Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room.

I have not posted in a bit so here's a bit of photo bullshit. If you have any questions please let me know. I'll answer questions as honestly as possible.

Peace out, bitches!

When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill.

Not one stinking duck body. The whole pond!

I got up early. I drove in the dark and the mud. I listened to redneck jackasses talk about "socialism" and "them faggots in Frisco." I put up with it all because I was number 4 on the lottery line and I was going to get a good blind. I had come through last night and poured over the blind listings and had ranked them in order of how they'd been shooting. It took half an hour and I did it and they all stared while I did it. I had my list.

I got the second blind on my list and I was happy! Finally, I was in the right place at the right time with the right tools and I was going to kill ducks!

First came the walk through the dark with all my gear on my back. Half the time I skated across mud on a trail I'd never been on with no real idea where I was headed. By the time I made it to my blind I only had about thirty minutes to get everything set up: dekes in some semblance of natural order, pit blind cleaned out and brushed up, gear stored away, wet dog dried off somewhat, gun loaded, camo on, lights out. Barely made it all happen.

It was so overcast that ducks would appear out of nowhere. Half the time I didn't even shoot as they were whistling past me before I knew what was happening. The few shots I took I missed which I chalked up to the quickness and utter unpredictability of the shooting. I would later look back at this part of the hunt as the "salad days."

Cut to a few hours later. I'm out about eight or nine rounds but feeling good. Then the sun pops out straight into my eyes. A quick look at the compass and hey, what do you know, I picked the fucking blind that faces the sun all day. Behind me, an active road. In front of me, the pond and the sun. I rearrange the dekes off to the side in the hopes that I can get some shots not into the sun. I do. I miss them. All of them. Including the drake, wings cupped and landing gear deployed, who is inches above the closest deke. I had just dropped Ghost out of the blind so he could pee and as I look up I see the drake. He sees me and starts backpedalling. Silly duck! I can't shoot anymore! I fire twice and miss twice and have to fight the urge to throw the gun in the drink. I curse out loud instead. Several more ducks fly out of the marsh, I'd hurt their feelings I guess.

It all spirals out of control from there. More ducks come at me in increasingly easier patterns which I miss in the most spectacular fashion. My cussing grows loud enough that even I realize I'm being too loud. Around me, other hunters are dropping ducks at a steady clip. I am throwing $1 shells into the sky with no idea why or how or what. Had I simply dumped the whole box into the marsh I'd have accomplished the same thing minus the torrent of curses and the unnecessary discharge of a firearm.

I walked the mile back to the car at one point. I had lunch and decided that Ghost was a jinx so I left him in the car. I swapped out chokes. I made an altar to no deity in particular and burned it after a nondenominational prayer. I made a fake vodoo doll of a duck and stabbed it and then brushed my gun with it. None of this helped but it did keep at bay any of the local douche bags who thought they might want to have a word with me about my "Reading Is Sexy" sticker.

I walked a mile again. If you're keeping count it ends up I walked four miles for no good reason. I guess that's the point of all of this: there was no point. I drove up to the Red part of the state to shoot ducks and I failed to shoot any ducks. There were ducks though, lots and lots of beautiful mallards and pintails and even some gadwalls. It would have nice to shoot a gadwall, they hardly ever travel down to LA. Anyway, I walked back and climbed down into the pit and waited. I missed some more lay-ups and thought briefly about crying. I gave myself a time out instead, for an hour.

It didn't help.

My last three rounds were fired almost vertically at a passing group of mallards. I missed all three shots, shouted "Fuck you!" to the ducks and threw my gun into the drink.

Then I fished it out, got my decoys, and dragged my sorry ass back to my sorry ass hotel in sorry ass Willows, CA. Fuck yeah.

Now pass me that bottle of tequila, will you? My throat is parched and I'm in a foul mood.

Peace out, bitches! (except for every fucking duck in the Sacramento NWR. Y'all can fuckin' kiss my ass!)

No sir. Not embarrassing, because no one's ever going to find out they're down here. 'Cause you're gonna spot 'em and you're gonna air 'em out!

I have driven for eight hours through traffic accidents, wind advisories, rain, and crank addled truckers. I'm two clicks past the Do Long bridge and there are most certainly "gooks on the wire" as the young man from the Bronx once uttered. Geese everywhere you look. Water water everywhere and oh yes, I'd love a drop or three to drink. Ducks. Flights of ducks and then someone says "plate" or "plate of dead ducks" and the whole sorry hallucination starts all over again.

There are more ducks here then I know what to do with and I am going to try to kill as many of them as I can. I must get on tonight. I must get a winning lottery number tonight. I must be allowed to fulfill my destiny! (Extra hot sausage if you know where that comes from.) It is raining something ugly and I was advised not to go to the white trash bar in town. I don't know that there is a correlation between these facts but I thought it safest to mention them both in the same breath. Just in case.

Willows, CA: a one horse town if ever I've seen one. And I have. Par for the course I'll dine on Mexican food as they are generally the only people who can cook when you're in the middle of nowhere California. Sacramento seems far away and exotic. San Francisco doesn't actually exist here. It's like saying you ride a unicorn. It occurs to me my name might not be very popular here. It also occurs to me I'm armed to the teeth. Hear on the radio: "Why do people think freedom of religion means we have to accept these other religions? We can't! We're Catholic!" Note to self: never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right.

