Today’s post was supposed to be about the new truck, because George left for Wisconsin yesterday to go get her, with every intention of turning right around and bringing her home late last night. But like everything else in the trucking world, the weather cares not if you have plans, and -17 temps with even colder wind chills, coupled with dark Wisconsin roads and an unfamiliar truck, caused George to spend the night and wait til first light to leave. He said the area he was in had more deer than he had ever seen, and we’re from Ohio, where the State Wildlife Department estimates 30 deer for every square mile, so his decision was a good one.
So while I was sitting here staring at the elephant and trying to get something written, I read an article about weird things people drop from the sky on New Year’s Eve. Because trolling the internet and reading weird articles is how I get my work done when I’m not on the road, in the midst of the weird articles. Don’t be fooled, that’s how most writers get their work done — if I didn’t occasionally write something I was proud of, I’d be ashamed of myself for wasting so much time.
Anyway, I’ve decide to petition the State of Ohio, specifically the Clark County area of the I-70 corridor that travels between Enon and Columbus, to drop a deer on New Year’s Eve. Obviously, it will be one that’s already been obliterated in that 30 mile stretch where there are so many dead deer the highway is permanently pink. If you travel that stretch and haven’t seen a deer, go have your head checked out, because you’re emanating some weird alien signal that keeps deer away and the rest of us need to know how you do it.
I’m sure someone from PETA would have something to say about the cruelty factor. They made Brasstown, N.C., stop dropping a possum. I realize it’s a living creature and all, but I lived in North Carolina when I was a kid, and if there’s one thing they have plenty of, it’s possums. I was almost bitten by a possum in a Dempsey dumpster, and yes I did get my ass whipped for playing in the dumpster. I was halfway through telling my dad the horrible story before I realized I was going to have to tell him I was playing in the dumpster when I almost got bit by a wild, ferocious animal. There was nothing to do but forge ahead and take my punishment, which was doled out to reiterate the dangers lurking in a Dempsey dumpster, included possum maulings.
Brasstown has been reduced to dropping a box with pictures of a possum on it, which, if you ask me, is kind of anticlimatic. You may ask yourself (and if you just thought of the Talking Heads, we are one in mind and spirit) where the tradition of dropping things from the sky to celebrate a calendar change originates, and it just so happens that I know. Well, I think I know, I’m absolutely horrible at doing research, so I’m going to kind of ad-lib. If it’s a filthy lie, don’t blame Todd.
As far as I can remember from school, there was this guy named Newton. His buds called him Fig, and he hung out in an apple orchard a lot. I think he worked there or something. He was lazing around under an apple tree with his friend Eve one day, and a poisoned apple fell from the tallest branch, all in slow motion, like in The Matrix, and Fig had a vision about gravity right before the apple knocked him TFO. He woke up a hundred years later and a bunch of tiny people had tied him down with itty-bitty ropes. Then a sandworm ate him and carried him back to his original place in time, where he was unceremoniously deposited, if you know what I mean.
Fig got all his buds together and had a huge party to celebrate his homecoming, along with his newly acquired supernatural math powers (because everyone knows traversing the digestive tract of a sandworm while time-traveling gives you supernatural math powers).
About the time everyone got good and drunk, Fig started telling his story, and it went like this, “It all started when the apple fell from the sky….”
Gah, how easy was that? I mean, no wonder Key West drops a drag queen in a ruby slipper. It all makes perfect sense now. Enjoy your New Year’s Eve. Be safe. And drop something.
**After reading this back in edit, I realize I should probably put a disclaimer in here, stating I mean metaphorically drop something. Don’t literally drop something, especially something alive. I’m in no way advocating dropping a live animal. Please don’t drop a live animal and say I told you to do it. That should be enough of a body condom to avoid a lawsuit if someone posts a video of themselves dropping a baby and while screaming, “HEY WENDY, WATCH THIS!!!!” Not that I think my readers are idiots, or anything, quite the opposite — but you never know when a nutbag might be lurking amongst us, so it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Thanks for reading, and don’t drop a baby.