Don’t come to diner at my house, unless you bring something to share. Otherwise, you are an unwelcome guest.

Over the years, I have certainly had some strange visitors. In the old days, I had all of these Arabs with bad accents lurking around me.

They always seemed to have big plans, like, really big plans for the future. Like, getting al gassed up in a bar, and picking up ‘young American girls,’ for whom ‘sex was like transaction at bank,’ and other insightful ethnographic observations.

Or, sometimes, they had ways to encourage me to become a better tax payer, like maybe I was interested in stinger missiles, or yellow diamonds? No? How about you just tell me who might want to make some money? No?

O.K., then, here, I buy you drink.

Then, at the end of the night, I would notice that my notebooks full of poetry, and other writings had disappeared. Yeah, I know–never bring your personal work to work and all.

Well, nevermind–that was over ten years ago. I felt so Abscammed in those days, I couldn’t even point a finger at who might have taken these things–or who it was left what where. And I became mentally exhausted, wondering why I was so interesting to so many Arabs with bad accents.

But I DID learn who it was that I did not want to invite to diner–but they came anyways! For decades! They would show up, unannounced, and furtively assess my fixin’s. At times, they would take apiece of pie, only to return it months later–as if I wouldn’t notice a missing slice; or, take the whole enchilada, and never return it (some of those enchiladas were kept so long and without cause that they rotted! But even then, they never returned them)…

Well–I got so tired of it all, that I put up a ‘you are not welcome here’ sign.

But most of them speak such poor Arabic that they were only second rate at reading English too.

So, as promised last night, here is a picture or two of yet another unwelcome guest who ate more than their share, and left messes behind them:

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LIfe is a series of traps and pitfalls. Wherever there is one animal waiting in wait, there is another animal waiting for them to stop waiting-or something like that. MAybe, just picture a big fish with its mouth open, about to bite the tail of a littler fish in front of him. Then, picture an even BIGGER fish, behind that one! What does that make the big fish? Yup–the man in the middle. I mean-the fish in the middle, and that one is kind of stinky–needs some airing out, I think. But this coon smelled even worse than that! Like, sewers, combined with rotten fish, combined with Goricke’s breath at the Country Bar in 2011!

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This little coons bark is in every way, as bad as it’s bite. I respect what is respectable-and no way would I ever tangle with a raccoon if I didn’t have to. Some people think once you catch a coon, you have to put a .22 round in its ear, which I think is kind of cowardly–because a .177 will do just fine. But real he men–like me–catch and release them, because they are natural scavengers who contribute to a healthy ecosphere. BUT–I did hose her down real good to disorient her first–and to wash of that foul odor! Then, I took her to the dog park, and let her out where maybe, just maybe, she will meet your dog, off leash without a permit.

 

 

 

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