A Bushman Christmas

Well our big day has made it here!  The kids will be spending Christmas day with their Father and step mother  this year which means we have them on the Eve. 
I awoke early (shocker) and the strain of 4 bottles of water and  a Mountain Dew right before bed were making their presence known.   I spent most of the previous day loafing on the couch with Momma watching movies. 
Our annual holiday party was the 22nd and we had lots to celebrate. (thus the water the next day)
Christmas with friends, Mommas 40th birthday and of course the end of the world not quite.........well...... ending.  There was food galore, plenty of adult beverages and although I didn't wake up with a headache I could tell that I was indeed in the Christmas spirit.....s.

We cleaned up the mess, returned the borrowed card tables and chairs (why do we not own 6 sets of tables and chairs?  Cheap ass comes to mind!), returned the electric roaster that slowly cooked the ham all day making me salivate more than George Bush over a phonics book!
Ham bone stayed put in case you were wondering.  This is where I dig out the other weapon of mass cooking....the slow cooker/crock pot!  In went the ham bone and left over ham along with carrots , celery, onions and potatoes.  The beans meanwhile sat in a bowl of water, soaking, growing, just waiting for a chance to join the ham bone and unleash its glorious volley of flatulence upon all those who would gather at the mother in laws the next day for dinner!
A quick trip to Walmart (yes I did cringe and vomit a little in my mouth at the thought of venturing to that insane asylum of pure hill billy redneckness just a scant few days before Christmas.
Shockingly it was virtually empty.  When I say empty I mean that as we approached he 20 items or less lane with all 43 of our items we only waited for 20 seconds.  Mother was concerned at our cart tally but I assured her that this was Walmart and 43 was an awful big number.  They would give up at seven most likely.  As that was what adorned our sweet cashiers hands.  Seven.  Now I know why they put her in the 20 or less lane.  Just saying!  We checked out and of course the contents of our cart wouldn't leave anyone guessing that we were planning for a holiday meal.  Except for the oriental noodles that I have to get every time we go there.  Can't get 'em at the other store!

Our Christmas dinners are pretty much standard fare.  Cardboard cut outs of the traditional holiday feast.  Except the mother in law likes to twist it up a little bit now and again.  I don't mean twist like serving prime rib instead of ham because if that was the case I would twist so much Richard Simmons couldn't even keep up.  We have you green bean casserole,(this time every year the Campbell's Soup company stocks skyrocket with the huge leap in sales of cream of mushroom soup)
With the obligatory topping of french fried onions.  Have you ever ate them all by themselves?  Like a handful of potato chips?  Don't!
We have our ham, mashed taters and gravy, cheesy potatoes, and baked beans.  Yes baked beans.  I don't know about you folks but when I was growing up baked beans were summer fare.  The first year I had these with the in laws I kept looking out the window for butterflies and fireworks.  It messes with the senses I tell ya!  I've grown used to it by ignoring them (beans not in laws).
Sometimes she substitutes with fried chicken.  Usually from Walmart as they live across the street.  I love fried chicken don't get me wrong I just never would have thought to put it on a Christmas menu.  (Maybe that is why I don't have a restaurant around here. )   Regardless I do love my in-laws,( just don't tell them) and I suppose when they are gone I will have fried chicken for Christmas in their honor!  Or not.

Anyways, here it is 9:17 am, the house is still quiet.  The lights out in the front yard are slowly growing dimmer as the daylight progresses.  Someone left them on all night long! 
I was up at 4:30 to let the mutts out and feed them.  I figured I could sleep in a little but because  have this annoying body part called a "back" the most I could do was toss and turn for a few more hours.
I heard Momma get up awhile later and pull the presents from the secret hiding place, (the computer room) and carry them down the steps to the tree.  After an extended period of time she returned to bed.  I snuggled in close and said "hey baby?"  She slapped me and said shut up!  Of course I played it off like I was asking her what she was doing up so early and she said she was moving presents and feeding the dogs.  I told her I had already fed them 2 hours prior and she said she never heard me.  I looked at the dog and he smiled, in a way only a dog could,  I could here him thinking, "Sucker" and he flopped back over and began snoring as his twice fed belly protruded above the covers!
"Merry Christmas fatso", I told him.

Well momma just got up.  Baby Joe Joe has to work at noon.  Ahh the joys of coming into adulthood.  (Sucker!)
We will have to pry the kids out of bed,force them to open their gifts, feed them and while one goes to work the other will probably go back to bed.  Momma and I will sit on the couch and wonder how in the heck our little children grew up so fast and then we'll take turns plucking each others grey hairs. 
While she makes the green bean casserole and the 4th of July baked beans to take to her mother's house I will wander down to the garage and ponder which type of beer I will take to Christmas dinner.  I do have some Pabst Blue Ribbon in the garage still.
What?  It goes great with fried chicken and baked beans!
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night (smelling the farts from my bean soup, Sucker!)

The Illegal Protector (the end)

The Illegal Protector

Chapter 6
The chairs were lined up like soldiers in rank, all positioned in front of a large white dry erase board. 
The board was littered with various bubble diagrams and pictures taped to its edges. 
The room began to fill.  Men and women chatted idly while waiting for the briefing to begin.
Soon the room was full and a large barrel chested man stepped up to the board.
"All right lets get going", he began.  His voice was gravelly, a two pack a day of Viceroys had seen to that, yet it commanded the attention of every one seated in the room.  He was their leader and looking at all the faces, rapt with attention, they were clearly the followers.

"Our suspect struck again last night.  We faked the victims death and rolled her out of the house under sheets.  We have a strong belief that the suspect has been watching the crime scene after the fact and we didn't want a follow up attack.  This morning our detectives found a set prints set deep in mud like someone had sat through the rain watching us.  They were found within a short distance of the residence.".  He coughed long and hard and spat into a handkerchief, a cursory glance at the cloth and back into the pocket it went.

He looked over the room.  So many new officers young and eager.  He was confident they would catch the guy soon.  He grabbed his pointer and walked to the dry board.
"We have a photo of the perp recently found in a surveillance video from the last crime we believe he committed.  It is from the neighbors back yard camera.  He apparently scaled the wall surrounding their yard and from the pic you can tell it is a male, about 6'2" weighing around 220 -230.  He is wearing a black mask.  It's all we got but it's a start".  He paused for effect and continued on, "An unofficial count puts us at 37 crime scenes across the country that fit this guys MO."  A few wows murmured through the room.

