Pig Bait

Wheat field, with storm coming in, last year

It’s May. The weather is either FREEZING, WINDY HELL or hey, it’s warm out. Garden is planted, got a new blueberry plant to go with the one from last year.

So have been not writing that much. But. Have been thinking about it. Does that count? Yes, it does.

So saw this blip about Baker City, Oregon and how it’s now a sanctuary city against…wokeness. I. Um? Ahem. Not an Onion article or a satire piece in the sedate New Yorker. The mayor, with crazy glazed eyes, did an interview on Fuck It Fearnews. Where she blatted on about entire Pacific Northwest cities burning down, Antifa not welcome in Baker and…the usual bullshit you can hear from your red-hatted relatives. Seattle is gone? Portland is now just ashes? We’re kinda short on cities here in the Pacific Northwest. Eugene? Is it Eugene she’s shrilling about?

Yes, so!

This utter stinking lunacy gave me an IDEA. What if…what if someone deliberately trolled the red-hats, got them so wound up that one of them actually decided to ‘do something about it’. And it’s a trap. Baited with ‘go ahead, look me up, if you dare’ rhetoric implied. As Americans are off their damn rockers right now and do actually find people to shoot or run over or…Yeah, my brain, it just goes there.

Sometimes you have to take those wild ass far right news blips and turn them into horror tales for this post-modern trying to return to the actual fucking Dark Ages timeline we’re in now. Yeppity yep.

I am fully vaccinated. There’s that.

Been up since two. My brain is a swirly whirly sludge of huh? right now. But I noticed I had not posted for a while and hey, I do have a rough draft, two now, done of a short story I’m called Pig Bait. I rather enjoyed writing it. I haven’t enjoyed writing for a long time.

All righty! It’s gorgeous outside so I need to obsessively check my seedlings and yank the sprinkler to a dry spot. All my flower seeds sprouted! The cat is also doing well. In case you were worried. You know who you are.

The War on Thanksgiving!

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Do those feathers like, um…? And that poor turkey is wearing a wig! Who designed this shirt?? I suspect someone who actually wants a war on Thanksgiving. 

From the Cranberry Hollow, right off the Punkin Knob

We have seen some rough fighting this past few run of days. Stovetop stuffing versus homemade, it got uglier and uglier, the survivors dazed and in need of cheer. We spent the night concocting pumpkin pie bombs, laced with cream cheese and whipped cream. But our hopes all rest with the forty pound turkey brother dragged to our fortress of buttered crescent rolls. May it sustain us through these hard hard times. #WarOnThanksgiving

Just off the coast of Gravy Boat Bay—

it’s quiet tonight. Too quiet. We suspect they are sneaking up to offer us deviled eggs and black olives skewered with tooth picks. To refuse might mean we give away our positions, but to choke down those deviled eggs means a total betrayal of all we believe in and hold dear. The struggle is real. The struggle is real. Do we hold true to who we are? It all seems so much dark meat tonight. Footsteps. I hear the rustle of holiday clothes and the clink of holiday dishes. Send me strength to see this through. #WarOnThansgiving

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Yeah, this isn’t a parody. I repeat, this is not a parody or the Onion. This is America’s alleged leader…promising we’ll still have Thanksgiving. Not parody. This is not parody.

Somewhere near the Marshmallow Yam Dish battlefield—

We approached the mound cautiously. It quivered. No one would go near it. It looks like something is suspended in the cloudy green interior. The horror we felt did not dissipate for several days. Our commander told us to buck up, it was only a damn Jell-O mold but we noticed our commander did not go near it, nor slice into it. We left it alone. It might be the biggest mistake we’ve made yet, but no one wishes contact with that quivery green horror filled with bits and pieces of God knows what. Someone whispered it was banana and peaches chopped up but surely not. A sinister pall falls over all of us these days. #WarOnThanksgiving

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Interior of Turkey Bone Fortress, off Drumstick Circle—

Today we lifted forks. It happened. Small talk nonexistent as we dug in with serious will. Many fell to the wayside after, curiously immobile and moaning while rubbing at bellies. Too much, too much, seemed the weary battle cry this day. #WarOnThanksgiving

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from Focus NM.