All Entries in the "Featured Peeks" Category
House Republican Yard sale:
April 10 – May 31: Uncompahgre National Forest, Rio Grand National Forest, Gunnison National Forest (silent bidding only please) plus household goods, children’s swings, toys, transmission for 1958 Edsel, used bed sheets, washer and dryer. No sales before 9 am. No phone calls.
New Eastwood Film Shot in Gunnison
(Jack’s Cabin) An internationally acclaimed script about Siberian prison guards training here appears to be headed for the silver screen. Directed by Clint Eastwood, who, according to a Harris Poll, is the nation’s most popular movie star, the film chronicles the lives of several Russian soldiers who trained in the Gunnison Valley for winter military duty in Siberia.
The story begins prior to World War I with czarist prison guards bivouacked up Taylor Canyon on a frigid morning. It follows the strained relations of the Stalin years and ends up with a present day scenario featuring joint cooperation between former Cold War enemies.
“Running the gauntlet from back in the early Nineteenth Century,” synopsized Eastwood, “we watch as clean-shaven, godless Red Slavic hordes are transformed into clean-shaven, red-blooded anti-terrorist contingents secretly linked to NATO. It has all the elements of another blockbuster.”
When surveyed most Gunnison residents were not sure if the film was based on fact or simply a fictitious account.
“It will beat the hell out of watching the weather reports,” said one chilly well digger who lives in Antelope Hills.
“I’d go to more movies in the winter but it’s too cold to leave the house,” said another resident who sells ice.
Although admittedly far fetched the movie does offer a human side when former Soviet Naval forces, sent to Miami for rest and recuperation, riot when told they won’t be returning to Gunnison for two weeks. This scene is reminiscent of clips from Doctor Shiva showing disgruntled Russian soldiers returning home from the front in 1916.
-Small Mouth Bess
The Ersatz Presidency
A One-Act Play
We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming and detour from our usual exclusion of all things Trumpesque because of the overload of issues generated by his presence at the helm. Our policy has been no avoid giving the President attention just like one would do with a mad child.
Scene: The Tower of Babble in NYC
Richard Wagner’s “Dien its das Reich” is playing in the background.
Steve Bannon: No you don’t understand! The orange hair stays. It’s all part of the distraction. He needs to keep the hair. It is such a magnificent smoke screen and it keeps too much from going over his head. I demand he keep the hair!
Will Hurd (R-TX) “The wall is a 3rd century solution to a 21st Century problem”
Jeff Sessions: I tried to dye my hair orange to match the President’s mop but it came out a kind of fool’s gold color. Now will the rest of the Cabinet and House GOP follow suit?
Kellyanne Conway: The Democtars are listening to us on the microwave. The shipment of red ties arrives in the House tomorrow. Then we will see who is loyal and who is not by color of the noose around their necks.
John McCain: What about the Russian dressing? This is blue cheese.
Will Hurd (R-TX) “The wall is a third century solution to a 21st Century problem”
Ted Cruz: What’s that? I missed it. I was talking to God.
God: “Why do you act like this Ted?
Why do you tell the sheep that you talk to me.
We have never talked. You are a hateful fake
Donald “Don’t Call Me Don” Trump: We appear to have accidentally pulled federal funding from FOX NEWS. It’s fantastic!
Mike Pence: My heart is with the GOP. I await my ascendency. My eyes are on my bank account. My soul is in an Indianapolis dumpster.
Ivanka Trump: Buy my line at Wal-Mart
Steve Bannon: Can I borrow some shampoo? I left mine in the War Room. Why is do I look like a wino? Why is my hair always dirty?
All: Trumpty Dumpty Putin and Lie, grabbed the girls and made them cry.
THE END
Ancient Bones Are Biscuits and Gravy
(Gunnison) What at first appeared to be ancient artifacts, possibly the bones of an Anasazi warrior, has turned out to be no more than petrified biscuits and gravy according to archaeologists here. The dig, centered in the area of W Mountain, will continue for another five years in the hopes of discovering more.
Scientists, who have been carefully extracting pieces of the puzzle from the rocky soil above Gunnison, were not thwarted by the laboratory findings.
“We have become accustomed to frustrations out here in the field,” said one digger. “Why just last year in Delta we thought we’d exhumed an ancient Ute canning operation but it turned out to be an abandoned Plymouth.”