"Today we have procured some very damning evidence and with any luck we should be able to bring this guy down."  "It seems as though he is leaving notes in children's toys that he suspects are being abused by their parents, the tiny little note has a phone number telling the kid to call if he is being hit by his folks.  The kid calls the number for help unaware that this guy is going to show up and beat the living hell out of his parent or parents."

"We have a lead and in the next few days if our surveillance is correct we will be setting up a sting."
"In the file, you picked up at the door, is everything we have on this guy.  Read it and read it good", his voice was stern and he knew they would all read it, many times over.
"And before you get any ideas about whether this guy is doing good or bad remember one thing, you can't break into someones house and beat them half to death.  There are other ways to deal with these matters." 
The man stepped away from the board and the briefing was officially over.
They had done their homework.  Soon, he hoped, it would be over.




Chapter 7

The man was unsure what to do next.  He hadn't meant to kill her.  Only teach her a lesson.
Maybe it was time to hang it up, go find his ex wife and son.  He hadn't seen the little boy in years.
He didn't even know where she was living.  He had been so wrapped up in his business he never stopped to care for his own child.  It wasn't too late to be a father.  He sat on a bench, deep in the park under the shade of a large walnut tree pondering his next move when his phone began to vibrate.

His heart jumped a beat.  It was his business phone.  He pulled the phone from his pocket, pressed the tiny green phone symbol and held it to his ear.  
A tiny voice squeaked on the other end, "Hello, is anyone there ?"
"Yes", he answered.
"Can you help me", the voice responded.
It was a pleading, heartbreaking, sound and the man felt tears well into his eyes.  He wanted to say no to the little boy but instead like a ghost hovering over his own body he watched and heard himself say, " yes, yes I can".


"Did you get it ?", he asked the man sitting at the mocked up switchboard.  Wires, speakers and recording devices cluttered the techs desk.  He looked up at the detective, "Barely, but I got it".
"Nice work, I'll inform the chief", the detective said as he exited the room in a flurry of papers and trench coat tails.




Chapter 8
The man walked down the street observing.  He was going to play this one like all the others, except this time he would make zero mistakes.  Then he was done.  He was going to find his son and start his life over.  He made his way down the street, only casually glancing at the house that had the same number nailed to it's front door as the scrap of paper in his pocket.  He walked to the end of the street and out of sight.  Later on during the day he would walk by again but dressed in different clothes.  He wanted this one to be quicker than normal.  He just needed a little piece of evidence and then he would move.
The clanging of the school bell signaled the man to arise from the bench and begin his walk back down the targeted street.  Children began their journey home from the school down on the corner.  His slumped over walk along with the walker he had picked up at the goodwill store allowed him to keep a slower pace and the blue blocker sunglasses hid most of his face so he was able to ascertain the situation to a finite detail.
A little boy zipped past him, splashing through a puddle on the street nearly soaking the old man hunched over his walker.  he ran up the sidewalk, leaped up the three steps and slammed himself into the door of the house with the matching numbers.  He opened the door and ran inside.
A horrified scream came from inside. "Jimmy, I just washed those floors, God Damn it".
The old man slowed his pace even more.  He winced at the name.  Jimmy was his sons name. It touched him in  deeper way.
He could hear the sound of hard, cold hands contacting soft warm skin.  The thumps rolled out the open window on the porch.  The cries of the child, unnoticeable to most as the neighbors sprinkler system kicked in.  Cink, cink, cink, chukkah, chukkah,chukkah. 
The old man continued down the street.  The cries slowly fading in the distance.
He had what he needed.

 

Chapter 9

The darkness had settled throughout the neighborhood.  Lights from inside the homes began to shut off, one by one.  The hand on his watch moved slowly, deliberately.  Soon it reached 2 am and he emerged from his hiding spot.  His mask pulled down, his gloves on tight.  The moonlight shimmered off the toes of his boots.  He crept up on the front porch, quietly lifting the window that only hours ago had been a speaker for brutality.  Once inside the house he made his way down the hallway in the darkness.  The only light was from the smoke detector high on the wall.  His eyes had been adjusting to the darkness for a few hours now and he would hold the superior advantage.
Step by step he made his way.  He could tell which bedrooms were which by a simple smell. 
He entered the bedroom at the end of the hall, stepped to the bed and grabbed the covers.  Ripping them back he grabbed the woman by her hair, threw her to the floor and began to pummel her furiously.  She tried to scream but he covered her mouth quickly.  Only a small shriek escaped but it was enough to wake the small boy across the hall and as the man rose his fist to strike again the light flipped on.  A small boy clad in superman footie pajamas stared at him.  His lip had been fattened and his eye was slightly swollen.  He blinked several times.  Trying to shake the image that stood in front of him.  His voice cracked and wavered as his soul emptied itself,
"Jimmy?  Is that you? My son? Jimmy?"

The sound of glass breaking and furniture crashing broke his stare.  He kneeled there on the blue carpet dazed, his ex wife's hair in one hand, his other raised high in the air, ready at an instant to shatter her cheek bone while his son stared at him.  Police filed in from everywhere surrounding him with guns.

"Freeze you son of a bitch!"

It was his son who had made the call.  Tears poured from the man's eyes, soaking his black mask.  All this time he had been away fighting for the children when he should have been home saving his own.

The cop ripped the mask from his face.

"Daddy?"

"Jimmy?"



-the end

I hope you enjoyed my story.  It was written spontaneously.  Nothing was done in advance.
I had no idea where it was going when I started it.   just had the idea of a guy fighting for all the abused children out there.  Of course it has some far fetched parts but being a short story, I mean a very short story, I couldn't fill it with back story to make things more believable but damn that's why we have an imagination right?
I see the story in my head as I write it.  It is a like a movie.  Right down to the towering oaks and the puff ball flowers on the hydrangeas, to the look of astonishment on the mans's face when he realizes his own child made the call.  All I have to do is turn it into words.  Let me tell you, I need typing lessons bad.  I can't peck fast enough to keep up with my head.
Good Day and Merry Christmas to all!

 

The Illegal Protector chapter 5

The Illegal Protector


Chapter 5


Blue lights twirled in every direction as the cruisers bubbles flashed round and round.  Streaks of blue and white chased each other in circles, crossing the face of the white two story with the attached garage and then on to the giant oak tree in the front yard, across the cruiser opposite and back to the house again  They lit up the scene and accented the yellow and black DO NOT CROSS line set up by the sheriff's department. 

