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| This is Debbie. |
The reporter glanced at his notes as he trudged back to his car. “We’re prepared to stay here for years,” the men occupying the bird refuge had said. “We’re calling on all patriots to come join us and help us take our country back. We’re just the tip of the spear.”
“Nice line, Ammon,” Junior said, back at headquarters. Ammon Bundy nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “Where’s the rest of the spear?”
“They’re coming,” Ammon said. “Stay ready. Everyone have a copy of the Constitution? That is the source of our strength.”
“No lie. That dude who shot off his butt cheek in Walmart when he mistook his gun for his wallet would’ve been fine if he’d had the Constitution in his pocket,” the man said. “Or maybe that’s the Bible.”
“HERE THEY COME!” The voice came from the watch tower.
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| photo by Julie Zickefoose |
“They who? Is it the spear, or is it the feds?”
“I can’t tell.”
“They armed?”
“Looks like it,” the voice came down. “Sumpin’ odd about it, though.”
Every man stood at a window with one hand on the Constitution and one hand on a weapon.
“My God, there’s hundreds of ’em. Thousands! It’s a damn army! They’re coming in from three directions! On foot!”
“Get out there, Junior. Find out if they’re ours.”
The vanguard of the approaching horde had nearly reached the entrance gate. Junior geared up and went out, but came back shortly.
“They ain’t ours, Ammon.”
“Well, get rid of ’em. Take B. J., Dwayne-O and Other Junior and get rid of ’em.”
“I don’t know how,” he said, squinting and scratching the back of his neck.
“What do you mean, you don’t know how? Get your weapons and…”
“That’s just it, sir. I don’t know what to do. They ain’t armed. They’ve got…binoculars.”
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| photo by Julie Zickefoose |
“The hell?”
Even Ammon jumped at the sharp knock at the door, but he opened it and stepped outside, his men arrayed behind him. A woman with a dazzling smile stood before him. A crowd stretched behind her as far as the eye could see. Slung at her side was–what? A missile launcher?
“What the hell is that?” Ammon leveled his pistol at the item in question. The woman abruptly swatted it away.
“That is a Nikon Sigma 150-600mm sports lens with optical stabilizer,” she said. “Mitts off, Bucko.”
Ammon stepped back.
“Sorry, bad start. I’m Debbie,” she said, and stuck out her hand, smile blooming anew. Ammon could think of nothing to do but holster his weapon and shake her hand.
“So,” she went on, “we hear y’all are planning to camp out here a while. My friends and I are looking for some assurance you’re going to be good neighbors and not make too much noise. You’re sitting on some of the most important habitat on the Pacific Flyway.”
BLAM.
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| photo by Julie Zickefoose |
The sky above them darkened momentarily and several thousand birders tugged on their Tilley hats as a rain of Tundra Swan shit filled the air. Junior hopped and howled, clutching a butt cheek.
“Jeez Louise,” Debbie said. “There are trumpeters up there, too. Apologize. Apologize, or we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Leave!” Ammon stiffened up, aroused. “We ain’t leaving. We’re just the tip of the spear.”
“So.” Debbie looked over the men standing behind Ammon. “You’re saying you’re all prick and no shaft?”
Ammon charged on. “We’re here to reclaim what’s rightfully ours. The land the government took from we the people.”
“Sweetie, please. ‘Us’ the people. It’s the subject of a prepositional phrase. And besides, this already is our land. We’re a republic. Check the Constitution. The government is the people.”
Several thousand birders stood and swayed with their binoculars over their hearts, humming This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land. Ammon was strangely unnerved.
“I mean it,” he said bleakly. “Patriots are on the way here from all over the country. I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“Pssh,” Debbie said. “Patriots. You see these people? This isn’t the Portland crowd out for the bobolinks. This is just the beginning. Within three days you’re going to be completely surrounded by birders. There was a report of a Rufous-Necked Wood-Rail last week.”
