SifuPhil
R.I.P. With Us In Spirit Only
- Location
- Pennsylvania, USA
At the kind suggestion of TWHRider I decided to take a summer vacation this year consisting of a road trip to various members' homes, in order to experience a bit of the rural lifestyle that I have been ignorant of since birth.
My first stop was, of course, TWHRider's home. After a seemingly eternal drive in my plush '75 AMC Pacer while listening to 8-track tapes of the Doobie Brothers to get me in the mood, I pull up at the main entrance to T's home. I say "home" but it appeared to be more like a farm, because the first thing I saw was this hairy 4-legged beast snorting and neighing in the hot sun, his hooves pawing at the earth and his majestic set of sparkling white teeth bared in a challenge that I thought wise to avoid.
It was only after I stopped the car and got out to take a closer look that I realized that this apparition was Mister TWHRider, on his hands and knees weeding the flower beds.
Upon informing Mr. Rider of my identity and the purpose of my visit, he began to mutter something about "shotgun" as he scampered off to the main house, but as luck would have it that's when MRS. Rider came out to see what all the fuss was about and who was scaring her livestock. My first glimpse of her on the porch was forever scorched into my memory ...
... but after blurting out who I was she took the stogie out of her mouth long enough to spit into a polished brass spittoon, daintily dab at her mouth with a horse-monogrammed kerchief, and invite me on the nickel tour. Mr. Rider at this point was peering over the windowsill, the only things I could see being his blazing eyes and shining mane and the twin barrels of the Mossberg he was holding.
As we slowly walked to the barn, attempting not to trip over a menagerie of critters circling our feet and me trying my best not to step into the steaming brown piles of manure that littered the path, I wondered once again why I had undertaken this trip in the first place. I must have been drunk or stoned, or maybe both.
Probably both.
But now here I was being introduced to Sir Shitzalott, the "stud of the farm" as Mrs. Rider informed me. "Shitzy, Shitzy" she murmured, and I'll be dipped in two tons of toe-jam if that massive beast didn't mosey on over and lovingly snuggle his gigantic snout against Mrs. R's cheek. "Give him this carrot and you'll be his friend forever" she whispered to me, handing me a large orange veggie with a wilted stem of brown leaves on top.
I tentatively held the offering out, whereupon Sir Shitzalott suddenly rolled his eyes up into his head, reared up on his hindquarters and began screaming a demonic shriek of anger and indignation. I dropped the carrot and bolted out the barn doors, only to run headlong into a flock (Gaggle? Group? Coven?) of pigs, who upon seeing this stranger running toward them began squealing and scampering around my feet, causing me to trip several times and fear for my life from their razor-sharp hooves and mastodon-like tusks.
As I crawled through the manure piles on the ground toward what I hoped would be safety a large rooster began pursuing me, pecking at my nether regions and causing me to howl in pain. This of course alerted the goats, who decided to join in on the fun and added their head-butts to the rooster's pecks, the pig's maulings and the now-loose-and-gaining-ground-quickly Sir Shitzalott.
I prayed to every god I know for deliverance, and that's no lie - I was actually screaming out "DELIVERANCE! DELIVERANCE!" as I attempted to evade the mad horde.
Suddenly everything got quiet, the pecking and biting and nipping and slashing stopped, and I thought I had been saved.
That's when I looked up from the ground, my clothing shredded and my face and hands bloodied, and saw the two men, one holding a guitar and one a banjo.
My first stop was, of course, TWHRider's home. After a seemingly eternal drive in my plush '75 AMC Pacer while listening to 8-track tapes of the Doobie Brothers to get me in the mood, I pull up at the main entrance to T's home. I say "home" but it appeared to be more like a farm, because the first thing I saw was this hairy 4-legged beast snorting and neighing in the hot sun, his hooves pawing at the earth and his majestic set of sparkling white teeth bared in a challenge that I thought wise to avoid.
It was only after I stopped the car and got out to take a closer look that I realized that this apparition was Mister TWHRider, on his hands and knees weeding the flower beds.
Upon informing Mr. Rider of my identity and the purpose of my visit, he began to mutter something about "shotgun" as he scampered off to the main house, but as luck would have it that's when MRS. Rider came out to see what all the fuss was about and who was scaring her livestock. My first glimpse of her on the porch was forever scorched into my memory ...
... but after blurting out who I was she took the stogie out of her mouth long enough to spit into a polished brass spittoon, daintily dab at her mouth with a horse-monogrammed kerchief, and invite me on the nickel tour. Mr. Rider at this point was peering over the windowsill, the only things I could see being his blazing eyes and shining mane and the twin barrels of the Mossberg he was holding.
As we slowly walked to the barn, attempting not to trip over a menagerie of critters circling our feet and me trying my best not to step into the steaming brown piles of manure that littered the path, I wondered once again why I had undertaken this trip in the first place. I must have been drunk or stoned, or maybe both.
Probably both.
But now here I was being introduced to Sir Shitzalott, the "stud of the farm" as Mrs. Rider informed me. "Shitzy, Shitzy" she murmured, and I'll be dipped in two tons of toe-jam if that massive beast didn't mosey on over and lovingly snuggle his gigantic snout against Mrs. R's cheek. "Give him this carrot and you'll be his friend forever" she whispered to me, handing me a large orange veggie with a wilted stem of brown leaves on top.
I tentatively held the offering out, whereupon Sir Shitzalott suddenly rolled his eyes up into his head, reared up on his hindquarters and began screaming a demonic shriek of anger and indignation. I dropped the carrot and bolted out the barn doors, only to run headlong into a flock (Gaggle? Group? Coven?) of pigs, who upon seeing this stranger running toward them began squealing and scampering around my feet, causing me to trip several times and fear for my life from their razor-sharp hooves and mastodon-like tusks.
As I crawled through the manure piles on the ground toward what I hoped would be safety a large rooster began pursuing me, pecking at my nether regions and causing me to howl in pain. This of course alerted the goats, who decided to join in on the fun and added their head-butts to the rooster's pecks, the pig's maulings and the now-loose-and-gaining-ground-quickly Sir Shitzalott.
I prayed to every god I know for deliverance, and that's no lie - I was actually screaming out "DELIVERANCE! DELIVERANCE!" as I attempted to evade the mad horde.
Suddenly everything got quiet, the pecking and biting and nipping and slashing stopped, and I thought I had been saved.
That's when I looked up from the ground, my clothing shredded and my face and hands bloodied, and saw the two men, one holding a guitar and one a banjo.