Two officers stood by the front door sipping hot coffee from Styrofoam cups.  The steam was also caught in the chase of the blue and white bubbles and strobed as it twirled upward.  The officers chatted while occasionally shooing a camera toting reporter away from the crime scene boundary tape.

The front door opened and two men in white jump suits began to emerge from the threshold rolling a gurney.  Somewhere deep in the darkness a man smiled as he watched at first the feet and then the chest roll through the door.  He knew what was next.  A puffy bruised face covered in an oxygen mask.  He could envision it perfectly.  This was not his first. 

The last part of the gurney rolled through the door and it was all covered by a sheet.  No oxygen mask, no bruised face or chipped teeth.  The man's smile dropped from his face as his brow furrowed.
This couldn't be happening.  She couldn't be dead.  His heart raced.
The two men, now more visible in the strobing of the blue lights in their light yellow suits marked "Coroner's Office" loaded the gurney into an ambulance, motioned to the officers at the front door and hopped inside the ambulance slamming the door.
The ambulance pulled slowly from the drive.  No lights flashing.  No sign of urgency.

Rain began to patter from the sky as the remaining officers finished their official police business and one by one they departed the scene.   The rain became a steady downpour and before long even the mighty oaks were unable to protect the hidden one in their dark embrace and soon he was soaked through.  Water pooled around his boots in muddy rivulets.  It coursed down his face pausing momentarily on his lips before falling to the soaked muddy earth.  He sat there long into the night.  Shortly before dawn the rain began to let up.  He left then and by the time he reached the end of the street the rain had quit all together.

While the man huddled in the darkness the ambulance reached the end of Oak street,travelled down Maple street three blocks and after the stop sign at Maple and Pine the driver punched the accelerator and flipped on his lights.  Reaching speeds of 60 mph through the neighborhood streets to make up for lost time  The sirens he kept quiet.  The two men in the coroners jumpsuits peeled off the nylon suits revealing their EMT badges, pulled back the sheet and looked at the battered woman.  Her eyes were wide and scared.
The detective in the front seat turned around and looked  each of the EMTs.
"Nice job fellas", he said.
 

The Illegal Protector (chapter 3 and 4)

The Illegal Protector

Chapter3


As the man stood under the protective shade of the cooling trees he kept a watchful eye on 301
Oak St. 
Observation was paramount to any action that would be undertaken, if any. 
Not all jobs were the same and many were left as he found them.  After a few days of careful observance he would make a decision and either act or leave.  The last thing he needed was to make a hasty decision and do the wrong thing.

As he watched his mind drifted. 
Memories would come and go just like the old slide shows he had sometimes watched with his family as a boy.  The little plastic cards with the upside down picture.  A machine would project it on the wall in a larger, almost life size format. 
He admitted that there were good things that he remembered from his childhood but sadly they were few and far between. 
A child of broken homes, abuse and neglect he struggled bringing those good things into focus.  They were blurred by the stronger memories. 
Belts with buckles, dark closets, hiding, the cold look of hatred in those eyes.  The eyes that were supposed to love and care for you.
The physical scars would heal in time but those eyes would forever haunt him.  Those eyes were his fuel.  They fed his fire and gave him the determination to do what he had to do.

No one had helped him.  No one had  given him a choice.  It burned deep in his soul.  His heart, damaged, would never heal.  The scar was an open, festering slice of cruelty and inhumanity. 
He was just a child.  Just a child.

He was brought back from his past by movement at the front door.






Chapter 4

The door swung open and banged loudly against the wrought iron handrail that led up the steps.  A clanging sound that reverberated through the entire neighborhood.  The railing quieted some but the vibration, not unlike a tuning fork, still hummed in the oppressive silence of the day.
A small child emerged from the door, cringing, his shoulders humped up as if expecting a blow from behind.  The man noticed the child's movements and made a mental note.  The child hesitated, a woman's shrill voice from the inside made the child squint his eyes.  Nothing more came form the shrill voice and the child ran down the steps and into the front yard.  A package in his hand.

The man, hidden in the deep shade of a hundred year old oak and surrounded by lush hydrangeas, watched the boy.  Observing every movement, every sound.  He noticed how the boy held himself, his body language revealed everything the man needed to know.  He detected a slight limp in the boy's left leg and wondered what his skin might look like under his dirty blue jeans.  Black and blue or red? 

The boy made his way to a stump that looked as if had been recently cut down.  Next to the stump was a pile of coarse shavings.  It appeared that the tree cutting crew had been in the process of grinding the stump down and their machinery had broke down or something more pressing had pulled them away from their work because the stump was still sticking out of the ground with a small mountain of stump grindings next to it.

What they left behind was an imaginary world for the small boy and his new toy. 
He ripped it from the package and tossed the plastic carton and its background to the side and his new "Joe" began his ascent of the wood chip pile.  The boy momentarily appeared to be in a state of pure bliss.  The man could hear him talking to his new toy.  Presumably the voice of the "Joe" was what he was overhearing.

It was no more than 3 minutes from the time the boy sat down in the wood chip pile and began playing until the time he started to scream and flail about.  He was slapping at himself and wailing away when his mother came tearing out of the house.  As she approached him the boy began to apologize profusely.  She grabbed him by an arm, wrenching him on to his tip toes, the boy cried out in a new pain.  She swore at him and told him what a stupid little boy he was to be playing on a wood pile full of fire ants.  She drug the boy across the lawn by his arm, the whole time he kept swatting, trying in vain to get the biting ants off his body.  She screamed at him to shut up and stop fighting her.  She smacked him hard and the boy continued his crying but at a quieter tone.  The man could see the red lumps forming on the boys exposed skin.

The woman wrenched open the door, hitting the handrail again, the sound echoed through the trees.  She tossed the boy inside, giving him a kick in the behind to clear the threshold and slammed the door shut.
The "Joe" lay in the pile of chips covered in an army of red ants.  The plastic package and its background lay strewn in lush green lawn.  The sunlight filtered through the giant trees and a single ray of light touched the edge of the plastic causing it to shine.

A tear ran down the man's cheek.
 

