Well hello there and a very merry Tuesday from me myself and I @otherbrandt to each and every one of you out there on Hive or elsewhere unfortunate enough to be reading these words instead of doing something worthwhile with your time. I really appreciate you stopping by but you could be doing so much better.
For instance National Geographic almost always features words and pictures of far higher quality than anything I've ever published here. Other options I'd recommend leaving my blog immediately for include American Heritage, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Intercept, The Critical Drinker, Ryan George, Sylvia Plath, Shel Silverstein, Gary Larson, and everything by Cormac McCarthy except for Suttree.
I could go on but I've got work to do so when you've finished making your way through all of the above hit me up in the IRCs and I'll shoot you a few more suggestions.
Anyway. After leaving wherever we were before and driving the required number of miles in the appropriate direction to arrive at wherever here was, me and my clunky old rustbucket of a Subaru, Yolo McFukitol, looked around feeling a bit lost and confused for a while till finally we realized that here was Tower Rock Campground in Elizabethtown, Illinois. The tiny little general store we'd stopped at on our way had refused to sell us booze on a Sunday but we're the clever sort so we'd found a loophole—cooking wine. As is our custom when camping we got right to the drinking and then to the cleanupping but this time we'd barely begun when tragedy struck.
I was feeling fine. My mind was calm and my soul was satisfied. With arms wide open and hands full of beer cans and plastic bags and gladness I strode to and fro with purpose and direction and a head empty of negative thoughts when suddenly I glanced down and realized what I'd done and my heart sank like a stone, like a smooth stone meant for an enemy slung instead through the forehead of a friend.
For like the greatest of fools to ever have wandered the earth I'd wandered straight into the midst of an ancient catfish graveyard.
Woe is me—for I have seen the invisible eyes roll themselves up in empty sockets, and I have felt the gaze of the long since dead set like claws upon me. None can swim from this.
Alas—the ancient river is in me, and I am in the ancient river.
There is naught to save me now, for I am bound by the Curse of the Catfish.
I accept my fate. Farewell.