“A Rufous-Necked Wood-Rail? Did you say a Rufous-Necked Wood-Rail?”
“I know, unbelievable, right? But after they confirmed that one down in New Mexico, nobody’s willing to rule it out.”
Do something, Ammon, Other Junior whispered.
I don’t know what to do. We’ve planned and planned and we never developed a contingency for dealing with…unarmed people.
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| photo by Julie Zickfoose |
The woman was still talking. “And we’re going to have to ask you to keep away from that whole area over there altogether. You’re looking at probably the most significant breeding ground for greater sandhill cranes in the western United States.”
“Huh,” Other Junior said, emboldened by a thought. “We’re here to breed patriots.”
Debbie’s eyes swept back and forth over the horizon, her gaze taking in acres of marshland, and turned back, her smile bright as the sun. “But you could always do that somewhere else, right?”
“I guess so,” Ammon said. And he and his men packed up and threaded their way carefully through the burgeoning throng.
“MIND THE SPOTTING SCOPES,” Debbie called out after them.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Good one, Murr. So good, I have no sass.
Can't be.
Well, I guess birders would be the best people to deal with the flock of Lesser Spotted Loons now nesting at the bird sanctuary. Although given their pitiful calls for snacks to avoid being starved out, I was wondering if you were referring to this Debbie.
Little Debby Snack Cakes! Probably not good for the birds, though.
Ahhh yes. The perfect antidote to the blogpost going around like this week's virus, that plucks the low-hanging fruit of little old lady birders in tennis shoes. I hear the Feds have cut off power to the Malheur HQ, and the Yeehawdists have sent out a Facebook appeal for "snacks." By now, that jack carcass Debbie's holding up would prolly look pretty good to them. Let's see what hunger does to their resolve to defend poacher/arsonists who have done their best to publicly disassociate themselves from this little militia.
Yes, how many times were you tagged with that one? You, on the other hand, properly done up with bino bra, camera, and spotting scope, are downright sexy and dangerous-looking. But I have met Debbie; I know Debbie; and when Debbie smiles, you know you've been good and smiled at. Those poor little fellows in there probably haven't seen anything rising above a smirk.
By the way, yes, you're right, that IS a jack carcass Debbie's holding up–I had to ask her because I don't have your skills–she was moving it off the road to keep the vultures from getting run over. But when I first read your sentence, maybe a little too fast, I read it as a derogatory thing. "Jack" is hardly ever nice. "That jack-carcass Debbie…" I went, hey now!
It's a runrabbit, as in, "Look at those runrabbits jacking off across the field!!"
See, that just sounds dirty.
Assuming of course that reason might apply.
Bafflement might do just as well.
Brilliant spin on the craziness. Here's hoping it's all over and done with in short order, with no fowl play!
Stop!!!
Today's headlines indicate someone's making a go at it.
I think you are giving Vanilla-Isis too much credit for their ability to act and think like humans. But you may be right. They might not be able to deal with throngs of unarmed birders. Don't bring any snacks, though.
I sure hope that snack story is true.
Oh, no, we all need to send them snacks! Lots and lots of high-fiber snacks. And no toilet paper.
Splendid. So nice to read something that makes me smile.
I'll credit Debbie with that.
I used to spend my spring breaks at Malheur. Dad took his geology grad students every year and left me to my own devices during the day. That's where I learned bald eagles are big AND mean, ticks are horrid, stuffed birds in display cases at eye level are frightening, and that somehow I needed to figure out how to incorporate all of this into my life.
Comment of the year! Of course, the year is young.
I wish. How I wish.
If enough other birders decided to traipse over there, I'd join 'em. Dave has informed me that I may NOT join 'em though.
Quick question. If those militidiots were black, do you think this situation would be handled the same way? Some of me wants to laugh my ass off about this but a bigger part of me can't make fun of this because I keep thinking about how black protesters–especially unarmed blacks–have been and continue to be treated differently from whites.
