This ain't a reality show

Since hundreds of people have told me my life deserves a reality show and tens have told me to shut the fuck up and die, I figured I'd make everyone happy and tell most of the mundane shit that happens in my life here. It seems to delight some and infuriate others to the point of irrational hatred and wishing a pox on my first born. Chances are those of y'all wishing for a reality show are never going to get one, so this is the next best thing.

But first I had to wait for something, anything, to happen that would even be worth writing about and thankfully it didn't take long.

I went down to the barn today to check and see just what I had down there that is going to need to be moved if and when my father's widow sells the land. I was greeted by a smell that can only be described as a combination of diesel, fertilizer, and apples.

What the fuck?

This is a barn full of old equipment. The diesel and fertilizer can be explained, but apples? It honestly smelled like I'd kept my tractor in there and in my absence it had shit fertilizer, and pissed diesel all over the floor after running over a Mexican selling a 20lb bag of apples at a Southern California intersection.

After a few minutes of scratching my head (And my balls, because...well, because I am a guy and I scratch my balls when I can't think of anything better to do) it finally hit me. I'd stored 5 bottles of corked homemade cider down there. I went over to where they'd been placed and found 5 nearly empty bottles of homemade cider.

Hmmmm.

Hobos are not a real problem in this place, so it had to be woodland creatures. I put on my detective hat (Not literally, I just turned my Ole' Miss baseball cap backwards so I didn't miss any clues.) I found two corks that had apparently popped and 1 with tiny tooth marks in it. Clearly this was not the work of a homeless drifter unless he had a mouthful of fucked up baby vampire teeth. Using deductive reasoning I quickly asserted that this was indeed a stupid, furry critter with the ability to hoist a bottle and drain the contents. If it had been a deer it would've got its rack stuck in something after drinking that poison and stomped the bottles with it's devil like hooves to open them, which is not a very good plan if you want to get away with stealing a hillbilly's booze.

I was to late to fire off indiscriminate shots hoping to blow the bloody fuck out of the robbers, but it warms the cockles of my heart to know that somewhere out there in the woods is a family of raccoons, skunks, or possums with pounding headaches and retching their guts out like a donkey giving birth to a tractor.

I picture momma critter saying to poppa critter "Dude! What the (Blragh...as a stream of vile homemade wine is violently ejected from her digestive system) fuck?

Welcome to my world you little fuzzy thieves.

Besides that, how awesome would it be if a possible main ingredient in hillbilly stew referred to each other as "Dude?"