Sources at Western State University insist that the dig continue adding that artifacts lend credence to theories that the Anasazi were not able to manipulate cholesterol levels and that, in short, they generally ate whatever ran across their path.
Although the quality and taste of the biscuits and gravy will not be known until the lab report is completed, conjecture here has it that the Ancient Ones made their own buttermilk biscuits and brewed a sort of gravy from buffalo milk and the excesses of smoked sausage.
After primary examination, the content of the gravy seems to match up with the consistency of a favorite trench mortar used to construct the Cliff Palace at Mesa Verde. This theory too, will be subject to the laboratory report.
“A regular diet like this may lead us to answers that have eluded us in the past,” said one scientist, “and once and for all determine the actual demise of an entire civilization.”
Tourists are asked to stay clear of the excavation site until about 2040.
– Melvin O’ Toole
Another Wall Story III
(Ed note: In the following segment the reader may notice different sounds accompanying different flat tires. This could have to do with the blazing hot asphalt or maybe it’s what I remember the sounds to be.)
My Chevy pickup died in Galveston. It sounds like a country song but it was real. I had driven down here to go to the wedding of a good friend and the truck, which had been so reliable in the past, suddenly had turned on me.
There was nothing left to do but stick out my thumb in the muggy Texas heat on lovely Interstate 10. I quickly got a ride in a semi to the town of Gonzalez where Willie Nelson just happened to be having a party. It looked like a pleasant detour especially when I saw the line-up of Ernest Tubb. Kris Kristofferson. Rita Coolidge, Jerry Jeff Walker, Leon Russell, Ray Wiley Hubbard, George Jones plus Willie and Waylon Jennings and more.
After two days of beer, blood and music I left Gonzalez and headed back on the asphalt. In just moments a rough, epoxied 1970 ford Galaxy pulled over. The driver had a sizzled flat tire and we started talking while he attempted to patch it. His name was Carlos. His family came from somewhere in Sonora and he lived in San Antonio where I had hoped to stay for the night.
With the tire repaired we headed west. I had noticed that all the other tires (Carlos had no spare of course) looked like prophylactics. Soon, from my shotgun seat, everything appeared in order but that was not to be.
“Pop!” There went the rear tire on the driver’s side and the car crawled to the side of the road again. “Damn” cursed Carlos who looked at me half laughing and half crying. “I should have brought a spare.”
We removed the tire and Carlos went into Sequin, Texas to have it repaired. I sat in the paltry shade of a solitary mesquite tree, like a feeble middle finger reaching for the sky. Its’ sun-scorched limbs defiantly gasped for life while I attempted to stay out of the sun. I still had my broken down white Stetson that some woman had given me at Willie’s deal. It looked stupid this was no fashion show.
“You don’t have to stay here and wait for me,” he smiled.
“Someone has to watch the car while you are in town,” I said.
“Why?” he asked. “It’s not going anywhere. Only a crazy person would steal it”
In about an hour he returned and found me still there. We installed the newly patched tire and went on our way. Before long we were approaching Santa Clara and a distinct wobble began to emerge from under the car.
“It’s just the drive train or maybe the transmission,” said Carlos. “I’m not too worried. We are almost there.”
As the skyline of San Antonio came into view another loud Whop was detected over the blasting radio. Now Carlos was pissed…Three flats in 120 miles! We went through the same charade as before with Carlos taking the flat to a gas station on Yucca Street near Artesia.
I waited, keeping an eye out for the many thieves that would love to steal his beat-up wreck with bad tires. He returned in the company of a mechanic he knew from high school who frowned and lent him a spare. We were then in San Antonio.
“Do you like enchiladas? he asked.
“Yes, very much I replied.
“Good. We we’ll go to my parents’ house for dinner. He pulled over to a phone booth and called his family to announce he was bringing a guest to dinner.
Arriving at his home I met his mother and father and feasted on chili rellenos, refried beans, fresh tortillas and cheese enchiladas. He told them of our adventures and they shook their heads and stared at him like he was nuts. His mother insisted I eat more and, not wanting to create a negative cultural incident I downed another enchilada. It was now dark.
“I will give you a ride to the river where you can find a hotel,” he said. “This neighborhood is no place for you after dark.”
To my great relief he borrowed his father’s car and drove me downtown to the San Antonio River. In just moments I heard “Where y’all going?” sweetly sang out. That’s when I met two exotic dancers who invited me home, but that is another story.
