Gut Rumbles
 

November 05, 2007

Notes from the homefront

Originally published June 3, 2004

Katie, the Fertile Rottweiler, is down to two puppies now. Somebody took "Brownie," an alpha male, and the two leftovers are brown females. All the ones who looked like genuine Rotties went pretty quickly.

Henry got kicked out of his house by the darling wife, came over to the Crackerbox in search of beer, told me his sob story, but charmed his way back in one day later. That guy makes ME feel sane.

I haven't seen THE JOGGER for a while now. Maybe the running bastard dropped dead of a heart attack the way Jim Fixx did on his way to perfect health.

The FAT LADY might not be singing, but she's walking several times up and down the road every day. She does that ridiculous power-walking thing that makes me want to run over her with my truck. Maybe she ate THE JOGGER. (Side note: never trust a woman with a belly bigger than her tits.)

A grackle attacked me in my back yard today, then had the nerve to hang around and squawk at me. I shot his ass dead with my pellet rifle.

I don't trust one of my neighbors. He has three things going against him. His ass is wider than his shoulders, he smokes brown cigarettes and he has an electric lawn mower.

I have an Effingham County sheriff's deputy living on my street. He knows me by name. I'm not certain whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I ate lunch at Weisenbacker's Restaurant today after my visit to the dentist. I must be going there too often. As soon as I sat down, the waitress came to me and said "The Killian's Red is on tap again, Rob." That tap has been broken for a couple of weeks, and that's what I always ask for. I had a Killian's, with a meal of BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes, fried okra and corn and tomatoes. It was good and I tipped my waitress generously.

I cut my grass. And I didn't use an electric lawn mower.

As you can tell, it doesn't take much to excite me anymore. That's one of the reasons I love living in Effingham County, Georgia.

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