My Garage



This here’s Stretch Coyote talkin’ at ya.

Sooner or later, a guy has gotta do what a guy has gotta do.

Anyhow, that’s what my domestic partner in wedded bliss, Petuda, said to me last Sunday as I stood contemplatin’ the cavernous and multifaceted abyss that is my garage.

She thinks it’s about time for a garage overhaul, a suggestion that kinda’ makes me shiver all the way down to my thermal boot socks. Had it not been for her gettin’ clunked on the head by my stuffed mongoose and cobra tableau, I suppose I could have avoided the garage cleanin’ subject altogether.

The innards of my garage are kinda’ like the throbbing, pulsating mass of my subconscious — somethin’ I am fearful of tinkerin’ with, lest it upset the primal forces which so far have left me relatively free from global concerns.

Among the assorted petro-plastic paraphernalia I cannot bring myself to either use or discard are mementos of a life I left behind 29 years ago in Waco, Texas, where I was trained for a promising career at the local asbestos factory. But wouldn’t you know it, this bunch of guys in iron lungs got together with some government researchers in space suits and lowered the ceiling on asbestos — The Fiber of the Future! So I hightailed it down to Southern California in search of somethin’ deep at the heart of life’s mystery that I have yet to find at a price I can afford. I no longer have room for my beehives or much else in my stucco-covered, pre-war hovel, so my garage is as stuffed as a wild warthog in a chocolate shop.

What with America in a giant compost pile of economic uncertainty, the state of my garage makes me think we all could probably do with a lot less. Do I really need this electronic barking key finder anyhow? I can’t help but ponder that what these here yuppie-ti-yi-yo-yos need most is the simple life of shuckin’ cowpeas on the front porch in the hot summer sun. They need to swat bugs with a fly swatter. And such.

Anyhow, I have yet to embark on the quest of the tidy garage. I’m still kinda busy workin’ out the philosophical implications of it all, even though Petuda is a hankerin’ for me to get on with it. I am tryin’ to convince her that our garage is kind of like her meat loaf surprise: It ain’t too pretty, but it satisfies somethin’ mysterious, deep in the pit of my soul.




~ Stretch Illustration by John Sherffius
~ © All Rights Reserved

Global Barbecue




This here’s Stretch Coyote talkin’ at ya.

Feelin’ pretty bad for the folks back home what needs some gal dern rain pretty gal dern soon—gal dern it!

I got an uncle livin’ back at the old homestead what’s let his geraniums die just so his old hound dog Buster Brown can have a bowl of fresh water every day. He told me “global warming” is way too tame a description of what's french-fried his farm. He said this here heat wave seems more like a global barbecue.

Now I ain’t one to shy away from a little hot weather now and then, but my cousins here tell it’s not exactly the hot weather that bothers ‘em, it’s that whole end-of-the-world fiery apocalypse kind of feelin’ that is deeply unsettlin’. It’s the kinda thing that makes you think about all the bad stuff you’ve ever done, and all the bad stuff your family has ever done, and all the bad stuff your ancestors ever done all the way back to the Alamo and wonder if it’s all just piled up so high that God figures he might as well torch the whole damn state and start over.

But I just can’t see it Bible-wise. I mean, shoot, if God was a gonna burn down a place just to punish sin, you might reckon he’d start with Lost Wages Nevada.

So I suppose this time of the scorched earth is more akin to the story of Job, in that my kin are bein’ tested to see just how much they will take before they crack. Well, some of the more sophisticated big city folks may make fun of Texans, but if I know my folks back home, and I do know my folks back home, I do, they may dry up, but they ain’t gonna blow away. They’ll do what has to be done, as long as it takes, until at last the rain finally comes and floods their basements.

It’s always been kinda feast or famine back in my home town. I know they’ll make the best of it and pull through in the end. That’s what my kin always does. That’s what my kin will always do. Rain or shine.



~ Stretch Illustration by John Sherffius
~ © All Rights Reserved