Part III


The 3rd Anniversary


Wow! Another September 15th has come and gone. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition! I shall forever hold September 15th very near and dear to my heart. It was my day of 'rebirth' so to speak. The day I cast away my shackles of misery and torment. Like that old poster used to say, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life". It was on that day back in 2000, that at precisely 12 noon (I planned it that way) I pulled out of the driveway, U-Haul in tow, of what had become my last cellblock in the Devil's Island of L.A. and Kalifornia. (That's not a typo by the way…. I just wished I knew how to make those backwards Russian "R's")


Ahhhh, yes. My how time flies when your living the good life in No Man's Land. Or as I affectionately call it now, "God's Country". And this ain't no fake or phony 'God's Country' Jack… This is the real deal here! Well, much has definitely changed between now and then! Lessee' here, I've increased my firearms collection by 300% and I've been learning how to hunt just about everything that moves (Sometimes, not much success, but that's all part of the learning curve, Grasshopper). I've also been learning how to skin and dress whatever I kill. Except skunks. As crazy as people think we are up here, nobody eats skunk. Well, at least guys who don't live like the Wildman of Borneo somewhere in the real backcountry don't. They might, but the rest of us don't. But I've also had Canadian geese (Pretty good!) and beaver (No jokes please...)
By the way, you've never, and mean NEVER had anything until you've had a wild turkey deep fried in peanut oil, or freshly killed BBQ lamb. MMMM-MMMMM GOOD!!!!
And for all you freekin' PETA freaks out there, yes I have no problem whatsoever blowing a huge hole in Bambi. (With a fountain of blood shooting out of it's nose... A good heart/lung shot) And I have no problem with ripping Bambi's guts out, tearing it's skin off, slicing it up in to steaks and eating it. Same thing goes for Thumper, Bugs, Daffy or Bullwinkle too. You should try it, it's gooooooood!

+ + =

(The "Silver Bullet" + The ol' Mosin Nagant + Bambi = Some mighty fine dinner!)

I've got a fairly decent job up here doing what I did in L.A. ….. Making water! Same ol' same ol', but what the hell… It's one of the few things I know how to do really well! Besides, It's really given me the chance to hone my skills on the backhoe. (You're not a real fucking man until you can operate a backhoe, ya sissy-shit) I can almost pick up a dime with one. (I've tried) Not to mention the very fine art of pushing snow around. (For those of you who have never had to do it, trust me, there IS a right way and a wrong way)
My eldest son is a freshman in high school (WHERE does the time go!!??) and played his 1st year of football in the 'big leagues'. Our team stunk this year, but they are a very young team.

I have however learned a few very important lessons here in the last 3 years.

No. 1 …. Unless you just cannot absolutely avoid it, never, EVER, let it be known that you're from Kalifornia. For the most part with most people, you'd be OK, but with some of the old timers, it's the freekin' Kiss Of Death. Now I just say I'm from Kalamazoo. Nobody knows where that's at.

No. 2 … And this has to do with No. 1 … After making the mistake of letting a few folk know where I was from, and even after being here for three years, there are some (Not a lot, but some) who will just not accept me. Holy shit, you'd think I was a 'brutha' in full gang tattoos showing up in town screaming "Where da' WHITE WIMMEN at??!!" But I have been able to win over a few of them by telling them "Hey… I'm FROM Kalifornia and I hate Kalifornians MUCH more than you do! Why do you think I got the hell out of there?" That works most of the time, but not all the time.

No. 3 …. The Indians up here are just as bad as the 'brutha's' from whence I came. A bunch of lazy fucks who feel that everything should be given to them and damn well want to know why, if it's not. Of course they have a huge money-cow (Casino) and they get a check …. Each and every one of them… Every month for doing absolutely fucking n-o-t-h-i-n-g. And you know what? They've actually laughed at guys like me for working for a living. Assholes. I won't even mention all the Indian kids who show up at school dressed like some 18th St. Crip and actually act like gangbangers. It's enough to make you want to start taking names and kicking asses. No matter though, because they'll be total alchoholics by the time they're 25 and be found on the roadside dead and frozen from passing out by an overload of 'firewater' in the middle of January. Then they get run over by logging trucks a few times for good measure.

No. 4 …. When you live in a small town, never EVER say anything that you don't want to be completely around town the next day. Because it will be. And you also have to be very careful even at that, what you say about anyone. Why? Because everyone is related to someone else in town. See what I mean?

Other than that…. Life couldn't be better! I mean, where else can you live where your front yard is a rifle range? Where there is food all over the place and all it costs is the price of one round of ammo and a little work? Where you can truly be surrounded by like-minded thinkers? Where nobody ever judges you by what you drive or where you live or how much money you make? Where the local mechanic at the local garage says "Yeah, well, I know money is a little tight now… Just pay me when you can. The keys are in your rig." The guy running the 'General Store' says "Hey… Thanks for coming out and helping me fix that leak last Saturday. Your coffee and doughnuts are free from now on."

Yup….. Doesn't get much better than that.
Screw the rest of the world.


Oh.... One more thing. Now that I'm up here, the rest of you need not apply. I mean it! Go on now..... GIT!!.