#tchasemeacham

Oh my God, I love her hair. Yeah.

Am I recording? I think so.

I think I’m recording.

  Oh...hey.

  Um. I’m....I’m lost?

I’m trying to go...to the Court House.

  The Court House. It’s where they try people—

I’m not arrested.

But I need to go...you would? Okay.

  Maybe we should start over.

I'm lost.

  ...a Court House. The Court House Station.

The “orange” one?

Can you...can you help me get there?

Okay.

We’re right here. That was amazing. Can you be this direct, until we get to the Court House?

That’s amazing.

  Ah. My name is, ah...um. Theodore.

  Yeah.

  It’s nice to meet you too. What is your name?

Ferdinand?

That’s amazing. If I was a girl I would have been named Ferdinand. So my parents tell me.

  And they’re assassins?

  Oh.

I’ve already forgotten.

I have a really small memory.

I’m just not very bright. It’s a thing that I struggle with.

  There’s a train.

  A Court House. From this way? Alright.

Well I guess we must.

Okay. I’m gonna mind the gap.

Okay.

Alright. We’re gonna sit here.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhkay.

Oh goodie.

  Ah. So, this is a new train system?

I haven’t seen this before.

No.

I’ve never been here before.

I’ve been in DC, I’ve never seen trains. Yeah.

Ah...like with the, um, like the big balloons?

Oh, those are the submarines! Okay.

Ah, I haven’t seen planes.

I’ve seen cars. With the horses.

I’m not on Facebook, so I’m a little behind.

  I have a Friendster. I follow hip bands on it.

Yeah. (clears throat) I’m trying to set the trends. (clears throat again) I’m...retroactively setting the trends.

I’m trying to backpedal. I’m trying to reconnect with my 90s friends.

Yeah.

  You know, what I just heard from my 2000s friends?? There’s going to be a Pokémon app....for iPhone!

I mean a Pokémon app for iPhone! So you can play your Pokémon on your iPhone!!

Amazing. I am so fucking excited.

That will be the day I will officially get nothing done. For the rest of my life.

I played Gold Version. Competitively.

Against myself. And my friends.

I was really....self-motivated, with my Pokémon. I felt like I had to catch them all.

Has anyone ever told you, you look like Ash Katchum?

  Why does my....my hair looks like shit today?

It really looks disgusting....my friend was like, “what the fuck product are you using, and can I introduce you to literally any other product, because this looks disgusting.” Because really. And it’s like tacky, and it’s...

I gotta get it fixed. Gotta go back to my drag queen barber.

My drag queen barber.

  I’m sorry Thaddeus.

Oh wait, that’s me. I’m sorry. What’s your name?

Ferdinand? I...I tend to repeat and, and get names confused. I’m just really sl—

I thought my name was Thaddeus?

I’m not very bright.

I’m sorry.

  My mom tells me I’m special.

...to be quiet and go upstairs.

Yeah. Um.

  Ah...no.

What about?

The what??

....is that the....African American rights group?

Ohhhh, okay, the basketball group.

I, I don’t do sports.

I try to keep it hip.

  I don’t do competitive eating. I used to do Rubik’s Cube spin-offs.

Yeah.

They put a bunch of us in a big room with a bear, and we had to solve Rubik’s Cubes....

...before the bear solved the Rubik’s Cubes.

He knew the algorithms, so well. I mean it’s just...you get that thing on muscle memory and it’s just, there’s no contest. I lost a lot of friends that way.

  They’d wet the...

And shove it down.

  Do you competitively eat?

Whole chickens? Like, living chickens?

You just wet them and shove them down?

Oh, wow. That sounds very hard. Do you eat the feathers, or spit them out?

Ohhhhh, so it’s like a decoration! Like you’re making a little headdress!

So, you don’t have to eat the bird?

  I’M VERY VAIN!

And very slow.

  Ah. So you play basketball?

Competitively?

The heavyweight?

Ohhhh. You know I was once on the Purple Team at St. Agatha’s Elementary Parish. We all had colors, because we all played each other. And I think they thought that if we all had colors we wouldn’t get attached, and overly competitive. And we’d be under this guise that everyone was a winner, which was abjectly false, because I was so much worse than virtually everyone else on the team.

