My fucking wife upgraded our God Damned cellphones. That was the straw that broke the fucking camel's back. That was the spark that lit the powderkeg. That was why I was handcuffed in the shitty back seat of a fucking cop car.
Years ago, on vacation, I bought a powerstrip, a plastic shoe box, a label maker, and a handful of multi-tap plugs. Electronic devices, make that chargers for electronic devices, had taken over the camper. Chargers for laptops, cellphones, shavers, tooth brushes, dvd players, tablets, cameras, ipads and GPS. Times four. Every outlet, every flat surface, was consumed by a charger and a snarl of wire. I cut a hole in the end of the box, and pulled through a single cord. Multi-taps made a hole for every prong. The box became a happy jungle of wire, with a merry glow of red and green lights.
With the kids away at school, the jungle has been cut in half, but the shoebox still has a home on the kitchen counter. I was late for work. I grabbed the nearest phone of the identical pair, the manual it was sitting on, and ran out the door. I took her phone. It was a mistake. I soon learned just how big a mistake I'd made.
Luckily there was a open seat for me. I spent the subway ride skimming the manual. The damned thing must have had a hundred functions, three or four of which I might have a use for! I just wanted to send and receive calls and take voice mail. Why couldn't I have kept my flip-phone from generations ago?
I got the tone and icon for incoming voice mail. Like a dummy, I pressed the flash on the screen. Second major mistake!
I WOKE THIS MORNING WITH A VISION OF MY BIG COCK SLIDING BETWEEN THOSE LUSCIOUS BREASTS OF YOURS! GOT TO GET YOU OFF MY MIND SOON, OR BE TOO BIG AND STIFF TO FIT MY DOCKERS! CAN'T WAIT TO "MEAT" YOU AGAIN IN YOUR POND.
What the fuck? What asshole would send such a text to MY wife? I dove back into the manual, looking for a way to extract more information. Another tone interrupted.
AT A STOPLIGHT. DAM NEAR RAN OVER THE GUY IN FRONT. THINKING OF THE CONTRAST IN SKIN COLORS. TITTY FUCKING, EBONY AND IVORY. BBC BETWEEN THE IVORY STRIPE/GOLDEN BROWN OF YOUR TAN LINES! CAN'T WAIT FOR FOUR!
I went back to the manual. I don't know what language it was written in, sure didn't seem to be English. Maybe too many translations, between Korean manufacturer, Japanese assembler, and American copy writer.
MEETING STARTING, TURNING OFF PHONE. WOULD CRAWL THROUGH BROKEN GLASS TO HOOK UP. CU@4
I didn't get to the deer stand till almost five. Damned staff meeting just wouldn't end. The stand is on the Western slope of the valley, in the trees, a paced three hundred meters above the pond. The access road came down the opposite slope. I built it just good enough to get the concrete truck down to pour the dam. I let it wash out and rut up: people were going to trespass, but there was no need to make it easy for them. It's condition made it impossible to approach unheard from that direction, so I would observe from here. No plans, just observe.
I needed the scope. There was no point in taking it off the rifle. The Marines had beat into my head that an unloaded weapon was "as useless as tits on a boar hog," so there was a full magazine of .270 hollow points, and a round in the chamber.