A deer, a deer, a Male deer.
OK, not “So”, but OK.
At some point today, my ex-boss (see entry about my review this year for a level set) comes by my desk. He says, “So, what you doing tonight round 5:00?”
I’m usually trying to figure out how to sneak off to the gym at that point. But, I say, “Ah, I dunno, why?”
He says, “Well a couple of us have been going the El Blazo after work, and that guy Scott who just went to work for you is there. Thought you might like to join.”
Now, I just sent Scott on a trip to Richardson Texas for a week. (It’s a dry county) I had been feeling guilty about making a good Orinda born guy, educated at UCLA hang in Richardson for a week. Think George Bush-Tom Delay heartland here. Beers not allowed, and if it was, it sure as Hell shouldn’t be taxed. After one week there, I think Scott wants adopt a gaggle homeless lesbians or open a coalition for dispossessed descendents of 49er’s. So, buying him a few beers seemed a good compromise.
Oh, the specifics of how much who drank, and what they did, are not important. What is, is, the deer.
A six-point buck.
The kind my Dad would like to assassinate on a regular basis each year. Someone had assassinated it, paid to have it mounted, and given it to the bar. There it was, staring at me as I was a drinking my beer. Not staring at me like most mounted deer. You know, straight on, symmetrical, with both eyes. No, this deer had a cocked head, slightly to the right, and it looked out the corner of its left eye, with a bit of smirk on its face. (Kind of a “What you doin look? Uh, I know what you are all about.” )
I didn’t like it.
Well, actually I did.
I mean, who the hell was that deer? Having been all assassinated, to look at me like that? Who was the taxidermist with the twisted sense of humor who created that creature? I pointed it out to others, including my ex-boss. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Having issues with Montana?” (My father that assassinates deer, antelope and elk, lives in Montana. My mother does too, but she doesn’t assassinate much.)
”No,” I said. “ I just wonder about it. “
“I think you have issues with Montana” he said, and went back to his glass of wine.
Now, I have issues with certain things. I discuss them in this blog on occasion. Sometimes they are with stuff that goes on in Montana. But that wasn’t the issue today. But I can tell you this. I liked that deer. I liked it so much, I’m going to have my Dad assassinate one just like it for me next season. Then I’m going to take some of my California rich guy money, and I’m going to pay a taxidermist to mount it with a one eyed twisted head look like the one in the bar. Then I’m going to hang it in one of my bathrooms so that is stares at people whilst they are going about their business. And while they are a sittin there a concentrating, that deer who will be looking at them with that “What you doin look on its face.” Then they’ll have trouble concentrating.
At some point today, my ex-boss (see entry about my review this year for a level set) comes by my desk. He says, “So, what you doing tonight round 5:00?”
I’m usually trying to figure out how to sneak off to the gym at that point. But, I say, “Ah, I dunno, why?”
He says, “Well a couple of us have been going the El Blazo after work, and that guy Scott who just went to work for you is there. Thought you might like to join.”
Now, I just sent Scott on a trip to Richardson Texas for a week. (It’s a dry county) I had been feeling guilty about making a good Orinda born guy, educated at UCLA hang in Richardson for a week. Think George Bush-Tom Delay heartland here. Beers not allowed, and if it was, it sure as Hell shouldn’t be taxed. After one week there, I think Scott wants adopt a gaggle homeless lesbians or open a coalition for dispossessed descendents of 49er’s. So, buying him a few beers seemed a good compromise.
Oh, the specifics of how much who drank, and what they did, are not important. What is, is, the deer.
A six-point buck.
The kind my Dad would like to assassinate on a regular basis each year. Someone had assassinated it, paid to have it mounted, and given it to the bar. There it was, staring at me as I was a drinking my beer. Not staring at me like most mounted deer. You know, straight on, symmetrical, with both eyes. No, this deer had a cocked head, slightly to the right, and it looked out the corner of its left eye, with a bit of smirk on its face. (Kind of a “What you doin look? Uh, I know what you are all about.” )
I didn’t like it.
Well, actually I did.
I mean, who the hell was that deer? Having been all assassinated, to look at me like that? Who was the taxidermist with the twisted sense of humor who created that creature? I pointed it out to others, including my ex-boss. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Having issues with Montana?” (My father that assassinates deer, antelope and elk, lives in Montana. My mother does too, but she doesn’t assassinate much.)
”No,” I said. “ I just wonder about it. “
“I think you have issues with Montana” he said, and went back to his glass of wine.
Now, I have issues with certain things. I discuss them in this blog on occasion. Sometimes they are with stuff that goes on in Montana. But that wasn’t the issue today. But I can tell you this. I liked that deer. I liked it so much, I’m going to have my Dad assassinate one just like it for me next season. Then I’m going to take some of my California rich guy money, and I’m going to pay a taxidermist to mount it with a one eyed twisted head look like the one in the bar. Then I’m going to hang it in one of my bathrooms so that is stares at people whilst they are going about their business. And while they are a sittin there a concentrating, that deer who will be looking at them with that “What you doin look on its face.” Then they’ll have trouble concentrating.
posted by Stan at 10:33 PM
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