The Illegal Protector

                                          
Crazy thing.  I fell asleep on the couch last night while watching TV.  My dear wife woke me to go to bed and I heard her but I was lost in that dream state.  I was like a pre-cog from that movie Minority Report.  I believe I sat up but that was the extent of making it to the bedroom because I awoke this morning around 4:30 still on the couch.  Usually I don't remember my dreams and this one wasn't  much different but I remembered parts of it.  Enough that when I finally got off the couch I came in here to write a story based on that dream.
This will be incredibly short but for me, worthwhile.  With recent events taking place  I wasn't sure what to post.  My heart goes out to them. 
Perhaps these events somehow triggered this dream because this is way out of my normal thinking realm.  I don't  know but when you have an urge to write that was as strong as this one was this morning you have to act on it.  Like I said this will be an incredibly short story and I will write it live on Blogger.  I plan to finish it by this time next week!





The Illegal Protector






                                                                     Chapter One

A bus pulled up to the curb, brakes squealing and black exhaust billowing from the tail pipe.  A single man emerged  and stepped to the curb.  The doors closed and the bus pulled away quickly as if escaping from the man, air hissing from a leaky suspension barely overheard by the roaring of the engine as the grey submarine on wheels made it's get away.  Leaving,  no..... more like stranding the man. 

The day was warm and the man tugged at his shirt collar allowing some of the pent up air inside his white button up shirt to escape.  The shirt was a cheap one he had picked up at the local Walmart.  He knew better than to wear a good shirt on one of these bus rides.  He carried with him a small leather duffel.  Not the traditional black leather but one of a maroon shade.  Some would call it burgundy but the man preferred to think of it as maroon.  He wore black slacks, also purchased at the same time as the shirt.  He was non de-script and most would overlook him as a salesman.  However at a closer glance, by a more observant person, one would notice his footwear.  Not patent leather dress shoes as one would expect but work boots, more specifically engineer boots.  The ones like the greasers always wore in the 1950s and 1960s movies you would watch as a kid.  The pants covered up most of them but beneath the black pant legs you could see the bulk.  The boots themselves were polished almost to a mirror shine and only blemished by scuffed toes.  This man was no ordinary salesman.

He surveyed the street.  Heat waves had already begun to shimmer from the black asphalt and the man checked his watch.  Eleven O'clock.  It was going to be a hot one.  The traffic on the street was just beginning to pick up for the lunch hour.  People walking down the sidewalks engaged in conversations with their cell phones.  A man on a bench reading the paper, head bobbing back and forth as he fought to stay awake, two pigeons playing tug of war with a dried up french fry.

He spied what he was looking for and headed that way.  A phone booth.  They were as rare these days with the advent of wireless.  The world was fading to a different place.  He was left behind looking for phone books.  He reached the booth and began shuffling through the phone book.  He stopped when he reached the map of the small village.  Pulling a scrap of yellow paper from his front pocket he placed it on top of the book and began to scroll with his finger.  The scrawl on the paper was barely legible, not his handwriting as his was neat and purposeful just like the nuns at St Mary's had taught him.  Bloody knuckles or not he had learned.  This script looked as if to be written by a 4th grader.  He found what he was looking for.
Maple Street dead ended at Elm Street.  He chuckled, how fitting would it be if his business was on Elm Street.  It was not and his finger traced down Elm Street to Oak Street.  Apparently this was a tree loving town he thought. Oak street was his destination and he looked up from the map to orient himself in this quaint little town, population 1300 and saw a street sign.  With a slight nod he closed the book and emerged from the phone booth.  It was hot in there and darkened circles had begun to form under his arms.

He began his walk.  The map in the phone book had indicated a walk of about 2 miles.  He set is pace.  keeping his head down but his eyes moved none the less.  He did not want to be noticed but he wanted to notice everything.  This was a risky business and he must not take chances.  Soon he was on Oak Street and the trees were in fact grand old oaks more than a century old. 
They shaded the street and the man began to cool.  He needed his wits about him and sweaty palms did not help.  He remembered his first job.  How nervous he had been.  How he had almost got caught.  Many jobs later he had learned to remain calm and cool.  If he botched it then the unimaginable would happen.  He couldn't let that take place.  He had to be perfect.
Perfect for the children.




                                                                 Chapter Two

He had begun his business 6 years prior.  He had been all over the country.  Business was growing and he had thought about taking on a partner.  This was a difficult decision.  It had to be someone he could trust and more importantly someone who would not run right to the authorities.  There was no salary with this job and you had to live off what you could scrounge off each job.  Sometimes there was nothing only a sandwich from the fridge where the business had taken place.  That came many years later.  The ability to eat after a job.  He thought back about his first jobs.  Vomiting in the alleyway afterward.  Running and hiding in the woods for days at a time.  It had taken awhile to perfect his talents and he was getting there.  Slowly but surely. 

It had all started with a small note written on the back of a childs toy.  He had been in the store one day and witnessed a mother jerking her kid around.  The small boy couldn't have been any more than 6 years old.  She was swearing at him and when she had slapped him,  his cheek turned bright red and little crystal tears of sadness coursed down his cheek. 
In that store, in that very spot he stood it had clicked.  He wasn't sure of the details but he knew he had found his profession.
He followed the lady and her kid home.  On one of her rounds carrying the groceries in he had quickly walked up to the car and dropped a toy into one of the shopping bags.  Nothing more than a small GI Joe figure with an action backing.  This particular collection of Joes had colorful, action packed backgrounds that the child would unfold once taken out of the plastic package.  It would stand on its own and the child would have a piece of that imaginary world to help the Joe's begin their quest for world peace.
He had opened the toy, just a tiny slit large enough to slide the background out, unfolded it and wrote a tiny note on the inside.  No parent would ever look close enough to notice it.  Only a child, lying on his belly in the midst of playing with his new toy would notice it.  He folded the background up and put it back inside the package.  A small dab of super glue resealed the package instantly and no one was the wiser.  This was not without consequence as most of the time he was sure the child was beaten or scolded for stealing something that they knew nothing about.  In the end he always hoped it was worth it.  Eventually the kid would get the package or it would be taken back to the store and some other kid would get it. 
He had almost perfected this tactic.  It was safer for him now.  Less risk.  A reasonable delivery vehicle.  A child's toy.
After the delivery he would wait and observe. Sometimes he would get an answer and most times he would not but he never gave up. 

As he stood there in the shade of the giant oak tree he reminisced. 
He was their protector.
 

Bushman just can't be quiet!

Have you ever just sat there and tried to figure out how to start your post? 
Rocking back and forth holding your mouse and then you begin to type and you realize that what you just put on the screen is how you started the last 14 posts.
Damn.  Backspace.

