One time (people really say that!~ One time.....) I was in northern Arizona with my sweetheart. About six years ago I think.
The Highway that runs from Las Vegas ("Hooterville") to Phoenix ("The Bird's Still On Fire") ~ the highway squeezes over the top of Hoover Dam. Which, is a cool place. Hoover Dam. It's really neat. I have a small fear at dams though, that I will fall off and down the front of them. I'm sure there has to be a fear-of-dams phobia. Or, on the other side, get sucked into the turbins. Tour-bins? Turbans?
Why would a "concrete rational" like Paul be afraid of something crazy like that happening to him?
HISTORY, baby.
When the bi-plane loop-dee-loops, I fall out.
Where was I. Herbert Hoover was born just up the road. From us here, not the dam. McMinnville, I think. (Big effing deal.) "This is the Herbert Hoover House." "Big effing deal." Shee-it. Who cares? Really. Was he born sideways from a lamb?
Uh...Hooooover uh.
What.
Well, across the dam, that would be the other side from Nevada, which would be actually Arizona, across the dam there is the country's deadliest Highway. No kidding. More de-carnations than any other.
They've been putting up those crosses, and it looks like the Punchbowl Cemetery. And man, they're clustered. It gives you a lot to imagine. I think they should add people-size dummies to the crosses; like sit people up against them, or stack them. Or put them in old school desk-chairs, with little angel rings over their heads.
Or you could put a dummie in a red devil suit and have him poking them. Like herding sheep, back and forth up the road.
There's not a lot to look at.
Because they didn't put ME in charge, mainly.
You could also put fluorescent marble eyes in the dummies, for night time. And rows of coffins, that would be closed during the day, and open at night time.
If it's keeping people awake they want, I could do it. I'm just not sure I can keep them on the road, going between the white line and the cliffs. But; I'm not out of resources, yet.
I think, for instance, I'd take the guardrail they're already putting along the outside, and put it in the middle, of the road. Between the on-coming lanes. For starters. Hey, they say they don't want people to pass. So make it so.
Then you could move the dummies in closer to the shoulder, so that if people were drifting off that way, they'd run them over; see a fluorescent eyed zombie coming right over the hood.
Ka-boom. That would wake you up, man.
So.
Arizona.
Well, in Arizona around that part somewhere, ~ to tell the truth it might be back in Nevada ~ but anyway, in a part that looks like that part, desert, there are these signs along the road, and we slowed down to look at one, and they say, "Don't feed the burros."
I thought it was a joke. You know, maybe the Arizona Hwy Dept, hired that other guy. And he made these signs. And the next one says, "Don't feed the burros burritos." And so on, until you get to Phoenix ~ if you make it, you burrhead.
But then there was all this stuff about burro-ecology. Don't Mexicans have burros? The baby Jesus had a burro. (Donkey, burro ~ they all look the same to me. Like YOU know the difference.) (Okay, what's the difference between an ass and a burro? Between an ass and a jackass? Then what's a mule? Huh?)
Well, let's agree to disagree that we don't know the difference. Differences. But I know that one kind, can't have the other kind. I think that's the mule. A mule is a cross between a horse, and a donkey. Wow. Who would think that would work, at all. Spooky. And then you can't use the mule, to have anything else. Which is pretty weird, since it's closer to the two others than anything else. That makes even less sense.
Suffice it to say, for Pete's sake, I think these were BURROS or DONKEYS. And I don't know, or care, about the goddam difference.
Oh ~ miners! Miners, were the other guys who had burros. Burro-donkeys. Burkeys, for short. And, being pretty imaginative, personally, myself, solutions-oriented, from the Oregon forest, I thought maybe these were got-away ones. Old Seth is out there, and he's got a broken meta-tarsal flipper, and he gives Sticky the last of his water, and points him toward Phoenix. He doesn't make it to Phoenix, but he makes a Burro, and she has little ones, Burritos.
It ALL fits together.
But first, I didn't really think there were any burros. I saw some horses, in pens, but burros ~ no. Burro hoax, is what I thought. I just came from Vegas. I know a sucker when I see one. But we rounded this row of dummies, and there were three burros, standing in a row!!
I was AMAZED.
Really, amazed.
It's like, where is their pen? How can they be "out here?" Who's taking care of them? How come they don't run away?
"They're WILD," says my wife, somewhat rudely.
Pardon ME, for never seeing a burro by the road.
"Didn't you READ the SIGN?" she says.
God, I hate her.
"Yahhh, I read.....the sign," I sqweek out.
I'm trying hard now to remember what the sign even said. I know if I ask any questions, anything that was covered, on the sign, well, that will be bad. I decide to just LOOK at the burros.
"They're amazing," I say. "Amazing burros."
They're moving now, so at least I know they're not cut-outs.
They're coming towards the car!!!
"Do we have anything we can feed them???" I'm SO excited.
"THE SIGN SAID, DO NOT FEED THE BURROS."
"Oh, heck with that," I say, turning to scramble in the back. "I'm giving them a potato chip."
"No you're not."
"Okay, a banana. An apple. They probably get those out here."
"Don," is about ten feet away now, and he got bigger in the process. "Wow. They're not timid. Burros."
HE'S COMING UP TO THE WINDOW!!
The only thing I've ever had come up to my window was a cup of coffee. "He LIKES ME!!"
[By the way, my wife still plans her vacations with me.]
I can ~ heck ~ I can see up his nostrils. There's excitement. He's wiggling his nose a lot. Sniffing stuff, like a wild animal, to find out what's up. He's wiggling his lips, like he's got a loose rubber band on his braces somewhere. Or some gum, and he's about to blow a bubble.
"If you don't ROLL UP YOUR WINDOW, he's going to stick his head in here!"
Hmmm. She might be right. I decide that half way, cranked up half way, I start cranking, and he doesn't LIKE THAT, and "He's BITING THE WINDOW. HE'S BITING THE WINDOW. DRIVE AWAY! DRIVE AWAYEEE!!!"
He's got all his top and bottom teeth 'clamped on the window glass edge I'm trying to roll up, SLAMMED SHUT LIKE A VISE, and the little ass is backing up, with the glass in his mouth!!! He's TRYING TO BREAK OUT THE WINDOW!!!"
"Drive away!!! SHEE-IT, DRIVE AWAY!"
Oooh, he doesn't like THAT, either.
He's staring in at me, running alongside the car, letting me know, that if he gets this window open, the eyes and ears are coming off first. I'm backed up clear against Mary Jane, afraid to get my hand anywhere near the door and window crank.
Well, thank goodness I have a take-charge wife. Eh? Donkeys, or burros or whatever they are, max out sideways at about 15 to 18 miles per hour. I'm rolling my window up, gonna have to wipe the marks and slobber and check for scratches later, but not right now.
Whew.
Whew!
Ahhhh. Need a beer, after that one. Don't pull over yet, though.
Whew. I look over at Mary Jane. "He was gonna bite me. Who'da thunk burros, burros, could be so nasty. Heeepers. They're dangerous."
"Did you READ the SIGN?"
I hate her, man. She's just mean.
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