small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: <strong>chicken shit</strong>

Saturday, May 8

chicken shit

Every time the heroine or hero of a scary movie hears a noise or spots a strange light off in the woods they have to go see what’s up. Some force compels them to investigate. Well, I’m here to tell ya, fuck that! No way, kiss my ass. I like to consider myself a brave man, but when it comes to unknown shit in the woods I know exactly what to do. Move rapidly in the opposite direction. I’ve been in over five or six thousand bar fights over a twenty year period, but I still have a problem watching scary shit on the TV. When some cat’s in front of me throwing a punch, that’s something I can see, feel, and react too. Something glowing and floating and humming to it’s self off in the woods is just wrong. Some time ago the government sent me to St. Louis and instead of taking the interstate I decided to take 50 highway which runs through the Mark Twain National Forest. I hit the national park after the sun had set.

I will never pull that crap again.

I’m now driving through the middle of a dark forest with nothing in sight but trees, trees, and more trees. I’m a city boy and these weren’t the friendly city trees I was used too. These muthafuckin trees were huge, and scary. I kept expecting Bigfoot to come jumping out at me. As the road curved and the headlights cut into the darkness, I could green and yellow glowing spots way off in the woods. The minds a funny thing cause I knew in my head that I was safe and all that. I knew that the glowing spots were nothing more then the headlights reflecting off the eyes of small animals, but it still fucked with me. I couldn’t help but think that as soon as I turned the next curve some giant hairy Sasquatch muthafucker was gonna show up in the headlights. That’s why I don’t go camping. Shitting in the woods ain’t no fun and getting punked out by bears and Yeti and other furry mean pieces of fur wearing beasties ain’t kosher either. I’ll pass up pussy to stay out of the woods. I have much admiration for the early settlers and hunters who traveled the land back in the day. But that was their gig, not mine.

As a kid I was always off in the woods crawling over rocks and shit like that. But now I’m an adult, and I know what the fuck’s up. Shit, I can see it now. I’m off camping in the middle of some national forest. The campfire’s blazing and the stew pot’s bubbling. I’m all comfy and not a worry in the world, just laying back staring at the campfire waiting on supper. When all of a sudden the fucking trees start shaking and crashing through em comes fucking Bigfoot to kick my ass! Or I think it’s him cause after staring into the damn campfire for hours my eye’s can’t adjust to see shit. But I’m kind’a sure because my muthafuckin arm just got torn off at the fucking armpit, and some little furry four footed fucker’s running off with it! Oh great! Now there’s a fucking bear biting my ass out by the chunks! I would kick at it but some Jar Jar Binks looking muthafucker is sucking on all ten toes and I can’t get em off! Excuse my language, but this is muthafuckin humiliating. I just wanted to get in touch with nature and camp out, and now I’m getting all ate up and shit by the fucking Muppets.
Now you know why I don’t dig the woods and camping
. says, "and the monkey flipped the switch"


Post a Comment

<< Home