all about all wild like and swingin' a graphite fly rod at the rafters where that big angry bat, which had givin up gnawin' on Uncle Karl was a flapping around in the strips of flypaper and a squawkin' and a squeakn' and generally pretty much making a big noisy fuss. Then Barney the little dog come a runnin' out from under a bed and commences running around the strategery table yappin' and yelpin' and snappin' at Uncle Dicks heels. That jug-eared fella they called Paulie Jug-Ears was slid over to Uncle Karl by then and was pullin' on Uncle Karls boots to try to wake him up while at the same time trying to keep low to the floor because of that crazy bat and Uncle Dicks fishin pole harassments and interdiction efforts. That Tom Delay local fella was there too. He'd been invited to sleep over with the boys and was now hoppin' around the room like a big flea with a silver wash basin on his head and a can of oven cleaner in one hand while trumpetin' dire warnins' of Kingdom Come and black fiends and messengers of the final days and other such bombastic hooplah, all the while dispatchin' poisonous oven cleaner emissions all over the earthly place like it was a aerosol can of caustic press releases. That Tom feller was, as they say, somewhat touched. If ya know what I mean. I seen that Colin Powers fella too...sittin' in a corner hollerin' at a telephone...trying to get through to Ms. Condi up at the big house to ask her bout some bat-shit he found in his own bunk. Ms Condi and Ms Karen and Ms Laura was up at the main house and were set to study that Antique Roadshow program on the TV. That was that free comminus TV channel show that was very popular back in them days so they weren't interested in hearin' 'bout any bat-shit in the bunkhouse what with Bolshevik nick-nack speculators running rough-shod over the antique nick-nack marketplace and all.
I didn't see that Don Rumsfeld feller right then. Apparently Rummy, "Doc. Rummy" they called him, had run off to fetch some moonshine over at Grover's Grove at some unforetold hangdog location before all the foretold foregone excitment even first started or didn't, who can say, and I don't know when he left but he soon came a scamperin' back with a shotgun under one arm and one of those handy propane blowtorches on his hip and a pint of swamp root tucked in his right-side coat pocket. Doc. Rummy, not one to waste time with overly elaborate prognostications, summed up the situation right quick and immediately loosed a barrage of demonstrative deterrence into the rafters and blew out all the bunkhouse overhead lights which threw out all kinds of sparks and set the wiring to popping and fizzling and generally compoundin' problems even further, all the while jawin' about whats good for what ails ya and pre-emptive actions and surgical strike capabilities and other healin' and pacification measures. Doc. Rummy, squinty eyed and grinning the whole while like one of them chatterin' halloween skulls that they used to sell in party favor mail order catalogs back then. Looked like a Chinese New year in that bunkhouse it did.
Now what needs to be pointed out here and wasn't known about till much later is like this. Doc. Rummy and Ms Condi and the other boys, including the boss hisself, even Uncle Karl, had been feeding that Hubris Bat moonshine and snake oil for quite some time leadin' up to the summer of 2003. Thats right. Sure enough that fuzzy swaggering Hubris Bat was in so many respects the Circle-SS outfits own sinister creation got to big for its own bunkhouse britches and gone AWOL from the usual chow time agenda. All that medication would of course explain the general all round fuzziness and swaggerin', but what none of em expected was for that bat to take up a natural hungerin' for Uncle Karl's precious bodily fluids. Ya see, that Hubris Bat looked down at Uncle Karl just layin' there in his bunk as a kind of natural occurin' in-house source of nourishment. Uncle Karl, just a layin' right there in his top bunk all pulpy and bloated, distillin' his own potent mash of white lightnin'. Yes sir, that old bat had simply got tired of waitin' for Doc. Rummy to return with the fix and instead had tapped into Uncle Karl for a early summer evenin' eye-popper.
So what I'm gettin' at here is this: that in a manner of speakin', that fuzzy swaggerin' Hubris Bat had simply done what Hubris Bats naturally do, he'd come on home to feast.
[end of Part 2: Next - Paulie Jug-Ears and the tinder box full of tip-fiddle tunes.]
Where was I? Oh yeah....that Big Hubris Bat was feedin' on Uncle Karl and that woke up GW who was a hootin' and a yellin' and all manner a hell was comin' unleashed.
