The pie tins are down and I'm back in my own bed, once again. Last night was fucking miserable. I woke up (on the couch, if you'll remember from our last episode) at about 3:30 as the wind was performing a tin-foil cymbal recital that was echoing throughout our largely furniture-less abode. I sat there for a solid two hours, wide-awake and doing my best pissed-off-Moe-from-the-Three-Stooges slow burn. I fell back to sleep sometime around 6:00, and was up for the day by 7. All in all a diarrhea-milkshake of a night.
I went around the side of the house, after I got up, and noticed that one strand of the tins had actually blown been blown off at some point, while the other was still clanging away. I zombie-walked to the garage, got out the ladder, climbed up and ripped the other strand off of its hook. The pie tin experiment was no more. In the end, no one was a winner, and I may never eat pie again.
We'll see if the bird comes back tomorrow morning. I sure hope it does, 'cuz I just got an e-mail confirmation that my Crosman VTS Vortex wrist-rocked has shipped, along with my box of 250 ct 1/4" b.b.'s. I think I may have crossed over to a potentially unsettling, yet ultimately fulfilling gray area of sanity. Perhaps a little of the Michigan-Nugent-mojo has seeped into my consciousness. I may just give myself over to it, and show that bird a little "Full Bluntal Nugity."
Hmm... I wonder if Amazon sells crossbows?