Sunday, July 03, 2016

All rheumy eyed and tired to the bone.

The weekend of firecrackers and stupid. The under/over thirty silly shits were out in the bar ditches and the ball field with their latest paychecks in cardboard boxes of go bang stuff.

They started about the time the NASCAR race started and finished just after the rains started. Well, sometime after the rains started, and that was about an hour after the race finished.

THEN: Ah, yes. Then. Then they jumped into their trucks and cars, onto their four wheelers and whizzed up and down the road without light. Yup. In the rain, no lights, throwing firecrackers as they went by the house.

Until the inevitable happened. One lightless car went head on with a lightless truck in a game of unplanned chicken and the car blinked. Wet road, wet grass. The car jerked, off the road he went, into the five foot drop to the run-off water, down two hundred feet of sloppy grass —

Into my pasture creek and into my pasture fence. He wiped out twenty five feet or so  of fence. Broke some T-poles, snapped wire and generally made a mess of the area.

Then, I got to temporarily fix barbed wire fence, in a thunder and lightening storm, knee deep in water after the local wrecker got the car out of the barr ditch.

I’d call all dopers SOB’s but I’m told it is politically incorrect to call anyone with an addiction names; cause, after all, it ain’t their fault.

Yup. Neither was their birth.

Permanent repairs will have to wait the Co-Op opening Tuesday. Just like I planned the week.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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