(I just backspaced three lines)

This sport can be tough sometimes.  I feel the urge to write but there is too much banging around in my head.

So I think I'll just recap my blogging career in 500 words or less.

Sounds tough but really if I just give you the cliff notes then it really won't take long.

Every time I open my blogger I see the page views.  Now I'm sure guys like "A Beer for the Shower" can get this many hits in one day but I was up to 31,364 page views.  That is not too shabby for a wannabe writer who only gets to play with his mind every so often.
I must confess and in the same breath, thank my loyal spam followers who seem to shower me with comments. 
Comments that read so well you would never know it was spam.  For example;

"I read your blog and would like it for me to read every time I shower daily with roses."

and

"I have checked your posteds and they confirm my ability to like you.  Please check out my site "Rejuvenation of the lower kind"

and

" After reading your insightful thoughts I have decided to act upon them thoroughly", this particular comment was laced to..This Post.

and my personal favorite

" Dear poster.  I like your write and you express you many the times my wife does with me"

Doesn't get much better than that folks! (and I wanna meet his wife)

I had a post entitled "How to build a duck boat blind"  that page alone was accountable for over 6000 page views.  Most of my spam comments as well.

I started blogging because I felt the need to write.  I was looking for an online journal of sorts and by the way I wasn't much of a computer guy before all the hub bub started.  I can't remember what exactly I had entered in the search window but  was rewarded with this site. Cowgirls Country Life

I had discovered something unique and special.  At first I didn't think I was capable of this but soon learned that this was called blogging.  (rug moves and bewildered fat guy emerges into the 21st century)  I read her blog top to bottom.  She was genuine, and honest and had some killer recipes.  She was already doing what I was looking for.  So in an attempt to not copy her style I began my own meager attempts at blogging.  My original blog was titled "The simple life".  I blogged about everything.  I mean everything.  I still do sort of.  Turns out someone else had this name and I didn't want to share so I changed it after a year or so. 

My main readers were my relatives and wife for a long time.  Eventually I picked up a few followers and made a few friends.  I have shared a lot of experiences on this site.  Shed a few tears on this keyboard as well.  I love to write and I can do that here and nobody judges.  Yet!

My biggest downfall is getting time to sit and write unobstructed.  There is so much to do all the time and with a mindful cluttering up the good synapses in my brain I  lose sight of the good stuff sometimes.  I know that isn't 500 words or less but your still reading anyways!

Winter is settling in here and soon there will be nought to do except explore the nether regions of.......seriously?  Pervert!  I was going to say my mind.  I'm thinking a few short stories this winter published right here on blogger.  Good or bad I don't really care too much as long as I'm writing.  My imagination is far too big for my head and it needs to spill once in awhile

Reading as well.  I sure need to read more.  Growing up I would read a book or two a week.  Stirring the mind frequently with a book is a great ingredient for creativity I have learned.

So there!  I was able to sit and type for awhile.  I want to thank all my followers.
Especially the ones who stick around.  I won't list them as I am working on an end of the year post and don't want to double up on the boredom you will soon be reading. 
I know there are some out there who read but never comment and I only know because my pops tells me so!  Thanks Uncle Elroy and Aunt Chris for hanging in there while I banter away.
I would like to think my other family members read as well through my Facebook links but I haven't heard and they don't comment if they do.  Hint Hint!
Commenters usually get Christmas gifts of deer sausage is the rumour!  Of course you would have to be crazy enough to give me your address!  Freak! 

I'll put up some pics of our Christmas tree later on.  We made a quick trip this year.  Kaitlin was just well enough to make the outing and the rain was moving in fast.  Not to mention the drought really put a beating on the fir trees we usually buy so we ended up with a blue spruce and they are easy to pick.  More to come.  Just had to speak for a bit.

Thanks,
-Bushman
 

Christmas Tree Day is Here!

The sun, hidden behind the overcast skies, cast a grey shadow upon the landscape.  The muted white snow stood out in stark contrast to the deep tones of the evergreen boughs.  Tiny little needles reached high, bursting through the snow as if to breathe. 
The quiet of the morning was peaceful and the softness of the fresh fallen snow comforted the man as he gazed upon the trees.
The snow squeaked underfoot and his footsteps were the first to break the wholeness of nature's blanket.  He moved slowly, afraid to break the silence, unwilling to compromise the fraility of the moment.  A blue jay screeched and did it for him.  He laughed out loud and the sound of his happiness echoed through the silent rolling countryside. 
"Lets go kids", he hollered. 
The rest of the family fell in behind him as they busted through the snow searching for the elusive perfect Christmas tree.



It's here!  Christmas tree day!  I love heading out for the annual cutting of our tree. 
There is no snow this year but if I close my eyes and let my mind walk then there is always snow!

I hope your Christmas tree day is a memorable moment and I hope my children will take their children just as I have them and my parents with me.

Merry Christmas Season!
-Bushman

A tale of the Bushman hunt camp!

Well it's December now.  There are still a few weeks of deer season left but I doubt I'll make it out much.  I have a ton of stuff to do but we'll see.  I could use a few more deer in the freezer.  I have just as much fun after the hunt turning the venison into all sorts of delectable yummies.

Yesterday I procured some new seasonings to make some more snack sticks with.  I will be making pepperoni sticks and mandarin teriakyi sticks.  Mandarin orange that is.  Not the tasty province of China where every bite turns your mouth into the bowels of hell with so much spice.

I am making all these yummies to send out as Christmas gifts to my family.  I have 10 pounds of the trail bologna done and waiting and now I just need some snack sticks to accompany it.

With venison on my mind I thought today would be a good time to post up some of our deer camp photos.

This is the banner I had made to hang at camp.  This was a pre-departure photo in the lower level of my home.  I also had camo hats made that have our camp name, date and personal name on them.
We are wearing them in the photo.

 

We left in the early morning before the sun even began to think about awakening.  Loaded to the hilt, both of us happy as could be although I was a tad nervous with the load we were carrying along with the new camper that was only used once prior.  I had done preventative maintenance on the camper such as re-packing the wheel bearings and checking tires and lights and such.  It still weighs on your mind until you finally pull into camp.

We made a stop in Houghton Lake at Dad's cottage to retrieve his hunting clothes along with some pre-cut carpet remnants for the camper floor as well as the outdoor room. We filled our water jugs there as well.  We then headed out for the final 1.5 hour drive.

