― Karl Malone, Tuesday, 23 July 2019 02:24 (eleven months ago) link
In retirement, Anatoli Smorin was forced to confront that most human of conundrums. Having succeeded, what now? Eight million dollars earned over a twenty year career as the fan-favorite second baseman for the Possum Grape, Arkansas Dimbiddlers had made him a rich man. But it had not made him happy.
"I try drugs, deep sea fishing, cosplay, death metal band. All of it, wasted. So much money and time." He errantly kicks the pile of sawdust on the ground, his eyes clouding over in remembrance. "Recording industry more corrupt than baseball even. So I leave Arkansas. It not easy; I had come to love Arkansas ways and they have been so welcoming to me and my family. But something had to change. So I move to your Vistconsin. I buy four thousand acres, virgin land. First virgin thing I ever have, no?" Smorin's booming laugh echoes from some far-off mountain.
"I get mobile home. I park in field. I start to explore my land. That is when this forest, it speak to me." Anatoli's grin widens, showing gaps between teeth in the back of his mouth. "Long green everywhere, spread out over how you say VALLEY. Untouched for centuries, waiting for real man to arrive and show woods discipline. You Americans have word for this man? You call him lumberchuck. I recognize this American spirit, I hear it in my bones." Anatoli hefts his axe from one burly, ginger-befurred shoulder and plants it nearly a third deep in a mute pine. "Was only baseball that stop me from potential. I was lumberchuck all along."
― Fuck the NRA (ulysses), Thursday, 11 June 2020 17:07 (one month ago) link
― Li'l Brexit (Tracer Hand), Thursday, 11 June 2020 17:15 (one month ago) link