I'm solidly with you on that, but this is kind of a different situation, I think. Here you've got a bunch of dudes who would love to be martyrs and be a flashpoint for nimrods everywhere. Waco changed a lot about how to deal with these things. If they ever dig them out of there, I think castration would be an excellent punishment.
They have balls? Who'da thunk.
Well, as promised, eh? Nice goin'.
To use a birding analogy, these bozo's are a flock of starlings, invasive species, takin' up room in my state. As a fourth-gen duck, I want them to heed Gov. McCall's advise and get the flock out.
Oh man. Someone should totally fly a gigantic banner over that refuge that says GET THE FLOCK OUT.
And that's even an insult to starlings everywhere …
That didn't take long. Murr to the rescue. Wonderful for a good laugh over a bad situation.
Laughing at them seems like the most appropriate response. Followed, of course, by castration.
… clutching his other butt cheek.
Why Ioughta.
Pearl
And, you do!
Could we send a few thousand birders to the middle east? End of problem!
Hard to say. Once a crane, I think it was, that was outfitted with a tracking device for scientific purposes was detained and eventually executed in Egypt. It was suspected of being a spy.
this was the perfect response to this foolishness! well done, as usual!
A girl can dream.
So, Murr, did this really happen? Not the dialog, but the birders showing up? This birder wants to know, because that would be great! (and I want to share this post!)
You know, there's a whole bunch of stuff that happens inside my head that is easily mistaken for reality. By me.
It would be nice to think that someday these characters will google their own names and come up with your post. I can almost hear the sputtering.
I'll put in my address. I ain't afraid. Unless they go for my IPA, but I'm figuring them for Bud Lighters.
If you want another good laugh, head on over to the Twitter machine and check out #bundyeroticfanfic. It'll restore your faith in humanity. (If you don't do Twitter, you can read the thread online here: https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&vertical=default&q=%23bundyeroticfanfic&src=typd )
Oh man! THANKS!
That Debbie, she sure knows how to talk up a situation in her own favour. And peacefully too.
I suspect that's usually the best way to go about it. Overall. With exceptions. Still like the castration idea.
Castration does have merit.
I prefer your take.
the Ol'Buzzard
Looks like we're getting Gentle Feds. Second best thing?
"They've got…binoculars."
The horror!
I did read that rather in-you-face article from the birders of the land. I just think that these guys have not thought this through in so very many ways.
I lost count of how many people sent me that article. I read it after I'd written this, though. "Snacks!"
You are so brilliant and funny… Sadly, the gender bias clichés and castration comment felt unnecessary and a bit ugly. I’ve counseled gang youth for almost 20 years. Many of the “dick brain” idiotic bravado and violent behaviors (both boys and girls) were the result of influences from the bully women in their lives… primarily moms and sisters. I get the comic aspect here and doubt you had any ill intensions. But it disappoints that this form of insular stereotypical ha ha still remains acceptable with so may of your otherwise progressive and witty readers. Otherwise…. still pretty damn funny.
Fair enough. As a liberal I would certainly be loath to inflict actual castration on anybody, but I still think of it for certain kinds of crimes because it seems like something that might actually have a deterrent effect. For instance, these people might not much care about capital punishment (which I also don't endorse) if they're aching to be martyrs already. But they MIGHT have an even greater attachment (as it were) to their personal equipment than most people. At least the bluster makes it seem that way. Incidentally, when I indulge in fantasies of things like capital punishment or castration, it's usually for people who, for instance, purchase tiger scrotums or rhino horns for, uh, self-enhancement purposes. Secondarily for the people down the line who do the actual poaching. Keep up the good work dude.
Thanks…
This is wonderful. Would that it were true!
This is wonderful. Would that it were true!
Realy nice article and good posting I waiting news article LOL
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All prick and no shaft -well said! – we need your Deb to lead the opposition to the next takeover. A rare bird alert will guarantee the birder troops will "flock" to the cause! Just be sure to put out the word!
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