K7SGJ
12-17-2013, 10:04 PM
So...............it's a nice today, running near 80°. I decide to take the Polaris Ranger out for a spin in the desert. I'm out for a couple of hours, and on the way back, I see the cute, young, contract post office chick at my mail box. (You bet your ass I'd do her, but I digress) We chat for a bit and she hands me my mail. Bank statement, electric bill, insurance bill, black box, Christmas card, grocery flyer........WUT? Black box? WTF. It's not a large box, but it isn't tiny, either. It could hold a set of keys for a new car, certainly a nice dual band handheld; a coax switch maybe, or even a nice dual meter cross reading SWR meter. I didn't want to shake it too hard in case it was fragile. It was too small for a Red Ryder repeater BB gun, or a lamp in the shape of a leg, but Shirley, it could be a raspberry pi, or maybe a Ramsey kit. I think an Arduino interface project would possibly fit, or it could even be cash. It would be just right to hold a point and shoot camera, a gift card, or a new wallet. Although it was a bit small for laptop or even a tablet, a new I Phone would fit quite nicely.
I looked at the return address. and, as I scratched some of my Minnesota yellow jacket scars, it seemed vaguely familiar. Alabama.................. Alabama, damnit, who do I know in Alabama? Well, I'm sure there will be a note or something inside. I threw the Ranger in high gear, and punched it. I sped up the drive, slowing as I approached the curves, then accelerating through the curves, and flat out in the straights, just the way I learned ditching cops when I was younger. Oh.............the anticipation.........I could hardly wait. Twisting, turning, dodging the dogs, the goats, most of the chickens, (we had pollo fundidos tonight), and I was almost to the house. Oh boy, I just knew what ever was inside was going to be super neato. I slid the hot rod into the garage, shut down the engine, and dashed into the house.
A pair of scissors, a box cutter, a screwdriver, for Christs sake a fuckin church key, anything. I couldn't find nuthin to open the damn box. It was sealed tighter than Elvis's coffin. Why couldn't I find anything sharp. Then it occurred to me, the doctors told my wife to keep anything sharp hidden from me. The Bastids. Aha, I exclaimed I have it. I ran back down the road and grabbed the still and lifeless, but warm, body of one of the chickens that had the misfortune to cross the road. (I wonder why the chicken..................never mind) I jogged back to the house, and used the chicken claw to slice through the tape. I sliced, and I sliced, and I sliced, it must of cost 12 dollars US postage just for the Goddamned tape. Finally, the top of the box started to yield. I tossed the chicken over my left shoulder so I had use of both hands, in which I could cradle whatever wonder surprise was contained within the cardboard walls of that wonderful black box.
I held my breath as I slowly opened the lid, and there...............there was a bundle of bubble wrap that Shirley must be protecting something wonderful, precious, and delicate. I carefully lifted the bundle out of the black box and......................more fucking tape. Now where the hell did I leave that chicken? I looked out the window, and there it was. The object of a tug-o-war between the dogs. Shit, I ran back outside just in time to salvage a leg, with spur. Back inside I go to attack this latest barrier of sticky goo that was keeping me from the best surprise in the whole world. A mere 20 minutes later found me carefully unwrapping layer after layer of bubble wrap. As I unwound these sheets of tiny plastic cushions, it occurred to me, that whatever the secret to this mystery would be, it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute.
At long last. I finally arrived at object of my endeavor. It was colorful. And it had a button on the side of it. Oh boy.......Shirley it would reveal information about my wonderful treasure. Would it speak GPS coordinates to a secret hiding place, or the combination to a lock that secured wealth beyond my imagination? Slowly I squeezed it................................................ ..
1121211213
And it said "FUCK YOU.........FUCK YOU".
Let all who read this, rest assured, no one rat fucks the "rat". I promise you, "Desert Revenge" shall follow.
And to you Alabama Bob..............."FUCK YOU.........FUCK YOU" ............ I liked it better when you were in Minnesota.
I looked at the return address. and, as I scratched some of my Minnesota yellow jacket scars, it seemed vaguely familiar. Alabama.................. Alabama, damnit, who do I know in Alabama? Well, I'm sure there will be a note or something inside. I threw the Ranger in high gear, and punched it. I sped up the drive, slowing as I approached the curves, then accelerating through the curves, and flat out in the straights, just the way I learned ditching cops when I was younger. Oh.............the anticipation.........I could hardly wait. Twisting, turning, dodging the dogs, the goats, most of the chickens, (we had pollo fundidos tonight), and I was almost to the house. Oh boy, I just knew what ever was inside was going to be super neato. I slid the hot rod into the garage, shut down the engine, and dashed into the house.
A pair of scissors, a box cutter, a screwdriver, for Christs sake a fuckin church key, anything. I couldn't find nuthin to open the damn box. It was sealed tighter than Elvis's coffin. Why couldn't I find anything sharp. Then it occurred to me, the doctors told my wife to keep anything sharp hidden from me. The Bastids. Aha, I exclaimed I have it. I ran back down the road and grabbed the still and lifeless, but warm, body of one of the chickens that had the misfortune to cross the road. (I wonder why the chicken..................never mind) I jogged back to the house, and used the chicken claw to slice through the tape. I sliced, and I sliced, and I sliced, it must of cost 12 dollars US postage just for the Goddamned tape. Finally, the top of the box started to yield. I tossed the chicken over my left shoulder so I had use of both hands, in which I could cradle whatever wonder surprise was contained within the cardboard walls of that wonderful black box.
I held my breath as I slowly opened the lid, and there...............there was a bundle of bubble wrap that Shirley must be protecting something wonderful, precious, and delicate. I carefully lifted the bundle out of the black box and......................more fucking tape. Now where the hell did I leave that chicken? I looked out the window, and there it was. The object of a tug-o-war between the dogs. Shit, I ran back outside just in time to salvage a leg, with spur. Back inside I go to attack this latest barrier of sticky goo that was keeping me from the best surprise in the whole world. A mere 20 minutes later found me carefully unwrapping layer after layer of bubble wrap. As I unwound these sheets of tiny plastic cushions, it occurred to me, that whatever the secret to this mystery would be, it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute.
At long last. I finally arrived at object of my endeavor. It was colorful. And it had a button on the side of it. Oh boy.......Shirley it would reveal information about my wonderful treasure. Would it speak GPS coordinates to a secret hiding place, or the combination to a lock that secured wealth beyond my imagination? Slowly I squeezed it................................................ ..
1121211213
And it said "FUCK YOU.........FUCK YOU".
Let all who read this, rest assured, no one rat fucks the "rat". I promise you, "Desert Revenge" shall follow.
And to you Alabama Bob..............."FUCK YOU.........FUCK YOU" ............ I liked it better when you were in Minnesota.