 

When we pulled into camp about 6 hours later it was overcast and drizzling.  Not the ideal situation but in no time we had camp set up and were enjoying a beer.  Setting up camp usually takes the entire trip to do.  About the day before you depart is usually when you finish.  It's all part of the fun.

Our basic set up is the pop up camper.  We put tarps over the bunk ends to help waterproof, keep the fire ash off of the canvas and more importantly it creates an air pocket between the canvas and tarp which keeps the interior from "sweating" or condensing.  It really sucks when you roll over in the middle of the night and in doing so shake the camper a bit and little droplets of condensation rain down on you from the canvas ceiling.  This tarp cuts that by 90% I would say.

Then we set up the screened in outdoor room.  Well that was what it is supposed to be used for but we cover all the screens with tarps.  Pre-trip I sat in the garage attaching the tarps to the vinyl sides using small zip ties.  It saved us a bit of time in camp.  The carpet we brought from the cottage is all pre cut and fits inside the camper as well as covers the dirt floor in the outdoor room.  This room is where we keep all the coolers, beverages and other things that we don't like to leave out in the elements.

Once the mainframe of camp is set up we have to unpack our boxes of food and clothes and put the interior to rights.  Then you have to dig a hole out in the woods behind camp and place the commode on it and surround that with a tarp.

 

 

  Then you have to clean out the fire pit.  Sometimes other campers use this spot and for some reason they like to move the fire pit.  One year we had to collect all new rocks and dig a new one.  This year it was still intact from last year.  Then we try and collect enough firewood to last at least one evening.  Then we can sit back and enjoy.  There were a few times where we were chased inside by downpours but it wasn't too bad.

 

We spent the next few days collecting firewood, bow hunting, driving around the two tracks and eating all sorts of good food and drinking copious amounts of beer.

Contrary to popular rumour our deer camp does not involve going into town to visit the bars and just partying all week.  We only come out of the woods if we run out of something. (beer)

 

We collected 4 truck loads of firewood.  Of course it all had to be split and stacked and the weather was quite warm for a few days so excuse the fat guy splitting wood.  Some of these pics were taken with Dad's tablet and if you click on them they are really good pics.

Pops like to sit on his duff and drink beer while I did all the work.  He said something about collecting social security in a few months entitled him to more frequent rest periods.
Directly behind pops is the spring fed creek that runs by our camp.  It is cold and crystal clear and is rumoured to have huge brook trout in it.  It's nice to have that extra water source for doing dishes or bathing or anything else you need water for but don't want to deplete your drinking water source.
We would just dip a bucket in the creek and pour it in a pot and heat it up.  Also the creek is so cold that when it got really warm (fat guy splitting wood) I would set a few beers in the creek and block them from washing away with rocks and the water would chill them quite nice.

 

 

It was Monday night when I arrowed my deer.  After the shot I found the arrow and the sign on the arrow wasn't too promising.  I won't go into details but I decided not to track it.  It's better to not push it if your not sure of the hit.  Most times they will bed down within a short distance and you can recover them the next day.  This was one of those instances.  So I headed back to camp and discussed the options with pops.  We agreed to look for it in the morning.  If we jumped it out of its bed in the dark it would most likely cross the creek and then it would be really tough to find it.

 

We had chicken wings for dinner that night.  I had brought my turkey frying set up with the fish basket.  We set up inside the outdoor room on a table and fried up some chicken wings and french fries.

While doing that mother nature decided to throw us a curve ball and this is what happened.

This is very cold rain.  In the form of white!

 

It came down hard and fast and we were like schoolchildren playing in it.  Taking lots of pictures.

 I believe this was the beginning of the demise of my phone.  It was all I had to take pictures and the screen was already cracked.  The very next day it went to pot and Dad had to take all the pics after that.  Most of these are his pics that he emailed me.
The snow was fun but it negated any possibility of tracking the deer I had shot.  We were limited to a body search.  Turns out the deer only ran about 80-100 yards and bedded down.  Dad found it the next day during our search.  I was very lucky.  I am really glad I didn't pursue it that night because he would have ran to the next county.  You see it was still alive when we found it.  It was mortally wounded but still alive.  I had to sneak up to within 5 yards of it for a finishing shot.  Had we tried to pursue this the night before he would have had plenty of life left to run for a few miles.  It wasn't the best situation but those are the things that you have to be aware of in this sport.  Sometimes bad things happen and when they do, such as being unable to recover a wounded animal, it is really hard on a guy.  I am lucky to have had everything line up for me.

 

We spent the next few days leading up to the opener of the gun season enjoying each others' company.  We were on a quest for a camp chimney and really had a hard time finding one.

Every year we look for a hollow log that we can set on top of the fire.  We pour our used fry oil down the top and the flames come shooting out.  This was how I named the campsite this year.  We camped along the creek and our camp is famous for fried chicken and of course our chimneys.  Hence the name Chimney Creek hunt camp.  There are other camps in the area that we use but this one has become our favorite.  Dad started hunting this area back in 1984 and brought us boys up soon after.

 

Now when we go to deer camp we eat good.  Really good.  Here is just a sample of some of the things we dined on.  Every morning usually started with eggs, potatoes, sausage and toast or sausage and egg mcmuffins.  For lunches we had Koegel's hot dogs, chicken and vegetable soups, bratwurst and assorted munchies.  Dinner was our main event.

 

This was fried chicken night.  We fried up a whole cut up chicken but before that we had an appetizer of gizzards and hearts.  Not the little package that comes with the chicken either.  I bought an entire package of gizzards and hearts.

 

The second night in camp we had some beautiful beef sirloins cooked over hot coals with huge fire baked potatoes. (sorry no pic of this one)

 

We also had hobo dinner which Dad had never had before.  Venison loin steaks, potato, onion, butter and seasonings wrapped in foil and tossed in the hot coals.

 

We had an assortment of wild game and seafood as well.
A friend of mine from Alaska had given me some moose, halibut, red salmon and smoked salmon
Dad brought up some bay scallops that were harvested this year down in Florida.

We cooked everything over a fire.  It was awesome

Scallops and Halibut

 

Red Salmon slathered with butter

Moose steaks (these were amazing)

 

I lied I did have a pic of the sirloins.  We had a ton of scallops so we had steak and scallops with our potato that night!

