I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Snake Whisperer.

I think the key to making money, is to think outside of the box and shift the paradigms. One night after watching Harry Potter and The Horse Whisperer back to back, I came up with my new business plan. Did I mention that there might have been a slight amount of drinking involved. And by slight, I mean moderate. And by moderate, I mean liver punishing. That aside, it was a brilliant plan.

   Why is that people whisper horses and whisper dogs and even whisper babies, but when they have a snake problem they get all freaked out and call exterminators and such. It's not right. Not that I'm advocating calling the exterminator when you have problems with your baby, I just think somebody should give the snakes a chance.

   So I watched Snakes On A Plane, Anaconda, and Indiana Jones to get boned up on my snake lore. I found an online parseltongue site and learned the translation for "I am your friend", and "come with me and you won't be harmed". I watched all the video I could find of Kenny Stabler, Jake Roberts, and Bob Pliskin to improve my snake-ish moves. Then I printed up Snake Whisperer cards and waited for my first call.

   A lady named Lurleen called and reported hearing slithering sounds under her porch. I sprang into action like a coiled up rattler. I was excited to save my first snake. I arrived at Oak Bluffs Mobile Estates and found Lurleen's place. I got out, gave my speech a practice hiss and slowly, as to not startle our guest, crawled under the trailer. It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but gradually I began to make out what appeared to be a snake, rather on the largish side, staring at me.

   I lovingly whispered good thoughts at the snake but he seemed to doubt my intentions because he just looked at me with his hateful dead eyes. I hissed affirmations about his worth and how he deserved to live out in the wild. Again he seemed to mistrust my meaning because he now began to slither towards me in what I can only describe as an angry manner. I made a last ditch effort to reassure him that I meant him no harm.

   And then that evil son-of-a-bitch bit me in the face. There is reason nobody whispers snakes. They are foul baleful loathsome creatures without a soul. We should kill every one of those wicked pernicious bastards. Damn, I can not tell you how much I hate snakes. They are dangerous sinister demons from the very pit of hell, and should be destroyed. The only thing I'm going to whisper from now on, is my shotgun on every snake I see.