Good Morning “Dotards,”
“When you’re in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, ‘Damn, that was fun’.” ― Groucho Marx
One would think by the time one has enjoyed 60 plus rotations, we’d start to minimize the humiliating acts of laughable behavior that beset us. Is it simply because we’re unable to think things through? Is poor cogitation genetically implanted forever? Have vapid lifestyles literally sucked us dry of effort? How is it we’ve collectively lost the ability to get from A to B without incident? Is it just me?
I realize the two or three of you reading this zeitgeist is convinced I’m picking on my dear friend Cush. I want to assure you I don’t set out each day to purposely denigrate my friend, yet over the years he’s been a prolific source of material to post on this our humble forum. He seems to come by it naturally without pretense and always with good intentions!
Cush was gracious enough to invite me to what has become an annual fish fry. This year’s invitees were his immediate family with me being the only outsider. That could be another story unto itself.
Every year Cush meets with his hoodlum friends and vandals to fish in some bit of water in Wyoming. Most years he brings back a boatload of Walleye. In past Fries, he’d fillet them, roll them in flour, and pan-fry them up crispy and delicious. At this year’s soiree, he once again used questionable judgment.
Our beloved friend continually likes to tweak his favorite recipes, and this year he read about using a Turkey deep fryer to attempt to make his fillets more tender and moist. Sounds like a plan right? What could go wrong?
Last Sunday it was blustery with on and off rain showers so our hero set up his fryer inside of his newly refurbished ‘Tough Shed’ that provided shelter keeping rainwater from mixing with the boiling oil which initially made a little sense. Cush being very pleased with himself carried the second batch of fish into the house and they were truly spectacular!
Loading up the third round in the basket, Cush stopped to pour a drink and began chatting about next year’s outing and didn’t notice the wind had picked up substantially. A strong gust blew the shed door open and knocked his new deep fryer to the floor spewing boiling grease all over and onto old boxes of home decorations which immediately ignited the entire floor.
Finally looking back he saw the smoke. Freaked out, our son of Jimmy Hoffa’s loins ran outside and called for backup. I reminded Cush water on a grease fire is deadly, to which he told me to shut up. The shed was now completely engulfed in flames and was threatening to catch one of the few remaining trees on his property on fire.
Our boy had only two shovels as we tried to throw dirt/mud on it. But in the end the effort was futile, so we all stepped back to watch his shed and tree burn to the ground.
As they were rolling up to leave I heard one of the firemen say to another, “It’s not even Thanksgiving and this is the tenth Turkey Deep Fryer incident this month!
To put a positive spin on this, one could say Cush has joined an elite club! Congrats my friend.