 

Opening morning of gun season came and Pops and I both shot a doe that morning.  We had to add some reinforcements to our buck pole to hold the weight. 

 

Deer activity really slows down as the weekend approached.  Lot of hunters driving around and they also drive in to hunt a few hours and then leave.  The deer get educated in a hurry.  I did have another buck tag left but it was good only for a buck with 4 or more antler points on one side and all I seen was a small scraggly rack 4 or 5 pointer.  Not big enough.

 

We finally secured a chimney after many miles and hours of searching.

We had a bunch of really good campfires this year.

 

We like our campfires.  The giant wood wall doubles as a windbreak as well.

 

We packed up the following Saturday and headed for home.

We always leave the campsite better than how we found it.  People leave junk laying around all the time.  Until next year Chimney Creek Hunt Camp!

I had a great time this year.  One of my best trips ever.  I can't hardly wait until next season.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And there was light.....

He raced home from work, fed the dogs, said hi to the bird and jumped in the shower.  He was nervous, no... excited, well..... nervously excited he thought as the hot water rolled across his shoulders easing some of the tension that had been building all day.  Mindful of the short time that was available he didn't linger in the steam like he normally did. 

In short order he was dressed, even a nice sweater and jeans complete with a dash of cologne. 
He tried had to remember the last time he had used the tiny amber spray bottle and any form of recollection escaped him.  He couldn't think anyways.  His mind was a cluster bomb of ideas and questions and even though he tried to lie to himself, a little fear and a little doubt.  He cast aside the latter and perched on the edge of the couch anxiously waiting for his wife to return from work.

As they exited the car and made their way across the dimly lit parking lot his nervousness began to amplify and he considered just turning around, getting back in the car and pretending this never happened.  His feet thought otherwise and they carried him across the asphalt and through the front door of the building.  Stepping over thae cast out cigarette butts and crunching through the salt crystals that had been scattered on the sidewalk to prevent any ice build up

Suite 202 was the destination, the elevator jumped, mimicking his stomach and abruptly came to a halt while his stomach continued on.  They left the elevator and found suite 202.

Inside a couple sat a small conference table.  At one end a pile of paperwork and a water bottle and at the other end an assortment of cookies, fruit water and soda.  Next to that some red colored folders with the word ORIENTATION stickered slightly off center.  He thought about looking through the stack for a sticker that was centered but withheld and took one from the top.  He nodded at the couple and took a seat  at the far end of the table.  His wife sat next to him and they both proceeded to shuffle papers and pretend they were actually reading.

A young lady approached them and introduced herself.  At first he didn't realize that she was the host as his thoughts were lost in a stack of papers he had clumsily spewed from the folder.  His wife nudged him in the back, whispering his name, he looked up and with all the grace of a 7th grader asking his first girl out on a date, said hi and shook her hand.  Not the best start he thought to himself.

She began the presentation shortly after and the more she spoke, the more bewildered he became.  Every word, every pamphlet, every folder she produced was another straw on the camels back and he began to wonder if he was here for the right reasons.  The massive pile of paperwork seemed to double in size every ten minutes.

He asked a few questions but mainly stayed quiet.  He tried to absorb as much information as he could but it was difficult.   The meeting ended approximately 1 hour and 20 minutes after it had began.  The man left with his wife.  The elevator didn't seem to jump as much this time.  Either that or his mind was lost and his stomach had settled itself.  Not much was said on the way home.  A brief exchange on the topic but mostly just the sound of Christmas music on the radio.  Bruce Springsteen wailing to the world to have a White Christmas.

All the next day he thought about the meeting.  What was it really all about?  What were his reasons?
Was this all about him?  He felt selfish.  He tossed ideas around in his head all day and by quitting time was no closer to finding answers than he was when he awoke that morning.

The only thing he was certain of was that if it did happen it had to be for the right reasons.
He thought long and hard.  What he wanted was a little one to follow him around, someone to teach all the things that he loved.  Someone to run into his arms and hug him and say Daddy is home.  Someone to fill the void that always remained empty. 

Was this the correct path?  Foster care?  Having children in your home, loving them, nurturing them and making their world a better place yet the goal is always going to be reunification with their birth family and ultimately his loss again.  This was for the kids not for him.  If he was going to do this then it needed to be about the kids.  Not about filling his void or making himself happy. 
The kids.  The damn kids.

He wondered if he could walk away.  His heart had already peeked through the door into a world where he had once been long ago.  His heart had seen the pain, the tears and the longing to just be loved for who you are not who you belong to.  His heart had seen it, not just through the door of suite 202 but through his own life.  He had spent time being tossed about.  He had been the bottle in the ocean adrift in the raging torrents of emotion, abuse, cruelty and hate.  The damn kids.

He was the damn kid.  Damn, damn, damn.  The circle had turned it's last turn.  It was headed home.
That was when it hit him.  It was about him because he was everyone of those kids lost at sea.  Loving them was loving himself. 

The giant red folder didn't seem so daunting now.

 

Bushman smokes Christmas Lights? Did I read that right?

Sunday Salutations to all!
Yesterday was a fun day for me.  It started Friday night actually by prepping to make venison snack sticks.  I worked OT on Friday and when I came home I pulled out all the "toys" and got to work quickly.  You have to stuff the sticks and let them rest overnight before smoking them.
This particular batch was part of my share a deer program that I started his year.  The program was simple.  You bring me a whole deer and I will skin, process ad make you sausage, snack sticks, cut it into steaks or grind into burger.  No cash charge.  I keep half of the meat.  That is your cost.
So this guy wanted all snack sticks for his half.  I ended up with 42 pounds of clean venison off of this deer so he got a 20 pound batch of sticks.  My cost was about $20 with seasonings, casings and pork add in.  So in essence if you don't figure in my time to butcher and smoke I paid $1 a pound for nice pure venison.  There is always room in the freezer for more.  Much better than paying $4 a pound for that crappy burger they sell in the store.  Plus if I want to make sausage or jerky I can do it with that meat.
So anyways here is my set up for snack sticks.

