I have ‘wrote” innumerable lies in this newspaper about misadventures with ex- wives, hand grenades, miscreant mules, discombobulated aircraft, mad cows and mothers-in-law.

I have been awakened in the wee hours to the sounds of gunfire exploding engines, spousely expectorated curse words and on the occasion the sounds of carnage of a bale of marijuana coming thru the roof of a beach house in Florida.

I thought I’d seen and heard it all. That was before last week when I had an episode with a pressure cooker and a large chunk of antique deer meat.

I’ve used them contraptions before and they are and have always been a quick and efficient way to tenderize stew meat and other ornery stuff like “road kill” or any other things you might run across on the way to the kitchen.

This is a discourse on what not to do with a pressure cooker while on medication. Leave one or the other the hell alone. If you’re starving, skip the dope and if you’re feeling poorly skip the meal. Especially if the medicine makes you drowsy. That little ol’ jiggler thang on top of that incendiary device rattles around and poots and whistles to let you know it’s workin’ all right.
As long as it’s making a racket it’s all online and there’s nothing to worry about. However if it gets quiet in the middle of the show, you gotta shut it down or run for cover.

Having temporarily decided that rat poison (Warfarin) was a better form of  medication I made a poor judgment call and fired up the pot, not realizing that the blood thinner was gonna discombobulate me for about 30 minutes. That was long enough for the jiggler tube to get stopped up at a point when my awareness factor was at a medicinally induced low tide. The ensuing explosion practically demolished the kitchen where most of my hounds had gathered to appreciate the aromas of the process.

Thank God I was on the can at the time and missed the close range effects of the fireworks which sinfully scalded my best bird pointer, deafened my radar dog and temporarily knocked the nostrils loose from my trackin’ hound.

They recovered eventually and helped me clean my supper up from the floor and as high upon the walls as they could reach but it looks like I’m gonna have to hire Ben Fisher’s cleaning crew out of Oxford to come over here to Sardis to scrape the rest of that venison off the ceiling.
After all, (rat poisoning or moonshine) at my state and age I got no business scrubbin’ no deer off the kitchen ceiling standin’ on a rickety step ladder with a pack of hound circling for whatever falls.

Cookin with gas now,
Ricky Harpole
(Contact Harpole at www.facebook.com/harp0live or www.colespointrecords.com)