The Pantzer, once queen of the free rangers, roaming the orchard like Godzilla and riding herd over chickens and ducks alike has gone broody. This is not an unusual occurrence and normally dealt with by removing the broody bird from its enclosure, leaving it out for a few days so as to give her time to drop the habit and then letting her back in with the flock to pursue a more normal routine.

In this case, she already is out and is so funny to watch that I can't bring myself to catch and confine her. She can be found, day after day sitting the one egg in her nest under the house. Her one good eye rests at half mast giving her the look of a stressed to delirium  mom after having washed down a ten milligram valium with a high ball.

She shows up when she hears the feed bucket dig into the layer pellets stored in garbage cans. She transforms herself from half comatose squat to swept wing banshee, firing out from under the house and sweeping into the midst of the rest of the free rangers with wings spread and fully extended and tail feathers fanned and standing on end. Even the feathers surrounding her cloaca  ( google it) seem to stiffen. She moves in zig zags and semi circles hoping for the great pellet shower to manifest on her good eye side. She jumps up on the pallet  of feed bags to inspect my every move. She lays in wait for the chance to simply jump into the garbage can when i'm not looking and have the chicken equivalent of a peak experience, floating on a bottomless sea of layer pellets.

When the scramble for scraps is over, she makes a bee line to her nest under the house,  hunkers down,  rolls her good eye back and goes into deep meggitation until the sound of bucket meeting pellet pulls her from her swoon. A perfect image for modern times. Sitting on a nest egg that's never gonna hatch.

Nurse Lyndsey participated in  the poetry slam at casanova's a couple of nights ago. She proceeded to take the stage and open up a can of whoopass . There were ten contestants who, when the dust settled really didn't stand a chance. Even the guy going to the nationals. So a big huzz huzzah and woohoo to the poet in residence. Long may you slam.

The property is pretty much fenced off now. The main gate has been adorned with mexican fan palm leaves to discourage any deer or pigs from sneaking under. Pathways where once fresh hoof prints appeared every morning are now smoothing out and aside from an occasional unsuccessful attempt at breaching the southern border, it's beginning to look like we've discouraged the feral hordes. The plan from here is to begin planting a living fence adjacent to the wire fence so that eventually animals will be kept at bay by a wall of vegetation consisting of multiple species combined in such a way as to create an abundance of useful byproducts as secondary spin off to the primary purpose of sheltering the property from animals as well as creating wind breaks and corridors of privacy. We do, after all like to get naked on the trampoline from time to time and feel it's only correct to spare any passerby the trauma of witnessing my wad flopping up and down as I attempt a back flip.

Let me take this opportunity to announce the Fourteenth annual Fiftieth Birthday Party, to be held at Rancho Relaxzo on Sunday the twenty second of August, the year of the bored, twenty ten. Ms. Betz will of course be in attendance and being my senior by twenty two hours will be deferred to in all matters as Dame Dorothy, wisdom be thy name, or Da'wiz for short.  We've received word that Oprah will be bringing Mick Jagger as her date and that there will be a door prize involving chantilly lace,  polish sausage and a still beating heart.  The usual fiveish start time. Pot luck (keep your fucking hands off the peach cobbler).  Let's just think of it as the annual meeting of the Union of Maui Knuckleheads which we are compelled to attend in order to secure federal funds for next years meeting. All in favor?

Made up a Rancho Relaxzo business card for Nurse Natalie in celebration of her passing the six month mark on the farm. She has now entered the preliminary stages of Kama'aina status. You know, where the sense of living anywhere but the tropics begins to recede and the feel of warm sand around your toes represents a certain baseline requirement for mental stability. Thanks Natty, your energy lies at the heart of this place.

I was having a bit of a nap the other day. I Really like napping, especially on hot windy days. I do tend to come out of it in a kind of ghoulish mood ( the nurses refer to it as a "nilknarf" moment). Anyway, I was dozing away and had a kind of vision really. Not so much a dream.

It was an unusually warm day in D.C. for January and the inauguration of president Gingrich was taking place at the pentagon with vice president Palin holding the bible. Owing to the occurrences of late twenty twelve the swearing in had to take place in the most secure of all locations. There were "immigrants" of all kinds roaming the streets with just one thing in mind. Gimme. Gimme mine. Gimme mine now.

Then a voice out of the haze said, " they scared, them white foke scared fo sure. They over there in they armor plated rooms figurin' how they gonna get the res' of are money. Why my famly been laundering money fo' the rich folk for years now. Thas' right, we goes an' picks up they old doity money an' takes it to the wash n' dry down the block, cleans it up and takes it home to iern. They don't want they money lookin' bad when they takes it to be boined. Give us a penny an' a half onna dollah ta' do it. Got woid the other day that they gonna cut that in half. Lawdy on a popsicle stick. They so scared. They know they caint eat money or drink diamonds. Only thing they got is scarin' other folk. Now it all comin' back at em', an they scared.

There was the random sound of gun shots with helicopters chopping  overhead and dropping what looked like gas canisters into the streets and parks below. I wanted to wake up but felt strangely compelled to remain engaged in the unfolding of this eerie vision.

The swearing in ended and at that moment, Palin stuck her hand down Gingrich's trousers and squeezed his pecker so hard that he started squeaking in tongues which apparently was the intended effect because Palin slowly transformed into a foul smelling horned gila monster sort of creature that wrapped its slimy tongue around Gingrich and swallowed him whole, making her the fifty fifth president of these here united states. I came too thinking, "cool, at least a reptile has good instincts."

"Always looking for that silver lining, huh unky Jp?"

"That's right little fella, only way to go."

"Even as the world turns to shit before our eyes?"

"Hold your nose little fella, hold your nose."

Dzinah Faloley wrote the other day on matters of state and included this joke of her own creation.

What do you call an old, barefoot wizard with bad breath?

A Supercallousedfragilemystichexedbyhalitosis.

My diagnosis for ms. Foley would be an advanced case of Miles Davis mind. Jam on.

The more you show, the more we'll grow.  Big kiss, Jp.