Hacked Voting Machines, 4wd, Shotguns, and NCAA Baseball
Writing is a bitch! Most readers do not understand the conundrum that writers face expecting to see their favorite blog updated regularly. My god man, maybe we need to start implementing real deadlines for articles. Hang in there we will get our act together.
When I flew to Arkansas, a few weeks back it was to whip the crew into shape, and ensure the blog posts were flowing. Upon arriving though, I had found that my very own brother had purchased a Range Rover 4wd, with a sky lift, and super swampers. When he picked me up in this beastly machine the roof of the vehicle was damn near scraping the top of the overhang at the Little Rock airport. Just the name of the airport “Bill and Hillary Clinton Airport” caused me to fall into a major depression. Jesus; we could have had the first woman president, someone more prepared than anyone else in the history of the good ole U.S. of A to be the president. Instead, we got less than an amateur.
The ride in the Range Rover was very rough, and loud heading up to Fayetteville. It was not a conducive environment for small talk so I read the transcripts of the Comey hearings instead. Can you believe he clearly stated the president was obstructing justice by insisting he stop the Russia Investigation? The troubling issue is the fact that the Republicans found the lone statement about Hillary Clinton and repeated it until nausea took over their bodily functions.
Upon arriving in Lowell, Ar at the fortified compound for our Sports Editor T.D. we found it empty and being guarded by his 200 pound dog that has an under bite and k9 teeth like a wild Razorback, growling and snapping at our legs. A swift kick to the monster backed it off long enough to find from a weird, uncivilized Indian that told us T.D. was not home, but instead had locked himself into the Chief Motel with guns and drugs. Well shit I thought, that’s why he hasn’t written anything.
The Chief Motel is located in the center of Fayetteville, Ar and at this time was full of college baseball fans. At the front desk, the clerk explained that the town was the host for the NCAA Regionals and the Hogs had lost it all just two days ago. Who can blame T.D. for this irrational behavior, or maybe it was totally rational; in light of the fact that a woman by the name of Reality Winner had just exposed the United States Government for covering up the extent to which our voting machines were hacked. Russian hackers had compromised thirty-two states and no one seems to give a damn; you would think everyone would be calling for the election process to be revamped so that it is all paper and void of electronics. Instead, we have a drunken hillbilly hoarded up in a hotel room with guns.
After knocking on the door and yelling it was clear T.D. was not going to answer, so I kicked it in, knocking the door off the hinges with one hard kick of my black and white Chuck Taylor 2’s. Startled to see me I guess, T.D. pointed a semi automatic Remington 12 gauge model 1100 shotgun at me.
"Get that damn thing out of my face!" I yelled. T.D. lowered the gun and started drinking Grape Concord Post Family Wine out of what looked like a 2-gallon jug.
"Limited edition." T.D. muttered.
"We have to go! The motel is going to call the cops after that commotion, plus everyone can see the shotgun!" I said.
Never mind the fact that there were political newspaper clippings, and sports articles pinned on all four walls of the motel, with hemp string connecting them all together like a spider web. There were two radios playing two songs simultaneously “Shotgun Blues” and “Suicide is Painless”.
What the hell have I gotten myself into. I thought, or did I say that out loud?
"Get in the Range Rover." I exclaimed.
Just then the bathroom door bust open and Drock comes running out holding a whiskey bottle in one hand and a bottle of Samuel Adams Utopias in the other.
"They all cheated! It’s clear!" Drock yelled. Never missing a stride, he pushed past T.D., Matt, and me running into the parking lot at full speed reminiscent of Usain Bolt, and jumping into the driver seat of the Range Rover.
As the rest of us were getting into the truck Matt looks at me in despair.
"What’s the worst that could happen Matt?" I asked.
Matt shrugged as if I made total sense and climbed into the back seat with T.D.
"We are going somewhere “they” can’t hear us anymore." Drock explained.
What is that white powder on his face? I thought.
As we left I noticed T.D. waving at none other than Matt Jones.
The Range Rover was just the vehicle to take to the river. It was down a road beside a farm specializing in exotic animals. The road abruptly ended and Drock pulled the truck into the river and drove down the rock islands and occasionally across the river again for the better part of an hour before stopping.
"All right, what the hell is going on!" I demanded.
"Look, I wanted to write until the Stag Semen Stout incident. I don’t know if I can handle this gig." Drock explained. He’s the editor of the beer section and required to drink all new beers binding within his contract.
"Did you drink it?" I asked, while opening the Samuel Adams golden bottle.
"No, not after I learned it is “hand pulled” for “extra creaminess” I thought it was a joke." Drock said.
It’s not! Though, real beer geeks never joke about their product, and they will do anything to improve mouth feel and flavor.
My god what has this world come to that we are ejaculating into stouts for the texture? I asked myself.
"What about you T.D.?" I inquired.
"Look man, it’s clear cheating is a part of our society and these days SMU would be praised. The Russians hacked our voting machines and the government tried to cover it up. While I was covering Arkansas’s College World Series run I noticed strikes were called that were clearly out of the zone even the television and radio announcers knew this and no one gave a damn. When I went to interview the umpire, it was clear he was Russian! Everybody knows but no one wants to say it aloud the Russians are controlling everything." Tim Explained.
Hell, he might be right I thought. We sat there the rest of the night drinking beer and discussing how the Russians owned the semen beer company, and how the voting machines were hacked by a patron of the semen beer company using their free Wi-Fi services. Even how the Russians spies that Obama had exiled had been given refuge by Trump and now act as NCAA Umpires. Worst of all it is clear and no one cares to connect the dots or listen to those that have.
In 1984 it was prophesied that the masses would not know the atrocities around them because they would not look away from their screens. The staff has been so depressed by current events that they have fallen short on their commitment to inform and entertain the readers. For that we say oops. However, I am confident that after the entire staff have returned from the Gonzo Abby that Father Matt runs; after our spiritual cleanse of blessed homebrew we will return to our writing prowess.
Maybe election machines should not be used to ensure security; it is time to vote by paper ballot only this much is clear.
Editors Note: This photo is a Creative Commons licensed photo from Flickr