Fayette County


Thack You: I see no problem with Guy Fieri

Larry Thack wishes to acknowledge and bewail your manifold sins and wickedness
Larry Thack will travel to the mountains this weekend to spread his ashes into a brook

Friday morning started poorly for me. As I rolled my garbage can to the street I heard the wailing of the air raid sirens. I deftly snuck back into the house using a trash bag for cover. I gathered my supplies: gas mask, rake for removing unexploded bombs, and a stack of Punch Magazines and headed for the Anderson shelter I built in the backyard.
The sirens got louder as I ran to the shelter and I could hear the planes descending on our hamlet. Monthly I will do this drill to stay prepared but there’s nothing like the real thing. Panic has set in and everything is going wrong. The normal path I take to the shelter is now lined with traps that foil our hero. I snag my shirtsleeve on the springs of a rusty trampoline that belonged to a daughter who is now a pensioner but refuses to let me get rid of the decaying accumulation. Back to the house for the first aid kit!
As I navigate through the grassless pity, I’m confronted by an ever-widening expanse of corpses just like the scene at Andersonville. My poorly-groomed backyard is a graveyard of Ikea solar porch lights that have blown off the deck. Not unlike war, buying a solar porchlight is always a tragic mistake. On my return to the shelter I recoil at a new crisis – an empty birdfeeder. I could be stuck in the shelter for days. I have one tiny window with a cleverly positioned bird house in plain sight. I shall have nothing to peer out my tiny hole at without seed in the feeder. I start back for the seed but see my neighbor, Randy, coming for a visit. I change course and lock myself in the shelter. I shall have no birds to entertain me and possibly no Randy.
I awaken later that evening and it seems we’ve survived the day. Once I’ve raked the UXBs off the lawn I’ll do some fire-watching from the roof. After putting two and two together it seems that I’ve mistaken the events of the morning with a tornado-siren test and a fleet of garbage trucks. On the “bright side,” I have successfully killed an entire day without talking to a soul and now I’m ready to settle in and watch “Diner’s, Drive-ins, and Dives” as it repeats episodes into the night. Beats the hell out of wandering around the mall.