That damn shed. Every year I seem to have to fix some godforsaken thing or another on it. Wish I could just tear it down, but there is family history there. I really need to decide to either rip 'er out or restore it to it's original glory. Either way I loose, Restored it's useless, as it is it's dangerous. I sure wish dad had done it when he had the chance but it's my decision now. I hate decisions like this.
The ole' ranch sure ain't what it was since we got the family business runnin'. Lots o money now, just no time. And no privacy, either. I hate these stupid little troubles in life that you just don't have the time for. They eat at you. Shoulda had the contractors burn the fuckin thing down when they built the new house last year. Need a new fence too. Too many gawkers trespassin'.
"Yeah Dick, I'll be right there!"
Damn. I hate these events. I never wanted this job. Kinda slid in by my coat tails, dragged in my dad and his buddies. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Sorta like when you and your friends in grade school get together late at night in the summer and start grass fires. Fun till it gets outta hand. By the time it's outta hand and the fun stops, its way too late. Stand there like a deer in a spotlight.
My hands are sweaty again. Every time. I hate this job. Gotta smile pretty for the camera!
Seems like every stupid asshole on earth needs me to tell 'em what to do. Either he thinks I do or I think I do, both ways I'm in way over my head here. Five years ago I had no idea what went on behind the scenes. Probably woulda made no difference. Fuckin sweaty palms. What am I doin' here anyway? How did I let this happen? Too late now.
"Hand me that towel, will ya?"
"Here you go Mr. President."
"How much time?"
"Eight seconds, Mr President."
"OK, here we go fellas, you ready? Cue the announcer."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, the President of the United States of America."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
is a writer, engineer, and drumming fool living in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. So far he hasn't killed anyone.