by the Left Coast Rebel

Sometimes, more often than I would like to admit, I lose sight, of the site here. I forget and forgo that which actually got me to start this crazy thing in the first place.

— Writing.

And sometimes, random, rudimentary, weird stuff. Apart from being a rabble-rousing, wacko libertarian-conservative, I love doing it.

Wait, back up, yah, I know, I know, I’ll simplify. I. Am. A. Writer.

Aside from a politcal-pontificator and one that is deathly afraid for the future of this great nation – I am a writer and will always be.

This post is going to be something of a way-off-the-radar sort for the readers here, a completely random subject, on a completely random topic, a figment of imagination subjugated to some bizarre end of cosmic coincidence.

Should I continue?

Earlier today I set afoot to run an errand, a fool’s errand so it may seem. Indulge me – it was nothing special – I was *attempting* to fill the household water container here at fort LCR. Our water here in So-Cal is so atrocious that it’s anything but a luxury to supply the homestead with water that is fresh and charcoal-filtered, triple ionized and such.

I kid you not, the water straight out of the ‘tap’ in San Diego tastes like it was siphoned out of a bathtub, post 4 year old necessitated bathtime, after a tough day of rough and tumble in the playground…..

So the story continues.

I ventured on in the distance (about a mile) to the fine little profit-centered object of my desire (that Obama will surely shutter just soon enough) to find the tasty, $.25 per gallon filtered H2O in a plastic-and-steel-enclosed miniature space shuttle.

However, using my well-honed urban instincts, I spotted a man (with a shopping cart, – in a galaxy far, far, away from the grocery store) providing a seemingly impenetrable offense to my water-run.

What to do?

“Sneak for it and think that he just won’t notice,” I thought. “Quietly, yes,” I considered.

However, I couldn’t have tip-toed or have been any more wrong.

As I came closer to the man, he shrieked (and gargled), “My three-feet of space!”

“Hmmph” I quickly thought, “Three feet?”

“When I was in the State Prison, we always stuck to the three-feet-of-space-rule!” he exclaimed to an inanimate object (I was a bit to the left and didn’t consider the prison angle of the deal).

I was stuck, so I stuck to a bit of a jest. I noticed something very strange, clinging to his ‘stash’ of glittering beer cans, clothing and other assorted rummaged-goodies.

Several squirrel tails — I kid you not.

“Nice squirrel tails you have there”, I remarked (my wife would have killed me for saying that but she was not there – heh).

“Yah, man, heeh-heeh-heeh!” “I cut them up for dinner and have been arrested four times for public nuisance!”

“That’s pretty impressive.”

“Woo!,” He thought so too.

Hearing this and quickly bee-lining away from the guy, he retracted the former, but not the latter or anything in between.

“I was just kidding, man, I don’t eat squirrels!,” he said to deaf, but unbelieving ears.

I continued about my business but quietly was laughing-out-loud inside. For you see, the squirrel-tail-homeless-man had reminded me of a brew chatted about with a good friend here in town, just the evening before.

Indulge me.

The beer my friend recounted is extra-special – a 55% alcohol (wince) speciality – encased around the former posterior and anterior and everything in-between of a once-live squirrel.

My encounter with Squirrel-man was impeccable. But, be it a squirrel you may be, which fate would you free-willingly choose? A demise at the hands of a deranged homeless guy? Or a taxidermist-special brew?

For me – I’m not sure…..