Rancho Blasto

I am a little sick of politics lately.  Many of you know what I am getting at.  When you stop laughing at it, and at them, it’s time to turn it off.  To change things up, I thought I would tell you about my old duck club.

The Cazadores Duck club was a small group of hunters, only 10 members.  We leased a couple ponds from a larger club in the San Jacinto valley, here in southern California.  My buddy Mark and I were both members of the club for about 10 years.  We had a lot of fun in that club, some of it still a daze.

I will try and pick a subject for each installment, and we’ll see how it goes.  There are certainly more than a few good stories.  For this first installment in the Duck Club Chronicles, I guess the best place to start is with the old club house.

Besides the ponds, our lease also included a house which we used for the morning draw, and of course, parties.  It was an ugly yellow, mouse infested farm house built about 80 years before at the base of a large hill.  It was a single story and had I high pitch to the roof.

The south end had a covered porch over the front door.  On the east side of the house, was a long living room.  It was divided from the kitchen on the north end by a tiled bar.  The back door was in the middle.  The west side of the house had a utility room at the north end, the bathroom, and two bedrooms.

It wasn’t plush inside.  There was no heat, and no hot water.  That was OK since none of the sinks drained.  We had only one toilet, and considering the meals we made, I suppose we were asking a lot from it.  If you had to do some serious business, it was better to drive over to the wildlife unit next door to use the can.  Plumbing aside, the house was mostly dry, and had electricity and running water.

The kitchen stove didn’t work, or at least nobody had the guts to light it.  We did have a working refrigerator for left-over food, beer, and freezer storage for ducks destined for the taxidermist.  We also had a large working chest freezer in the utility room, but it was usually empty.

There was some old dusty furniture to sit on.  A couple old sofas covered with dog hair.  We had an old chair that a couple of the dogs sat in.  We also had an old console TV, but it didn’t work.    We stored our decoys and other gear owned by the club in the bedrooms.

This was our headquarters.  It provided many a good night of partying before the hunt in the morning.  On the walls hung our old bird mounts, pictures of ducks, and old photos of our older members with hair.  The centerpiece of our living room was a large hand painted map of our ponds showing each blind name and location.  Each location had cup hooks to hang your name tags on after the morning draw.

The house was no doubt loaded with asbestos, and lead.  It was always dusty since it was next to a dirt road, and several of the windows were missing.  You could always smell mold, wet dog, and stale cigar.  Just stepping inside probably shortened our lives.  We were allowed to sleep inside, but none of us did.  The county vector control department had tagged it with warning signs saying we could contract Hanta virus.

Most of us chose to use camping trailers rather than risk sleeping inside.  These trailers closely surrounded the house.  There was not much organization in the way they were parked.  Just find a spot close enough so an extension cord and hose could reach the house.  We had these cords snaking into the house through windows or holes cut through the walls to find one of the few working sockets.  The hoses all connected to the water supply at single pipes modified to take multiple hoses.

As you can guess, the power went out often due to overloaded circuits.  I am surprised we never had a fire.  This was a concern for most, but scared hell out of me.  A couple of our more responsible members parked their trailers in such a way, that they could hook up and quickly drag their camper to safety.  I just had a cab over camper laid on some pallets.  Mine was going to burn.

As I mentioned, we had obtained our lease from another duck club.  This was a large club whose members were owners of the property.  They called us “renters” and referred to our cozy little club house, and the surrounding trailers as “the hood”.  The owners had a nicer area up the hill from us, out of the flood zone, and with electricity that was up to code.  I am pretty sure their toilets flushed.  They didn’t like socializing with us too much, and for the most part, left us alone.

One time we arrived at the club and noticed we had had a visitor.  Someone had left the back door open.  Not that we ever locked the place.  The back door didn’t work well, and we had fashioned a rope to hold the door shut to keep raccoons out.  We went inside and looked around, but nothing seemed out of place.  I don’t remember who found it, but in the utility room freezer, was a surprise.

This freezer was usually empty, so this was hard to miss.  On the bottom of the freezer, frozen stiff, was a coyote.  It was laid out on its side, with its front legs crossed, holding a small bouquet of red flowers.  Everyone had to come and see.  We all walked pass in single file, looking down at the dead dog as we passed.  Just like a funeral for an old friend.  We never did find out who had put it in there.  But it would not be the first surprise left for us in that freezer.

Often, when we arrived for the weekend, a quick look in the freezer would reveal frozen rattle snakes, coiled up or stretched out like canes.  We also found rabbits and ground squirrels frozen into different positions.  Some of us joked about ghosts, but we all knew it was drunks from up the hill.

We often found stacks of porno magazines left on the freezer.  Just like the tooth fairy.  Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy looking at a fine pair just like the next guy, but this stuff was different.  It was the nastiest porno I have ever seen.  I don’t know how many of you have ever seen an old copy of “Big Ass” magazine, but I’m scarred for life.   I have to admit though, many of the less nauseating rags ended up being spread around in the various trailers.

The old house was the focal point for our duck club.  A great club for a bunch of guys getting together on the weekends to hunt ducks, smoke cigars, and tell stories.  This is only the beginning of that story.

CJ Cupp

We have all heard the stories of greed and corruption at corporate levels.  There seems to be no shortage of unethical behavior committed by executives doing whatever it takes to enrich themselves at others expense.  Those unethical practices demonstrate a disregard for investors, and our laws.  In too many cases, that disregard has cost us billions in tax payer dollars.