See: Part 1
Uncle Dick, that train robber fella with the crooked smile, near jumped outta his long-johns and was-a-flailin' all about all wild like and swingin' a graphite fly rod at the rafters where that big angry bat, which had givin up gnawin' on Uncle Karl was a flapping around in the strips of flypaper and a squawkin' and a squeakn' and generally pretty much making a big noisy fuss. Then Barney the little dog come a runnin' out from under a bed and commences running around the strategery table yappin' and yelpin' and snappin' at Uncle Dicks heels. That jug-eared fella they called Paulie Jug-Ears was slid over to Uncle Karl by then and was pullin' on Uncle Karls boots to try to wake him up while at the same time trying to keep low to the floor because of that crazy bat and Uncle Dicks fishin pole harassments and interdiction efforts. That Tom Delay local fella was there too. He'd been invited to sleep over with the boys and was now hoppin' around the room like a big flea with a silver wash basin on his head and a can of oven cleaner in one hand while trumpetin' dire warnins' of Kingdom Come and black fiends and messengers of the final days and other such bombastic hooplah, all the while dispatchin' poisonous oven cleaner emissions all over the earthly place like it was a aerosol can of caustic press releases. That Tom feller was, as they say, somewhat touched. If ya know what I mean. I seen that Colin Powers fella too...sittin' in a corner hollerin' at a telephone...trying to get through to Ms. Condi up at the big house to ask her bout some bat-shit he found in his own bunk. Ms Condi and Ms Karen and Ms Laura was up at the main house and were set to study that Antique Roadshow program on the TV. That was that free comminus TV channel show that was very popular back in them days so they weren't interested in hearin' 'bout any bat-shit in the bunkhouse what with Bolshevik nick-nack speculators running rough-shod over the antique nick-nack marketplace and all.
I didn't see that Don Rumsfeld feller right then. Apparently Rummy, "Doc. Rummy" they called him, had run off to fetch some moonshine over at Grover's Grove at some unforetold hangdog location before all the foretold foregone excitment even first started or didn't, who can say, and I don't know when he left but he soon came a scamperin' back with a shotgun under one arm and one of those handy propane blowtorches on his hip and a pint of swamp root tucked in his right-side coat pocket. Doc. Rummy, not one to waste time with overly elaborate prognostications, summed up the situation right quick and immediately loosed a barrage of demonstrative deterrence into the rafters and blew out all the bunkhouse overhead lights which threw out all kinds of sparks and set the wiring to popping and fizzling and generally compoundin' problems even further, all the while jawin' about whats good for what ails ya and pre-emptive actions and surgical strike capabilities and other healin' and pacification measures. Doc. Rummy, squinty eyed and grinning the whole while like one of them chatterin' halloween skulls that they used to sell in party favor mail order catalogs back then. Looked like a Chinese New year in that bunkhouse it did.
Now what needs to be pointed out here and wasn't known about till much later is like this. Doc. Rummy and Ms Condi and the other boys, including the boss hisself, even Uncle Karl, had been feeding that Hubris Bat moonshine and snake oil for quite some time leadin' up to the summer of 2003. Thats right. Sure enough that fuzzy swaggering Hubris Bat was in so many respects the Circle-SS outfits own sinister creation got to big for its own bunkhouse britches and gone AWOL from the usual chow time agenda. All that medication would of course explain the general all round fuzziness and swaggerin', but what none of em expected was for that bat to take up a natural hungerin' for Uncle Karl's precious bodily fluids. Ya see, that Hubris Bat looked down at Uncle Karl just layin' there in his bunk as a kind of natural occurin' in-house source of nourishment. Uncle Karl, just a layin' right there in his top bunk all pulpy and bloated, distillin' his own potent mash of white lightnin'. Yes sir, that old bat had simply got tired of waitin' for Doc. Rummy to return with the fix and instead had tapped into Uncle Karl for a early summer evenin' eye-popper.
So what I'm gettin' at here is this: that in a manner of speakin', that fuzzy swaggerin' Hubris Bat had simply done what Hubris Bats naturally do, he'd come on home to feast.
[end of Part 2: Next - Paulie Jug-Ears and the tinder box full of tip-fiddle tunes.]
