Going Home

Stumbled upon this interesting book while browsing around AR15.com. It and book two have been downloaded to my Kindle.


I'm fairly certain I'll like it. 

Think about it. Click here.


Stephen

New Survavilist Magazine

At your local newsstand (if you still have such near you) this August.

Information, here.

For those of you below the age of ten you will probably refer to this magazine as a 'Prepper' magazine  So be it. I'm still old school.

Stephen

Jesus and a Saline Drip

She just wouldn't shut her mouth. Every five seconds it was, "I gots Jesus. You hear me man, I gots Jesus. Bless the Lord, Jesus is coming and I'm his friend and f*ck you anyway you motherless child of God."

Over and over. Loud. She made my head hurt. She was a certified meth-head.

I was in emergency room two. The crazy drugged out woman occupied room three. I was trapped with her for over four hours. Sweet Wife kept me company.

My nice little attending nurse smiled at me and said, "She has issues."  I replied, "You think."

Sweet Wife didn't crack a smile. She was worried; she'd insisted the medics give me a thousand dollar cab ride to the world of horrors. Sweet Wife was also the reason half my chest had been dry shaved for the leads and horrible sticky attachment points, and it was her worry which lead to the saline drip. I explained this to the nurse. Nurse said, "Of course, she loves you." Like that.

I'm fine.

Yesterday, as I mentioned to Rev. Paul, I had yard work, chores, to complete. I dug a few holes, fixed a few sprinkler heads, and then trimmed hedges. Not long after Sweet Wife arrived home from church she joined me in the yard. We enjoyed typical Florida weather, hotter than Hades and very humid. Then, after I dipped to grab a handful of leaves and brush, I darn near fainted. Pain followed. I quietly excused myself and went inside.

The pain increased, then spread its insidious way across the back of my shoulders and down my arms. I took my very first self administered nitro tablet and an aspirin...took a sip of water and tried to dry my sweaty body. Then I said a silent prayer and asked the Lord to take care of my wife. Hey, I'm way of ahead of the game. If it's my time, I'll take the stairway.

She found me in the bathroom, and a few minutes later dialed 911. They gave me the long ride. I hate hospitals.

The woman in room three screamed again, and again.  I turned to the nurse, "I'm fine now, release me." She simply smiled. Sweet Wife gave me, 'The Look.'

The nurse stuck another needle in me and said, "I'm sorry. We can't release you. You must stay until the doctor sees you."

The crazy drug fueled Jesus loving democrat screamed. And screamed. And screamed. I searched my pocket for the little Old Timer knife. Found it. Hey, emergency rooms are dangerous.

Finally the doctor arrived. He was younger than my socks. Said, "Acute renal failure."

I said, "Let me out of here."

The woman screamed, "I gots Jesus oh yes I do. You hear me, bitch, I gots Jesus."

The doctor grimaced, and I'm fairly certain he wanted to suck on his thumb. I jerked a few wires from my chest and began to cut the pulse monitor from my finger. My Old Timer is very sharp.

Sweet Wife and the nurse were not amused.

From room three I heard a yell for security. Jesus had arrived and the crazy lady wanted to ride her meth high to heaven and kick ass. She yelled, "Me and Jesus gonna kick your ass motherf^ucker." I believed her...

They asked me to sign a 'against medical advice release form.' I said, "No." Then, "Well, then, we advise you have a stress test within three days." I glanced at Sweet Wife, sighed, and lied, "Sure."

Like that. Hour later I'm walking to the car.

Like I said, I hate hospitals.

Stephen

Oh, Baby

Come to Papa...

Recipe, here.

If, and it's a big if, I finish my outside chores early and am able to remove the dirt and grim quickly, this wonderful desert will find its way to my table this evening.

Our markets are currently filled with fresh strawberries. Ya'll come.

Stephen

Out of the Wash

This morning I walked into the family room to find this.

A pile of freshly washed cash. It worked. The money smells just fine. Guess it'll take me a bit of time to sort, straighten, and stack but at least it doesn't stink.

Now I must excuse myself. The yard awaits and I have a few irrigation sprinklers to either repair or replace and my gutters need attention. Truthfully, I'd rather just kick back and read all day, but you and I both know that isn't possible.

Later, and hey, be careful out there.

Stephen

Laundered Cash

He came in and asked about the Remington shotgun, an 870 and she was a beauty. The moment he fondled her stock and racked the slide I knew he was hooked.

"You can't come off the price just a little, can you?"

I glanced away to take in the beautiful weather. We've had good strong winds and I wanted so badly to be outside. I gave him a smile, "No, my friend. I'm sorry, but I've cut the price to the bone as is and you know she's worth at least three hundred more than my asked price."

As he stroked the Remington I daydreamed of fishing poles and a kid with a battered tin can of wigglers and a long lost creek of cool tannin stained water and the heavy pleasant pull of redbreast and bluegills. Again, he interrupted with, "Stephen, hey Stephen."

"Sorry. What?"

"I'll take it. Listen, is it okay with you if I run to the ATM? I haven't got enough cash."

I said, "Sure."

Nice fella. Half way to the door he turns with, "Hey, Stephen. Listen, would you be willing to take two hundred in one dollar bills? Thing is, I save money by never spending my ones. I just throw them into a box at home. Kinda of my way of saving for a rainy day. I'll pay the rest in twenties. Is that okay with you?"

I thought it over for all of two seconds. "Sure, cash is cash." Like I said, he's a nice man. His son is currently humping the ground of Afghanistan, a Marine. The 870 is a gift to his son upon his return.

He leaves. I returned to my daydreams. About an hour later he walks in with a cardboard box and dumps a pile of cash on me...and I do mean dumps. Thing is the moment he removed the lid from the box this smell, this arid acid tinged odor of aged cigarette damn near slapped me to the ground. I gagged, literally.

I'd overlooked the fact the buyer smoked. So, there I stood with a pile of loose cash. My friend and I shake hands and he leaves with his shotgun and I turn to this pile of, well, stink. Fast forward a few hours and I walk into the house and set my satchel on the kitchen counter. I remove the bundle of money and instantly our kitchen is overwhelmed with the stink. Sweet Wife isn't happy.

We discuss my bad judgement and before I can blink I'm pushed into the laundry room. She has a firm grip on her nose. She hands me an old pillow case, points towards the dryer and gives me a few sheets of fabric softener. I bundle the bills inside, tie a knot and throw the mess into the dryer. Didn't work.

I hope, I mean I really hope, the cash makes it through the washing cycle without damage....

Stephen  

Duke

My good friend and handcuff companion, Duke, beat me to the punch.

Please, sally forth and read.

I must deal with a few problems before I return to write something of substance. With your gracious blessings and patience I shall return soon.

Stephen