Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Back In Black

"Hell Week" hath ended, let the pranks begin!

Okay, let's get back to this thing. For those not abiding, aboding, and in other words surviving atop our mountain, last week saw thousands of northern Virginians visiting our community. Appropriately referred to as "hell week" by my fellow servers, we, as merchants, plodded through; borrowed from one (1) another, swapped stories in attempt to stay sane, and hopefully made a little scratch. The HypnoVessel stayed abuzz with customers; sometimes to a fault. Fortunately the Vessel has many a friend, and not of the fair weather variety, evidenced by HypnoFriend Mackie, who stepped in and pulled shifts several times throughout the week. That's how it goes, you may come in to loiter, but a rush of Virginians later, and it's all hands on deck, and that means YOU! Special thanks to Mackie for his voluntary term of service, a volunteer force is still the best thing going.

An informal inventory of my fellow merchants has all hands, fingers, feet, and toes accounted for. As we replenish our barren shelves and sigh relief I'll get back to the requisite rumor mill. Let me kick things off by reflecting back on "hell week" and the disappearance of our local outdoor gear purveyor, Bubba. It seems he broke into Grandpa's still the night of our TCT Fun Raiser and didn't surface again until January 2nd. Could there be a hidey hole in our midst, one (1) so elusive that a local celebrity could disappear right in front of our eyes? Obviously there is, and I hear said hidey hole is in the vicinity of GhettoHeim. Two (2) stories surfaced after the disappearance; the first involved Bubba (in a moonshine induced blackout), who was ferried home only to awake with a paramour, whom he "holed" up with, only stepping outside long enough to hose off on the lawn. The second has Bubba (in a moonshine induced blackout) coming to somewhere in the Buffalo Strip Mine area, cold, in a semi-state of undress, and with a blinding headache. Confused and stumbling around the strip mine, he became lost, subsisted on cranberries, and slept in a makeshift bivouac of sticks and mud. Finally, on the third day, he heard shots being fired at GhettoHeim, and used those sounds as a bearing to get home. Either way we welcomed Bubba back into our lives Sunday; he looked fine, a little tired, he complained of soreness, and the onset of a rash, but other than that he seemed fine...tight-lipped, but fine.


Anonymous said...

unless they spoke mexican, indian, or chinese you cannot say for sure they were from *Northern* VA. just refer to us as east virginians thank you very much... floridan! :)

HypnoBlog said...

Floridian? I live in Davis, WV year around, it's where my home, business, and where my kids are being raised. That makes me a West Virginian!