Even Steven vs. the Indian Curse
Today must have been the most unproductive day in the history of me and TH. The only way we could have been lazier is if we had been unconscious, which we were for a considerable portion of the afternoon. We were so unproductive today that TH still hasn't gotten dressed. At 3:00, he decided to try to make it through the entire day without putting on any clothes. He watched ESPN in his underwear all day.
I did manage to get dressed, but only after sleeping until noon, and only because I had to go sign the next year of my life over to a government organization that doesn't have my best interests in mind. When I got home, I changed into my sweat pants and did nothing for the rest of the day.
Yesterday I sold Sweet Tea's belongings. God rest her sweet little dog soul. The other day when I was mowing the lawn I noticed that her grave was sinking and was surrounded by weeds. Then I noticed that her crate was under the carport collecting dirt, and it sorta depressed me. We had one of those huge crates, a wireless containment system, and a remotely controlled training collar just setting here rotting away. I put an ad on a website that is frequented by local people, and sold it the same day for $150. All together, we paid about $500 for those three items, but I said in the ad that I would take $150 if someone wanted all 3 items. Otherwise it would've added up to more like $200. A lady from a town just north of here bought all three.
TH said I should've asked for more, but I say it's $150 we didn't have before, and it means were Even Steven after the great oven fiasco. Well, we can't undo the cost of the new oven, but we did recoup the cost of the $100 exploding oven, and we were going to have to have a new oven anyway, so I guess that makes us Even Steven.
Maybe our house isn't on an Indian burial ground after all.
Oh, I know our luck could be worse. But it seems like some unlikely, off the wall things tend to happen to us. He's been a victim of this phenomenon all his life-- I just married into it. TH peed on an Indian burial mound once when he was a kid, and we think that's where this all got started.
There's a town on Hwy 49 between Jackson and Yazoo Shitty. It's called Pocahontas. You know, because apparently there were lots of Indians there long ago before Whitey, you know, killed them. Being creative rednecks, they decided to name the town Pocahontas. Yazoo City, (which is Choctaw for F*ck this is boring) was already taken.
Anyway, there are several burial mounds there, and one is right on the highway. It's actually between the north and south lanes, and they've built a little parking area there. When TH was a kid, his parents stopped there one day for something. TH had to pee, so he ran around to the back of the big hill to relieve himself. While he was standing there with his weiner in his hand, an old man suddenly yelled at him, "Boy! Don't you know what yer doin'! This is an Engine burial mound!" Once the startled young'un wiped the pee off his pants leg, he ashamedly made his way back to the family car and rode off into a future of really, really bad luck.
We need to figure out how to get those Indians to forgive him.
I did manage to get dressed, but only after sleeping until noon, and only because I had to go sign the next year of my life over to a government organization that doesn't have my best interests in mind. When I got home, I changed into my sweat pants and did nothing for the rest of the day.
Yesterday I sold Sweet Tea's belongings. God rest her sweet little dog soul. The other day when I was mowing the lawn I noticed that her grave was sinking and was surrounded by weeds. Then I noticed that her crate was under the carport collecting dirt, and it sorta depressed me. We had one of those huge crates, a wireless containment system, and a remotely controlled training collar just setting here rotting away. I put an ad on a website that is frequented by local people, and sold it the same day for $150. All together, we paid about $500 for those three items, but I said in the ad that I would take $150 if someone wanted all 3 items. Otherwise it would've added up to more like $200. A lady from a town just north of here bought all three.
TH said I should've asked for more, but I say it's $150 we didn't have before, and it means were Even Steven after the great oven fiasco. Well, we can't undo the cost of the new oven, but we did recoup the cost of the $100 exploding oven, and we were going to have to have a new oven anyway, so I guess that makes us Even Steven.
Maybe our house isn't on an Indian burial ground after all.
Oh, I know our luck could be worse. But it seems like some unlikely, off the wall things tend to happen to us. He's been a victim of this phenomenon all his life-- I just married into it. TH peed on an Indian burial mound once when he was a kid, and we think that's where this all got started.
There's a town on Hwy 49 between Jackson and Yazoo Shitty. It's called Pocahontas. You know, because apparently there were lots of Indians there long ago before Whitey, you know, killed them. Being creative rednecks, they decided to name the town Pocahontas. Yazoo City, (which is Choctaw for F*ck this is boring) was already taken.
Anyway, there are several burial mounds there, and one is right on the highway. It's actually between the north and south lanes, and they've built a little parking area there. When TH was a kid, his parents stopped there one day for something. TH had to pee, so he ran around to the back of the big hill to relieve himself. While he was standing there with his weiner in his hand, an old man suddenly yelled at him, "Boy! Don't you know what yer doin'! This is an Engine burial mound!" Once the startled young'un wiped the pee off his pants leg, he ashamedly made his way back to the family car and rode off into a future of really, really bad luck.
We need to figure out how to get those Indians to forgive him.
Maybe if he goes back with a witch doctor who could dance around and intone ancient Choctaw gibberish, the evil curse would be lifted.
Or, hey, Indians are modern individuals now. I'm sure they'd lift it if you drove to their NEW sacred location, the Silver Star/Golden Moon and made a major donation to one of the one-armed braves.
Posted by
Anonymous |
12:33 PM
Want me to ask the Choctaws for forgiveness? I just partied in San Antonio with a whole bunch of them, I have blackmail pictures we can use to get them to cancel his curse. Or go with DY and just spend some money at the casino, that should make it all better.
Posted by
Queen Of Cheese |
10:53 AM
We need to figure out how to get those Indians to forgive him.
Well for starters, how about not pissing all over their grandma?
Or mabye they'll let bygones be bygones if he gave them some shiny trinkets and firewater... that's always worked out pretty well for us palefaces.
Maybe they're all pissed off that they missed out on the free Indian cheese that Diva's always talking about (then again, they're dead so maybe they didn't miss out on it after all)
I'd offer up more helpful solutions, but I'm out of Indian stereotypes at the moment.
Posted by
Stewed Hamm |
11:12 AM
The way June went for me, yeah, I'm thinking that somewhere in my past I piddled in the wrong spot. Of course, most ground around here is Indian land, so I think even peeing in my toilet is desecrating something.
Just damn. I'm screwed.
Posted by
Redneck Diva |
12:47 PM