Tweeter

Ever since the demise of Great Horned Owl with a camera for a brain, I have been unable to peer into the activities of the hood. That has changed. For some time now, a small hummingbird has been trying to talk with me. At first I just watched him. Not sure why he like to hover nearby and tweet. But then, the other night, after a half a quart of gin I drank during the afternoon and evening, I finally could understand what he was tweeting.

First, he was sorry to see the end of Great Horned Owl, who was a friend of his, and as he tweeted to me, they often traded bits of information before the horrible bamboo battle when Great Horned Owl was shafted by a pole of black bamboo. Tweeter, once you accustomed your ear to his shrill and rapid voice, is a well of information. It did require several martinis but it was well worth the hangover.

For instance, at the Western Bunker of the Jihad Party Boys, there is a sign in front announcing Drag Queen's new endeavor  as a fortune teller. Tweeter talked of her and the eunuch setting up shop. the eunuch is dressed as a Genii and sits on a great fat silk pillow. It takes the coins of those that want their fortune told by Drag Queen who's drag now consists of twirling, whirling skirts of many colors, gold earrings, bangles and beads that drip from her arms and feet. Gone are the butt flossers so cherished by the Jihad Party Boys. And it's their own fault. Stingy in throwing coins and the last dance where they put gum on the quarters with a string attached to toss to the eunuch and then retrieve from its tits with a tug, was the last straw. They get no more crochet butt flossers.

Drag Queen twirls and whirls while the eunuch beats a drum. She falls into a trance, grabs the hand of whoever is seeking knowledge of the future, be it love or money and groans loud before she announces what is in store for them.  Oh the look on their face when she falls to their feet to grab at their hand. They fear and at the same time are entranced to know what fate has for them.

Drag Queen clutches the hand, she stares deep into the lines drawn across the palm. Sometimes she looks away, announcing it's to painful to go on, other time she laughs at the folly of those that want to test fate. But she always delivers, always has the answers they seek and the coins are dropped into the folds of the eunuchs tits with no gum or string attached.

Unfortunately, I have to stay sober tonight to rid myself of this hangover but I think with a few drinks tomorrow I might be able to understand Tweeter easier and in time, learn his language without the help of two pints of gin.  My liver will be grateful.