For the past couple of weeks, the Ziller Compound had been what can best be described as “rough and tumble” infused with a heavy dose of drama.

The Ziller Compound was entering its third week in full lock-down mode. The Security Detail was on high-alert. The carefully rationed emergency reserves of whiskey, gasoline and “frop” had been holding up well.

Everything was quiet for a change.

During the day, the only sounds to be heard were the tall virgin pines swaying in the tropical breeze and the soft low musical selections of Sam Houston State University radio piped to speakers throughout the Ziller Compound.

Far from the city lights, the east Texas night sky spread out like a black velvet blanket sprinkled with rock salt which was lit by the waning moon.

There had been no attempted breeches of the perimeter in several days and the Intelligence Detail had a high degree of confidence that they had a lock on the size, strength and movement of all foreign and / or domestic opposing forces.

Ziller decided to capitalize on the lull in action to stroll on over to the treasury, also commonly known as the “Counting House” to assess the financial resources.

For Ziller, lying down every night in the big four-poster king-size bed in the master suite of the Main House without a warm willing woman had been depressing enough.

Reviewing the preceding month’s expense vouchers was absolutely nauseating.

Ziller began with the month-old expense vouchers and receipts from the finest hotels and white-table-cloth restaurants on the Gulf Coast, and recalled the tender moments he had experienced there.

The recent memories of the loving words, the warm corner-booth kisses on the face, the mind-blowing sex – stung like thorns stuck in the soul.

Here were the accounting records for the purchase of decorations and supplies for the upcoming Thanksgiving and Yuletide festivities, the plans for the seating of friends and family, the gift lists, the airline and hotel reservations.

As Ziller dug down through the vouchers and receipts he found that it told a story like unto that told by a paleontologist or a geologist about great disasters in the history of the Earth after studying the natural record.

But this was a story of roadside motels and greasy diners in the frontier Lamanite Territory lands of Oklahoma, United States American.

A story of fight and flight, a story of a world where such a true ideal as Trust does not exist.

A story like unto that told in the Revelation of Saint John the Divine where “a man shall seek death and not find it. Where a man shall desire to die and death shall flee from him.”

Anyway,

So after that, this being Advent and all, Ziller headed over to the warehouse facility and finally found the area where all the Yuletide decorations are stored.

And guess what?

Why, there’s the Ghost of Christmas Past standing there where last year’s moonshine was stacked!

The Ghost of Christmas Past looked Ziller in an intense wobbly one-eyed gaze, knocked back a full mason jar of the clear liquid elixir and said, “Hey Ziller. Let’s go visit your TBM mother. She is praying for you right now back in 1973.”

“Do you mean back when Mom had long blond hair? And before the internets? And there was no STD’s and everybody was swingers? And when the Mormon Church was fun and cool?” asked Ziller.

“Sumthink like that,” slurred the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“Well F*CK that!” Ziller shouted at the Ghost of Christmas Past. “There is nothing worse than the guilt trip of knowing that your mother is praying for you.”

“Zwiller has a point there.” slurred the Ghost of Christmas Past. “The only two good women in the whole world are my mother and Ziller’s mother. And I’ve heard some stories about Zwiller’s mother.”

ziller



Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 11/27/2011 09:54PM by ziller.

Cra-zy man! You are hilarious!