protein wisdom: the update (or, red pills found behind the sofa cushions, tentative itinerary)
I’ll be back posting later this week from the YAF leadership convention (which happens to correspond with Freedom Week). Look for the liveblogging to begin Thursday late, or Friday early.
Meantime, because my mother-in-law will be flying in from Utah to watch Satch while my wife and I are busy stealing hotel towels from Fess Parker’s Doubletree, I’ve been hard at work getting the place cleaned up, which involves not only dusting shelves, cleaning bathrooms, and steam cleaning dolphin love stink out of the Berber carpet, but also figuring out where to hide all the contraband.
So far, I’ve been able to work out a convincing disguise for our marijuana plants — I’ve dressed them in little pointy hats and beards so that, to the untrained eye, they should easily pass for garden gnomes — but I’m having a more difficult time with the paranoid ex-agency beets, who think this whole trip west is part of an elaborate black ops setup to have them hit, their smack-ravaged bodies then peeled, sliced, pickled, canned, and stuffed into the pantry, forever hidden in plain sight.
They seem to forget that were it not for the monthly government subsidy checks I get for keeping the crazy fuckers holed up in my crisper, we’d still be trying to get baked-on grease out of casserole dishes with a low-end Whirlpool dishwasher — instead of the gleaming stainless steel KitchenAid with high temperature rinse and Powerscrub™ technology the compensation for their safehousing made possible.
— But then, nobody said dealing rationally with a bunch of burned out cold war beets would be easy.
Which is why, incidentally, I’ve taken up Krav Maga — along with weekly classes in grappling and muay thai. Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to wake up one morning dead because some freaked out tuber finally lost his shit and decided to initiate a sweep and clear (which, unless I miss my guess, would involve going from room to room, slicing shit up with a monstrously modified immersion blender and one of those gadgets you use to core apples).
Now should any of them try anything, I know seven ways to kill them with just an elbow. Which I suspect might give them pause.
They’re crazy and paranoid, sure. But they aren’t suicidal.