I was just reading an article I randomly came across, discussing the phenomena of ball lightning. Suddenly, I had a flashback to a memory from when I was maybe seven, eight years old, playing outside in good ol’ Fruitland, New Mexico, and I saw a flash of what I now think was this ball lightening, maybe five or ten feet in front of me. TRIPPY… I remember it freaking me out at the time, and making me all tingly and whatnot.
I’m pretty sure this is a real memory that got knocked loose up there, and not some subconscious fabrication to pass the time. But, with my brain, “pretty sure” is probably 50% at best. I mean, I can’t even be certain that an awkward conversation I had a few days ago with some dude in a lab coat about the domes outside Phoenix was real or just a dream that I had, or just me talking to myself in my mind.
Why are we even doubting the woodchucking capabilities of woodchucks? Are there woodchucks out there that can’t perform this task? Because, if so, I feel like they shouldn’t even be called woodchucks at all…
Fevered, purposeful growling. The thunderous boom of paws quaking the ground. Unmistakable commotion. Looking out, I notice Herman trying to get at something on top of the fence in the backyard, so I go out to investigate. Come to find there is a pigeon perched calmly atop the fence, mere inches from his savage, clamping jaws (dude can JUMP).
Wondering why the bird doesn’t fly away, I look closer, thinking perhaps it decided to construct a nest at this precarious and exposed location. Finding nothing, I decide the bird must be hurt, and try to distract the Herminator away to leave the poor fowl in peace.
Herms, in classic obsessive compulsive fashion (he is my boy, through and through), can’t break his focus from this feathered intruder for more than a moment at a time. Eventually, he gets a running start through the yard and flings the full weight of his body into the fence, his gaping maw snapping down furiously where that idiot dirt birt sat only seconds ago.
The fucking pigeon bastard was taunting Herman this entire time, only to finally take flight at the last possible moment. It is long gone into the crisp Wyoming sky, and now Herman is a beast possessed. He is obsessively combing the yard, circling around, leaping against the fence with head towards the sky, searching in singular purpose for that foul fowl which dared invade his space and raise his furious canine ire…
Not our feathered antagonist...
This reminds me of Molly Malone’s many dinosaur hunting expeditions in the feverish Arizona desert…
– I have that Thou song stuck in my head again.
– It’s a Nirvana song.
– Sure, but it’s the version Thou recorded that’s stuck in my head.
– Our head.
– Right. OUR head.
– Always is. Nirvana is catchy shit, even when DOOMED the fuck out.
– Hell, especially when DOOMED the fuck out!
– Blackened DOOM, they call it. DOOM sludge. Muck metal. Motherfucking swamp grind!
– Yeah…you ever wonder what would have happened had we gone to Tulane?
– We’d be dead. Just like every other scenario that isn’t this one. You always think this is the darkest timeline, but really it’s the best one.
– What if we’re dead now? Maybe we didn’t beat the train.
– Now don’t start that again!
– Hahahaha! Jungle Book is awesome…
Need anything else while I’m out and about?
Hmmm….a new attitude?
For me, or for you?
What if I only find one? Who should get it?
Or, I suppose we could split it four ways.
I don’t think it will be that expensive…
The new attitudes?
No, the handle. But it won’t come up on here. AAGHHH! Fuck it.
Yeah! Fuck it!