We're Headin Out West for the Gold

On July 22, 2008, when the clock struck high noon, the sheriff stood in the center of the town square -- her horse ropes in one hand and pistol gripped in the other. The barrel of her gun read “blog it baby.” The dust blew up around; she eye balled the people gathered around with one wild eye, spat, and scrubbed the dirt with the toe of her boot. She was refusing to relinquish her title as Blog sheriff, and held the gold badge in between her clenched Crest-strips whitened teeth.

"I aint givin it up!" She mumbled, wildly pointing the pistol in all directions.

A wave of whispers breaks.

The sheriff spun around untamed, pointing her long index finger, she hurled drunken obscenities at the four cardinal points.

To the North she cried, "I aint passin it along ya hear me?"
To the South she raged, "It's all mine bitches."
To the West she lowered her voice to an eerie growl, "You'll be mighty sorry."
And to the East she spotted a young lady hiding her face behind an umbrella, putting both hands on her hips, the sheriff cooed, "Well I know you like me darlin' don't ya?"

The sheriff uncorked her flask and took a long swig -- keeping her one wild eye open for movement, she wiped her mouth on the corner of her sleeve, "Now Goddamn that is good."

The crowd began to advance on the mad sheriff. Inch by inch they pushed forward their heels into the circle carved out with her boot. The smell of whiskey and drugstore perfume snaked into their nostrils as they approached.

"I said get!" The sheriff fired a shot of warning into the afternoon sky. The bullet sailed into the belly of a lone bird flying home to the nest with dinner for its young; it thumped to the ground, feathers scrambling for space with the dust.

"Ah well damn, now I feel bad."

Later, after hours of rambling, fired shots, and whiskey spilling, the sheriff was reprimanded, handcuffed, and tossed into a jail cell to sleep it off. The night passed with songs, a sprinkling of added curse words, and delusions of grandeur.

Attention: Yesterday’s declaration of “I’m stupid” has now been validated by this man. I debated giving the link; for fear that all those who read my blog would jump ship, but I won the argument -- after locking the twins in the closet with a broom stick.

I read his latest blog. Giddy with my soon to be written response of wit, I donated twenty minutes of my allotted study time to formulating an intelligent response, spelling and grammar check, and back patting. I then read the responses below and above mine, and retracted all three of my back pats. I have been humbled by this man – a frequent occurrence for me, as I am often humbled by other authors of blogs, and if I take a moment to reflect, all other forms of literature. I marvel over the research many individuals embark on to write their blogs, whereas I chose to use wikipedia and dictionary.com, and if it cannot be found in either of those, then it does not find its way into my blog.

His name is “Christopher (searches for intelligent people),” and in my humility I have changed my name to: Maverick (do not look here).

As I scrolled through his blogs, post-test that is (results will reflect my lack of studying), I was reminded of another young, and seemingly very intelligent, gentleman in my summer course. I do not know the name of this man, but I have been made aware of his intelligence, and my lack thereof. During lecture he brings up topics of which I have never heard – which provokes a glazed look to cloud my eyes -- makes articulate remarks, and engages the professor, while I merely excite him, and that might be pushing the envelope. It’s back for another round.

I am alerted of my intelligence level when I see advertisements for online IQ tests or read Stephen King’s collection of short stories. I received a message alert regarding my intelligence level this morning on the bus when I glanced to my left and noticed a woman reading a Stephen King novel. In my jealousy I did not bother to notice the title of the work; I only pushed air out of my lips, fluttered my now telescopic eyelashes, and thought of Mr. King’s breasts.

Many discuss matters of great importance in their blogs, debate the workings of society, and analyze the state of our economy, healthcare, and environment. I discuss masturbation, my ego, and gingers. Once again I have been left in the void of inconsistency; where I will sit on my lawn chair, and sip strawberry daiquiris with plastic swords hanging from my teeth, until my knight in shining armor comes to lift me from my ignorance.

Actually being a closet feminist has allowed for me come to a final conclusion: I will not wait for a man to lift me from my ignorance, for I will instead gather the rope, the spike toed shoes, my stainless steel canteen, and rock climb that son of a bitch. Tonight I will read the newspaper, discuss political matters with my parents, and read scholarly journals.

Ta ta!

(Pause)

Is that the goodbye of the intelligentsia, or that of the high maintenance country club wife?