Tuesday, November 15. 2016

I’ve asked before; Are you tired of the election yet?

Heh, heh.

The moon was suppose to be big and bright and all of one hundred and ninety odd thousand miles away.

It was kinda like the last time I saw it like that – not much change other than the features blurred out and the man hid his face.

One nice thing about all that light at night though, it brought out the little twerps. You know, the eighteen year olds that didn’t have home work or any work for that matter.

I had one of the barking dotgs come around the corner of the shed this morning about two-thirty a.m. and he was rather surprised to see me. He should have been, I went to great lengths to make sure he would be.

Our conversation was short, ugly and not friendly at all. He did say somewhat about zombies getting in the middle of my stuff.

To which I simply shook my head and asked him had he not heard that a defense  for zombie attacks had been found and deployed.

He being young and stupid, he asked what the defense was and I told him.

Maggots, says I.

Then I asked him wasn’t that his words for the police?

He didn’t come back last night. One of the yapping dogs came around by didn’t stop. Barking dog lives down south and yapping dog lives in the trailer park up north.

_________

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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