But my daddy was the vice-coach, so I still got to play!

(Though I did not want to.)

I think he wanted me...yeah. Daddy wanted me to be a star.

I tried....golf. Tennis. Basketball. Ice hockey, for literally one game.

I tried mud wrestling. Yeah. That was tough because I didn’t like to get the little leotards dirty...and it was really hard to avoid doing that. Yeah.

  Boil?

Oh, oil.

Yeah I do a little Turkish Oil Wrestling.

We’d go to bathhouses for that.

Yeah. Mom telling me that I was special, and dad telling me to be quiet, as they drove me to the bathhouse.

  Yeah. Columbus is...

It’s the bathhouse capital. At least in the Midwest. We’re known for corn, and gay brothels.

Or gothels.

That’s where our gothels are!

Our gothels! A little squeak. You kind of got to pop it up into your falsetto, and then they let you in.

  Um. I have a dog...

I had a pet rat...

The pet rat had some medical complications, and so we got the pet rat surgery. Which my father said was a fucking waste of money.

  Um...

It was never disclosed.

But, more than it cost, by many folds.

Ah...it had a mammary tumor.

And we...we got it removed. Um.

And my father said, gently... “this thing cost five dollars, at the Petco down the street."

Ironically, my sisters’ rats, about six months after that, got diagnosed with medical pneumonia and had to be kept in an oxygen tent for surveillance overnight, and then fed antibiotics via syringe, every day for two weeks.

And again, my father said, politely: “these things, collectively, cost ten dollars. Down the street."

  Yeah.

  Um.

It’s a lot of rat-love.

  Now I just keep a couple little urchins under the stairs.

Yeah.

Little urchin boys.

No, like children. Orphans.

Boy sea urchins. Oirchins.

They do chores.

They speak Portuguese.

I keep them covered in soot. I think that's good for their stamina; it makes them sweep harder...

They’re sweepers.

A little chimney. But I only give them toothbrushes because I think that makes them appreciate...

Yeah.

  Um.

Yeah. If they, if they, if they sweep successfully, they get a little biscuit.

Like a little dog biscuit.

A couple of Milk Bones.

  They both go woof?

Yeah, I try to keep it real.

I’m told that I’m a good parent.

My mom tells me that.

My dad tells me to be quiet and go upstairs.

...go back to the bathhouse, to...

  Oh, she’s darling. She is a....

  Debutante Mistress. She’s a Debutante Mistress. Yeah.

  She was Miss Southern Belle, class of 1942.

42.

But she has clung on to that title.

She was a tyke. She was one of those little toddlers who do those things.

She was the first.

And little corsets. Really fucked up her spine.

But she looked just darling.

She’s really competitive though, so she goes back every year.

  Corsets. Heels. Yeah.

I was...I’m a lot of things to my mother.

I’m just very slow.

I was her pretty little girl. And she put me in what she won with, in 1940...whatever it was.

2.

I was her pretty little girl. And then I was...

I was briefly her pretty little...

I was...

I was briefly Miss Debutante Ball, Miss 1996. But then mom came back in 97 and took the title away.

She’s got a cherub face, and a big trophy case.

When you win, they give you a little flower, and a BOTOX® shot. Which, as like a six year-old, was not very...

  I think you can save it, yeah. So, you know, if you want to go in the working world for a while, and then come back and shoot back down to your six year-old performance self. You can make it happen.

  So, that’s a little about me.

My name’s, um...

  Ah.

  Um.

  Teddy?

  Okay.

Close enough.

Um...

  Veronica?

Frederick!

Fuckin...Froxen...

  Fox and the Hound, this has been so...

I still don’t know where I’m going. But I’m going to try and wander.

Ah.

Peace to where you’re going.

And wish me well.

  Okay.

