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The Marmot King
There was an awful lot of caterwauling up in here at the bighouse last night but it was just me, waking me up to prove my existence.
After several days of incessant rain there is this morning nary a clown in the sky.
A cold fog drifts down from the mountains to settle in the hollows.
A fox just loped across the meadow. I think foxes are creepy.
Someday the marmots and foxes will wage a war against each other.
Someday the believers of extra-terrestial intervention will wage war against the believers of nature-intelligence and the one that stands tall afterwards will, I believe, be defeated by the marmots, and the marmots shall rule supreme.
Mrs. BC came out yesterday with a giant Englishman and showed him the work of his Latinos. He seemed a little perturbed that Mrs. BC was not fall over drunk deliriously happy with his landscaping scheme, but he should have listened to her, the stupid giant. I think he will be able to get his guys to fix everything and even the formal circle garden, which is a little more formal than Mrs. BC desired, will in the end be very nice and appropriate to this setting. All of this will mean very little when the marmots rule the planet. Of course, when that happens, I will then be just one small step away from next best thing to a marmot, so be advised, be afraid, be very afraid.
Mrs. BC brought out to me a belated birthday gift from Mr. BC. It was a crudely wrapped rectangular package which due to Mr. BC's uptick of a year as east coast business mogul, I thought might contain hard cash. Some people would be offended by the thoughtlessness of a cash gift but I am not one of them.
When I unwrapped it, with some difficulty (because Mr. BC had used that clear packing tape), I was a little letdown that Mr. BC had actually put a modicum of thought into the gift instead of just crudely wrapping a wad of hundred dollar bills. It was a wallet. With no money in it. Shit man, I already have a wallet with no money in it. But ok, really, Mr. BC is a very thoughtful guy, and I needed a new wallet, and this one is a nice brown genuine Italian leather wallet. Maybe I'll get a new tie for Christmas. But it was when I turned the wallet over that I realized Mr. BC had not only put forth more than just a modicum of thought into this gift, he had in fact summed up my very essence, for the wallet has a sort of embroidered monogram on it, which although obviously somewhat hokey, because it now becomes a product derived from a popular cult movie, still, how very appropriate, how very thoughtful. Embroidered largely on the one side are the words BAD MOTHER FUCKER.
This new wallet is a thing which will prove very useful to me in that future ruled by giant rodents. When I make cash bribes to the Marmot King, he will know easily, and without the aid of reading glasses for the letters are large, just whom he deals with.