Adventures in Housesitting

[jack_babalon]

House sitting for Bill back in my old neighborhood of Doraville. My instructions, as outlined on a single sheet of white paper, left for my discovery on a kitchen top counter, enumerated, compartamentalized and complete with accompanying instructions are as follows:

Home Security: Once a day, without fail, I am to sit out on the front lawn in a specially designated patio chair (the one with a white plank hanging from the slats in the back reading: "Assistant Bitch Slap Administrator"), underneath the huge American flag that hangs from his driveway, with his pump shotgun in my lap (to be fully loaded at all times), while (and this point was circled numerous times) clearly drinking an alcoholic beverage straight from the bottle (no wine, champagne, absinthe or light beer allowed) and finally this is to be accompanied by the playing of "America, Why I Love Her" by John Wayne (at a level of sound not to exceed a volume of 8 but never to be played lower than 7). This is to be done for a minimum of one to two hours and preferably before sun down.

The Feeding of the Hobo's: Since Bill's neighborhood is only a mile or so from one of the major CSX rail hubs, there is a higher than usual amount of Hobo's camped outside the perimeter of his backyard. Every morning i'm to feed the 'Bo's before work. They get one (and no more than one), ham sandwich apiece with each one to consist of: Two slices of bread, three slices honey ham and one slice of 'All-American-Cheez-Product'.* Each 'Bo will be given one tin cups worth of Grog and/or Hooch for the express purpose of 'washing it all down'.

Reburying of the Dead: It's a bitch, but since lands cheaper on old Indian Cemetarys that have been long cursed by generations of Raven Shamen, there is the occasional uprising of the 'dearly departed'. It is my duty to see that they are reburied with extreme prejudice. Now these aren't zombies sad to say. Zombies require minimum effort in their deactivation process( a bullet to the brain perhaps or placing lit sticks of dynamite in their mouths under the ruse of offering them a cigar). These however are animated skeletons and if left unattended will form into small roaming bands that seek deadly hand to hand combat with residents and neighbors alike. Why the skeletons are consistenly reburied with scimatars, shields and a wide arrangement of spears is beyond me.

Locke & Load: Every hour and 48 minutes I have to go down into the basement and type the numbers 4, 8, 15, 16, 23 and 42 into a specially designated computer or the world will end. However the rumors that i'm really dead and that the home i'm housesitting in is actually Purgatory have long been dismissed.

All in all a small price to pay for a pool, a wide screen hdtv with all the Soprano's DVRed, a kitchen stuffed with liberal supplies of Little Debbies and an open bar at my disposal.

*-One might wonder why Bill is feeding these 'Gentleman Nomads' instead of calling the law on them. The answer is simple. The Hobo, as any school child can tell you, plays a vital part in the fragile eco system of the Doraville community. For example they strip trees of the parasitical Kudzo with which they weave the cloth in their bindlesticks and hobo patches from. Also the Hobo is the natural predator of both the Sewer Howler Monkey and the C.H.U.D. (as previously reported in this blog and the July 2006 issue of National Geographic) and as such prove useful in keeping infestation rates low.For more information about hobo's visit your local liabrary.

Comments

[efire360.livejournal.com]

Doraville, eh? That's my turf, Man! I'll help you out with the skellies – Limbo is my specialty. Give me a call.

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

I shall see if time permits it but otherwise i'd love to.

[daucus-carota.livejournal.com]

Poor lil Mac... hobos and the dead and the end of the world??? Good thing he has you!
xxx

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

Sword fighting a skeleton or two will just 'Spartan' little Mac up a bit I should think.