Courtesy of Flickr:

Dear Mr. Wisenback,

Thank you very much for your recent submission to Field and Stream. I think I speak on behalf of the entire editorial staff when I say that you truly exemplify the depth, color, and eccentricity of our dedicated Field and Stream enthusiasts (our "Band of Freamers,"if you will). We particularly appreciated your do-it-yourself approach to complicated wildlife issues, your disdain of French people, your commitment to 2nd Amendment rights, and your interesting footnotes on successful tax evasion. Believe me when I say, Mr. Wisenback, we at the Board consider you a true Freamer, and a friend.

We regret to inform you, however, that due to the high volume of submissions that we receive, we will be unable to publish "Seven Hands-On Ways To Spay Your Egret." We hope that you will continue writing, however, and welcome any further submissions in the future.

The editorial staff did request that I respond to you individually on a number of matters. As I'm sure you know, Field and Stream caters to a diverse and rustic audience, many of whom prefer small words and concise articles. And while we on the Board always appreciate hearing from our many enthusiastic ornithologists, the staff felt that 230,000 words was a bit long for our Opinions pages. For your records, our suggested word count is 700.

Field and Stream also does not publish list articles, though the Board appreciates the level of detail, research, and passion with which you embraced an ordinarily lackluster genre. And the handwritten diagrams that you included, while quite helpful, are perhaps a bit too graphic for this publication.

Field and Stream also does not publish personal photographs, though we appreciate the number that were included in this submission. Congratulations, by the way, to you and your wife. And please send our regards to your niece on what looks to have been a moving and emotional Bat Mitzvah.

The Board appreciates the many gifts that you sent to our newsroom along with your submission. Although we do request that, upon future submissions, you refrain from sending us any more of the following items: marijuana, whittled phalluses, pipes, bongs, defamatory depictions of the French, any parts of yak, any parts of buffalo, explosive materials, firearms, defamatory depictions of sitting politicians, or any more urine samples from members of the Palin family. Though we do appreciate the sentiment.

And lastly, some members of our Board have asked me to remind you that, while we know you are a gifted and devoted student of the natural sciences, it appears from your submissions that you have been neutering a very large number of endangered or protected fowl. We suggest you consult with a specialist before furthering your work, though we do hope you will continue to share your passion with those close to you.

Thank you again for keeping Field and Stream a part of your good, old fashioned, red-blooded recreation. As God recently said to his children, and as we say here at Field and Stream - grab a beer, grab a gun, and claim dominion over some wildlife.

Yours sincerely,

Courtesy of New York Public Library:

Fox writing with a quill pen by J. Mason (artist) and George Greatbach (engraver)

Courtesy of Flickr:

I made you this stuffing.

A casserole, a cornbread, some shit from these cranberries. 

  Please put that down.

  I made you some mushrooms and carrots and parsnips and duck, all wrapped up in pie. Baked it long with a crumbly crust, the way you used to like.

  I took your drinks and poured them out — not sorry.

Darling, Darling, please put that down.

  I made you mashed potatoes over quad-cheese squash — too much — then some shallots and dressing and confetti-fried corn.

I made you these things tonight, my dear, my love. How thoughtful I am, please eat! It tastes like Thanksgiving, like a jolly Thanksgiving, like a pretty nice merry fucking family Thanksgiving, like those ones from those ads from the ‘50s where the Turkey is FAT and the kiddies are WHITE and the people are happy, what fuckers they are with red-rosy cheeks.

  Glazed butternut squash…what the fuck? I made it for you.

  I made you this hot steaming sautéed side-bullshit that tastes like addiction because — my love — we aren’t really right, say so-many-lost-years. What luck! 

Guess I overcooked again, and taste like too much.

Green beans and garlic greens,

Roasted sweet something with buttered pecan,

And cream cheese lasagna with cranberry relish, and stuffing.

I made you these things though they taste like last year. 

  But that’s okay! Still grateful, still thankful, still alive in the warmth of the secrets we hide and the stories we hold and the slow-smoldering wreckage of our crumbling home.

  I made you this stuffing and poured out the drinks, come on home my love. 'Cuz it’s a dry Thanksgiving, and a merry one, we millennial fuckers with our microwave dinners.

  I made you this stuffing, and some turkey and goose.

Then swapped out your drink for some cranberry juice.

So drink up and drink deep, and sleep off this past year,