It's time. It's time to go out and win that fucking lottery and get a goddamned good blind.

Peace out, bitches!

Ralph, that is not the sufi way.

I am losing my mind. Or maybe the world really is at an all time level of stupid.

Case in point: Juan Williams vs. NPR. Mr. Williams is annoying pseudo-intellectual who was caught saying he was afraid of people who look Muslim. His defense? He's a civil rights "pioneer" and so he can't be accused of racism and besides, he was trying to argue a point against Bill O'Reilly on O'Reilly's show. Uh, what?

O'Reilly is a loud mouthed jack ass who's "arguments" consist primarily of him shouting over his guests. Fair and balanced? Yeah, right, this is Fox after all where fair and balanced means we get loud, old, crazy white guys to yell at effete center/left moderates. It's a fucking sham, a dog and pony show for the intellectually bankrupt retards that make up Fox's viewing audience. For Willliams to go on that show as anything other than a paid performer is a lie. He knew what he was getting into, everyone who goes on that damn show knows what's up so his defense is bullshit. He's a coward and a bigot and yes, you can be those things and still fight for civil rights. You're a hypocrite but you can do it.

Case in point, redux: Catherine O'Donnell. Why is she in the news? Who thinks this imbecile can run anything? What the fuck is going on around here that a fucking inept, brainless, God squad dipshit is making news? Who the fuck votes for people like this? What. The. Fuck.

In short, I need to find a way not to feel like killing off a large chunk of the American electorate for the crime of being criminally stupid and letting this country slide further into the hands of corporate America, xenophobia, ignorant nationalism, and moral bankruptcy.

I don't know how I'm going to do it but dammit, if the sufi way works I'll go that route.

Peace out, bitches!

You better get your ass off your shoulders and make that money.

Financial realization:
Pure bred hunting dog- $1,000
Metal pole with hook on the end- $12
Difference- $988

Thanks to my Dad allowing my dog to come dangerously close to freezing and drowning at the same time I have now replaced the dog with the pole when duck hunting. Somewhere in all of this is an important lesson about life, finances, hunting, and my Dad. Damned if I know what that lesson is but I now realize I need to get my ass off this couch and take my dog to a psychiatrist. That little bastard needs to get to work!

Peace out, bitches!

Your license is in order?

Dear Nature;
Let me first say that I'm a huge fan, I really enjoy and appreciate what you're doing with that whole Life thing. It's terrific, kids love it, you're set financially, you know? Of course you do, I'm sorry for stating the obvious but I am a really huge fan.

On to business I guess, specifically the deer situation here in Southern California. Now, I understand you've got a lot on your plate in the Gulf of Mexico and the Plains and various and sundry watersheds that are being depleted and degraded but I really do need a moment of your time to address the deer situation. To summarize I guess I'll say this: there are too many people here in Southern California and not enough deer. Rather, there are not enough deer willing to be shot. By me.

I sat in a blind for twelve hours yesterday because there were fresh tracks and droppings and a cistern. There should have been deer. There were even acorns on the ground! Now if this wasn't you telling me, "Put a ground blind here and arrow a burger," what were you trying to tell me? Please don't pawn this off on one of your underlings, like Fate or Timing or any of those bozos (especially Luck, does he even come into the office any longer?). I think we need to have a face to face meeting and get to the heart of this problem. It's been two years since I picked up a bow and aside from accidentally shooting my dog I haven't shot a thing yet.

As an aside, maybe at a later date we can deal with the elk situation that occurred in Arizona. We'll just table that until we sort out the deer problem.

Scheduling wise I'm free until Saturday when I'm back out in you for quail. Other than that just let me know when you have some time. Deer season ends on November 7th, please keep that in mind.

Sincerely,
Captain

ps- Good luck with that off shore drilling thing. Good lord people are dumb.

Tense situations, kid. You get into five or six of 'em a day, it don't mean shit anymore. I mean, I've seen men stabbed, didn't mean shit to me. I've seen guns, guns too, they don't mean shit. But that's when you gotta watch yourself.

Thoughts after spending a lot of time working and reading the paper:
1. The GOP needs to be tried for treason, found guilty, and made to live in rural Arkansas sans money or a working phone.

2. The "Mama Grizzlies" of the GOP are fetid swamps of self-loathing wretches and should all be forced to live on an island together sans a working phone, cameras, or any other way to get anyone else's attention. I give them a week before they're eating each other alive.

3. The average rock fan today is dumber than the music they listen to.

4. If Paladino wins in New York I don't think LA should still have an inferiority complex about NYC. The guy is an imbecile and a bigot and probably mobbed up.

5. Meg Whitman stapled someone else's hair on to her own head to hide the Darth Vader creases and cables.

6. The Dems should fire their PR people as they've failed to hit on anything good that has happened. The GAO was the only entity to honestly acknowledge anything the Dems have done. Weird and depressing.

7. The death and "ignominy of defeat" of the Tea Party is coming up quick. No one really likes a lunatic when it comes down to getting the potholes fixed and the trains to run on time.

8. Jerry Brown? Again? There isn't anyone else? So depressing.

9. Mayor Villarigosa is an embarrassment and has led the City of Angels down a sinkhole for far too long. Why is it that no one has thrown a pie in his face yet?

10. The more people I meet in the film business the more I want to go do something else. Like, sell shoes in Fresno or flip burgers in Tupelo.

Peace out, bitches!