that bird had an attitude problem.

I found a red tail hawk loitering on top of a Honda in the alley paralleling the main street through town just behind the old casino and bowling alley, behind that shop where the mean basset hound used to live at-large, now those crackheads are raising 2 white cats and a decrepit 16’ Boston whaler. 

Anyway, this hawk was shitting on top of the car with gray feathers scattered about the alley this morning.  I got out of the truck and said, “hey, what are you doing?”  The hawk shit on the car again, looked toward one of the room doors from that motel where tourists don't stay, and flew onto the power lines above the alley. 

Then, next to the motel room door that opens into the dumpster section, I observed an injured, suffering pigeon in a small metal can trying to hide behind some kind of poorly maintained plant and some scrap lumber. 

The hawk looked down at me from the phone wires, and was all, like, “yeah?” 

I thought about issuing him a Notice Of Violation for 597.1 (Failure to Provide Adequate Veterinary Care) and gave it 30 minutes to comply- either dispatch the pigeon or show me a receipt from a licensed vet that it had sought medical attention for the pigeon. 

I went back about 45 minutes later and couldn't find either the pigeon or the hawk.  There were more feathers on the road though.  I’ll look for that hawk tomorrow, I know where he hangs out.  I’m all about nature taking its course but that bird had an attitude problem.

this is why my wife makes me have my own bathroom.

Today I had a normal day at work, wearing long plastic blend pants with lots of stuff in my pockets and other heavy stuff hanging on my belt, and it was about a hundred degrees F outdoors while I was walking around a lot.  I don't know if the internet will let me say it out loud, but my balls were sweating, a lot.  To the point that when I was getting in and out of my truck I noticed smeared moisture on the vinyl seat.  (spell vinyl, 3 times, fast.)

Fine.  I get off work, I go home, I go into the shower and before I get started I notice that the soap bar I used to have in there is small.  Like, Trident Whitening Gum small.  I’m thinking, hmm. I need more soap, before I get started. So I go into The Bride’s bathroom, where she’s got everything.  (Everything.) I find a medium sized brick that is white and covered in some crispy type of glasine wrapping.  (No, The Bride is not involved in the importing or exporting of narcotics, relax.  It’s some kind of soap.)

So I bring the brick into my bathroom, unwrap it and wash my stuff.  It smells nice.  It smells expensive.  My stuff gets clean.  I’m pleased; I had dog urine on me, cat feces on me, fluids from a couple of different DOAs (one for sure was a rabbit, another could have been a sea gull) and I spent some time talking up close to a woman who I think was on meth and lived near a bush. Wow, this soap is working out well.  I think I burned through the logo on the bar before I realized it was a fucking $15 bar of soap that is from France or some place like that and was to be treated like furniture.  

The Bride isn’t home yet so, so far, so good.  I think I’m going to do some laundry now and chuck the rest of the brick into the machine with a white load.