I have my meat lugs for holding the product.  Much better than using momma's kitchen bowls.  Inside the lug are various seasonings, casings and string to tie off the tubes.  Then I have my meat mixer which is a very useful tool when mixing 20 lbs. of meat at a time.  My stuffer is clamped at the end of my work table.  Yes I do this in my garage but I assure you the table is sanitized before each use and normally I do not fire up the chainsaws during the stuffing process.  (There is a lot of beer in the fridge though)
I try to stuff the casings in lengths that are a multiple of 2 feet.  I have enough room in the smoker to hang a 2 foot length of stick before it touches the diffuser plate.  So when stuffing I have a mark on the table at 4 foot.  I crank the handle on the stuffer and when the stuffed casing reaches the mark I turn it around so it heads back towards me.  Once it reaches the stuffing machine I turn it around and head it back the other way to the 4 foot mark and so on.  My longest stick has been 16 foot long.
There are the occasional goofy ones.  Burst casing and such but mostly I get long runs like you see here.

That was how I finished up on Friday.  It takes longer to wash everything up than it does to stuff it.

This rests overnight to allow the cure and the seasoning to settle into the meat.

The next morning I preheat the smoker and bring the sticks int the house to allow them to warm up to room temp gradually.  Then I load them in the smoker.

The plates you see in the bottom of the smoker are my diffuser plates.  Stainless steel with holes in them.  What this does is keeps the sticks from the direct heat of the burner element below them but still allows the smoke and heat to filtrate through.
Here is a shot of under the diffuser plates.  I re-purposed the stove from my old pop up camper.  It works great.  I can use one burner or all three.  One burner on low and I can hold temps as low as 125-130 degrees.  Turn one burner on high and it will hold around 180-190.  Of course with all three going on high I can soar over 300 and eventually burn the whole thing down.  LOL  The higher temps are nice for chicken and ribs and such.  I like it low and slow for sausages and jerky.

I have catch plates that will cover the diffuser plates as well.  These are just disposable tin serving trays you can buy at the grocery store.  When you initially start the cooking/smoking process the meat can and will, drip some.  There is moisture and fat content in them.  I don't want this all over my burners or diffuser plates so I use the catch plates for the first hour or two depending on what I'm smoking.  "Won't that block the smoke?" you ask.  It would if the smoke box was going but on start up I like to get the meat to at least 90 degrees internal temp before adding smoke.  There needs to be an initial drying time for the meat when it first goes into the smoker.  Smoke does not stick to a wet product.  It does no good to start smoking immediately.  Once the meat has reached the magic temp then I will add the smoke and pull the catch plates
I built a custom smoker box for my wood chips.  I took 1/4 steel plates and welded a rectangular box that is 6 inches long and 3 inches wide.  I attached a lid using small hinges.  The lid is also 1/4" steel.  In the lid I drilled holes to allow the smoke to come out but limiting the amount of air intake so it doesn't light on fire.  It will smoke for about 90 minutes.  Then I just pull it out, dump and refill it.

I use a two thermometer system for the smoker.  One probe I insert into the meat in the middle of the smoker and the other hangs loose on the inside for overall smoker temperature.

 

The upper one is for the meat and you can see in this pic that the internal temp of the meat is at 117 and the alarm is set at 152.  Once the internal temp reaches 152 I shut down the burners and let it rest.  The meat will continue to raise a few more degrees in temp.  Reaching the all important goal of 160.  This is where all the nasties die if there should be any present in the meat.  Don't want anyone getting sick.  The lower is for internal temps of the entire smoke box.  It is currently at 162 and the alarm will go off at 165.  This lets me know if I need to open or close the damper or restrict air flow on the air intake port at the bottom of the smoker.

Temps vary quite a bit while smoking.  It varies by product as well.  I start at 130 for sausage and every hour or two crank up the heat.  Finishing around the 180 mark for the last few minutes.

This particular batch took between 6 and 7 hours.  The guy came and picked it up right after it was done and barely cool.  I would normally cool it and cut it into sticks but with this program you get the whole shebang dumped in your lap.  You cut and freeze or wrap or whatever you want to do with it.

I enjoy it.  The more I do the better I get at it.  Today I get to smoke 10 sticks of Trail Bologna.

Trail Bologna is like summer sausage except it has a more robust flavor and added spices like extra peppercorns for some kick.  I like it hands down over summer sausage.  This batch is for me to enjoy.

 

 

So while the smoking process was going on I had time to get all my Christmas lights on the house.  Enjoyed a bunch of beers and a nice cigar while doing it.  I made sure I was off the roof before indulging in the festivities.  LOL

My beautiful step daughter had her junior senior banquet last night and I must say she was stunning.  I can't believe how fast she turned into an adultee.  She is gonna kill the boys. 

I suppose I have bored you enough but I thought it was time to change the pace of the blog for a bit. Happier times are ahead! Go Me!

 

 

Bushman has something up his sleeve!

Holidays. 
They'll make you or break you. 
I've always loved Christmas.  Not real big on all the spending and money that is involved.  I love the lights, the smells and the sounds.

New Years is fun.  We don't usually do much but we have fun with a  few friends or sometimes just couch it the entire night.

I always loved Thanksgiving as well.....at least until last year.  Now it just serves as a reminder.
I searched my soul, the good one and the bad one (we all have a bad one, some just don't know where to look to find it). 
I have fought with these emotions for many a year now.  I chewed them up and swallowed them only to vomit them backup at the worst times.  It leads to a sickness that is dangerous, evil and consuming.

A man gets to wondering sometimes.  The old saying of "Three strikes and your out" can get pretty heavy when it sits on your mind, rotting, leaving a dark moldy spot. 
There is a cleaner available but the side effects are sometimes worse than the symptoms.  There are times when it just itches a little and then there are times, like now, when it festers and oozes a vile ichor like substance that permeates your whole being.  I can't do it anymore.

After Corwin, after Isabella, after the Thanksgiving baby who never even got a name.  How do you continue?

I often sit and think of where I'll be in 20 years.  What will I be like?  Who will be by my side?  What will I do?

And when I die?  What will be left of me to say I was here?  Where is my mark? 
As of now my tombstone will not read "Proud Father".  
What will it say?  "Here lies a man who could not connect his moustache to his beard" or  "Man who loved dogs" or "This dude can cook".

I'm not trying to bring anyone down here, I don't want you to feel sorry for me. There are far worse than I but we all have our demons and this is mine. 

I aim to do something about it.

The days drift by and yes I count them (I count everything).  I am already starting to fear the end.  I am at that point where one must decide.  Extra point or go for the two point conversion.
Should I just lay down and accept my fate or should I create my own destiny.

There are things in the works my friends.  This guy will never lay down.  I need healing, I need sharing and most of all I need............

Stay tuned,

-Bushman