Press Secretary

 

Here it is. Black. Lesbyterian. French.

Putin Quakes,

LSP

Taking Care Of Business

 

Ye Olde Meth Shack

Life at the Compound follows a rhythm, a pattern, and it all starts with a measured stroll to the Pick 'n Steal (PNS) via the Meth Shack. The shack's fallen on hard times, sadly, as you can see from the photo. Gone are the halcyon days of shirtless tweakers in filthy pajama bottoms decorating the porch. They're gone, along with much of the porch itself. Who knows, maybe the crew of Mexicans who've been, ahem, fixing the place up will achieve their goal.

We can but hope. In the meanwhile, a lone picker shuffled in the Shack's pecan grove, searching for nature's bounty. Good luck to him, may your harvest be plentiful. Ag exemption in mind I moved on to the Steal where, lo and behold, gas is only 3.59 a gallon. Get it while you can, kids.

Picka

One PNS coffee refill later and a pack of Marlboro Lights I was back at the patrol base and saying Morning Prayer. 1928 BCP version, thank you very much and you can get it online here. Then, no sooner was the Divine Office finished than a barrage of emails from lawyers and realtors came flooding in.

Upshot? Go to a notary, affidavit in hand. But the notary's shut because... who knows, it just is. Drive over to Land & Title, "How you doing!" what a cheery receptionist, "Good! How about you?" "I'm good, what can we do for ya?" Well, they couldn't notarize a document but they sure wanted to and were helpful as they could be. I thanked God for putting me in a Texan country town and headed over to Don Tutor's Bail Bonds.

Good People

"Hi, I recognize you from Bible Study at El Con! (an unreconstructed TexMex restaurant) What can we do for you?" So helpful, just notarize this document, please, and she did, free of charge. "What part of England you from?" I replied "London" and learned she wanted to go to Manchester, where she has an email friend. "Watch out," I admonished, "They call it Gunchester," and then felt bad, "Don't worry, you'll be alright." Good for her, so excited to visit England.

UK readers of this important mind blog, if there are any, take note: Many, many Americans hold the Sceptered Isle in very high regard, they really do. So don't scorn your brothers and sisters across the Atlantic, it's an unpleasant, snobbish and beastly trait. Just saying.

Bonds aside, go back to the Compound to regroup, eat a slice of bread because fasting and get blitzed by lawyers and realtors over the information superhighway. Think Russian Shock Army moving on the Karkov Front. We withstood the offensive, nice work team, and then Canada called, "Can you send some... :("  I resisted the urge to ignore this threat in the hope it'd somehow go away and instead replied, "Hold fire, I'm trying to sell a ranch. Offers coming in, good offers."

Walmart

And so they were, result. Realtor O Group over, head to Walmart and this town's send money to the world desk (please, Canada, work this out online). The young woman who handled the transaction was friendly as you like but aghast at gas prices, "Just seen 4 bucks a gallon, 81 million people voted for that, what's gonna happen when it's $5 a gallon or 8?" I thought about that and looked her in the eye, which was hard because of all the piercings, "Maybe smart people have ammo, right?" She gave a dyed blonde grin and agreed, yet another friendly country person.

Then back to the Compound for Vespers. Question, is it just me or is the tenor of daily life becoming increasingly off-hook?

Stand Steady,

LSP