Crazy fuckers always find me...

Long back story short – I work for a buffalo rancher. We market the meat on the internet so most of our business is done outside of the local area. We get all kinds of weird calls, but today I got one that I think tops them all. So sit back and be amused, people. Or I’ll hunt you down and kick you in the junk.


And trust me, this motherfucker can KICK.

*points thumbs at self*

Ask my brother if you don’t believe me. Any time we fought as kids I fell to the floor and kicked that asshole like I was doing the backstroke. Why? He’s bigger than me, and my legs are my best defense. Although, strangely enough…my worst attribute. Two words: cellulite and cankles. (Thanks a lot for those wonderful genes, dad. I mean, let’s face it – I didn’t get flabby legs from my mom because she’s a freakin' amazon. So damn you and your stupid sperm. I got totally screwed on that one.)

So anyway, I was at work this morning…minding my own business. Because I don’t mind the actual business. Because I’m a model employee!! So anyway I was on the computer checking my Facebook and the phone rings. This dude on the other end had a pretty strange and specific request. He wanted us to ship him a buffalo head. Not a skull – an entire head. Eyeballs, skin, hair, horns, tongue and all. Yeah. A real winner, this one.

*sigh*

Why do the fucking weirdo’s always find ME?

But wait – it gets better! I didn’t bother asking what he wanted it for…because frankly, I didn’t want to know. But he offered up that information anyway, as if it was crucial to the sale. It wasn’t. He wanted the head for a Halloween display – he wanted to stick it on a pike in his yard and wire it so that it was spitting blood out the mouth like a fountain. He already had a deer head and a goat head….but he wanted something bigger. Of course! I totally shoulda had that figured out. I mean it’s common sense, right?

*gagging*

Upon finding out what his (not at all fucking WEIRD) intentions were….my facial reaction was probably something like this:

Except there was no horse in my face, and no shit in my pants.


I got to thinking: and if I saw this shit in someone’s yard while trick-or-treating as a kid I would have had nightmares for weeks. I’ve always been really squeamish, even as a child. Preparing raw chicken for dinner literally makes me gag…but for some reason I have no problem eating it. Probably because I’m a bomb-ass cook and you’re totally jealous.

I remember when I was younger, I went on vacation with my dad and his evil shrew of a wife to Myrtle Beach. One night before we went out for dinner my dad was watching this old western movie on TV. A Native American woman had been shot in the back, and a cowboy was using a knife to dig the bullet out of her back. I couldn’t eat for 2 days. Yeah, I have problems. So does your mom. So shove it.