When the scandals are exposed, it seems an appropriate public reaction to string these bastards up.  Even when we don’t personally own stock in one of the companies affected, we want blood.  Our system of free and fair enterprise has been dishonored.

Our economy is precious to us.  Everyone should understand how financial corruption and excessive greed affect our daily lives.  Prices can go up, and jobs can be lost.  We have lost confidence that the private sector can provide us with goods and services at a fair price.  We feel cheated at the pump, and robbed at the checkout stand.

I am amazed that our righteous anger against private sector excess has not transfer over to the excesses in the public sector.  Federal, state, and local governments should be held the same standard as Enron and AIG when they cross the line.  We should never fail to remember, that unlike Enron and AIG, all of us own stock in our government.  They have shown us time and again that government is capable of the same greed and excess.

We can’t afford to be lazy anymore.  This attitude is bankrupting us when we look the other way.  Too much of our tax money goes down a rat hole that is deep and dark.  The money is not only lost through the typical waste, fraud, and abuse, but increasingly through the excessive salaries and pensions paid to those in our employ.

I do not work for the government.  With the exception of my time in the US Army, I have always worked in the private sector.  I am proud of that.  My success or failure has always depended on how well I do my job.  I don’t get tenure, and I can’t get a pay raise by running TV ads saying, “It’s for the children.”

Working in the private sector, I face competition, governmental regulations, and the threat of an economy going down the toilet.  Any one of these could close the doors for good.  Then what?  I am I suppose to get the word out, as public employee unions do, by telling you that I am supported by police and firefighters?

Why should government employees, elected and otherwise, enjoy pay and benefits far in excess of what we in the private sector enjoy?  They receive pensions of 80-90% of their highest annual pay after only 20-25 years service.  In addition to monthly cash payments, these benefits often include generous healthcare plans, all at tax payer expense.

Those of us in the private sector must work 40-45 years before we can even think of retiring.  That retirement is most often paid for by the individual worker, or through a combination of employee and employer investments.  Not by increased tax rates and pension bonds.  Private retirement plans comes with a risk.  Mismanagement of our plans, or a down turn in the economy could threaten every dime.  Government pensions are essentially, guaranteed, whether we can afford it or not.

A further abuse of our system is that government employees, in many cases, are allowed to take a second government job after retiring from the first.  After all, at about age 50, they are still young. So while drawing a pension for the first job, and a paycheck for the second, they are earning a second pension.  Double dipping as it is called.  What a scam.

These generous benefits are often handed to our civil servants through union contracts.  What really pisses me off is that those elected officials charged with negotiating these contracts for us taxpayers, often receive money from the very unions they negotiate with.  They tell us the funds are used for legitimate purposes, you know, none of our business.  And we think the oil companies are stealing from us.

Contract negotiations with government employees should only be handled by those truly looking out for the tax payer.  If the negotiators, or their political party, receive funds or endorsements from any union in negotiations, they should be required by law to recues themselves from the process.  For the same reasons a politician can’t take money or hookers from a corporation competing for a big government contract.

I don’t want to suggest that government employees not get fair pay and benefits.  I just see no reason why those benefits should be one dime better than the average in the private sector.  Its bullshit that some 50 year old bureaucrat is living the good life, when I have 20 years to go before I can even think of retiring on a fraction of what that guy will get.

Like fair trade, benefits and hardships should be equally shared and on the same level.  Here in California, the hardship of this recession has been almost completely borne on the backs of the private sector.  Our government employees have been spared most of the pain.  Some unions have even secured deals guaranteeing no layoffs.  If we complain, elected officials threaten to cut off fire and police protection unless we agree to tax hikes.  These people have no shame.

With so many working for the various government agencies, we all know someone on the public payroll.  It seems like half the country is on the government payroll.  We know all about the good deals they get.  So we must sit and grit our teeth.  To keep peace, we are supposed to ignore that we are being hosed.

So, to all my friends and family that work for the government, know that we love you, but were getting angry.  I will let you in on a little secret.  We are talking behind your backs, and it’s getting louder.

CJ Cupp

What is going on?  I am witnessing a meltdown?  I don’t even know where to start.  Joe Wilson, the Healthcare protests, Van Jones, ACORN, and even Jimmy Carter are really derailing this administration.  Most of the lefty pundits are losing their collective minds trying to spin this.  I actually feel sorry for the president.

All the knuckleheads on his side of the aisle, have taken the debate away from him.  Obama can’t sit down and discuss his initiatives without addressing the crap that his allies have laid on his front lawn.  He is supposed to try this weekend, so we will see.

ACORN is a big problem that is not going away soon.  Lots of light is showing under that rock, and the president is a little too close.  The various government agencies charged with policing corruption will have no choice but to move forward with investigations.  The congress has already begun to remove funding, and those that gained power with the help of ACORN soldiers, will be increasingly distant.  No cavalry riding to the rescue.

The big rally in Washington last weekend has also caused the president serious trouble.  First off, the media is playing catch up, having missed this story coming.  They were really surprised by the numbers, and the anger.  As I watched the cable shows, Democratic pundits waved their arms in disbelief, decrying that people actually referred to the president as Hitler.  James Carville referred to the marchers as neo-confederates.  Wow!  It’s a clever shot, but it’s going to piss a whole lot of people off.

We all know what it was like when Bush was running things.  No mercy.  The left was relentless, disrespectful, and brutal.   I didn’t like it much then, and I am not keen on it now, but they did start it.  They made it acceptable to degrade the president.  Now that there guy is getting a little heat, all they can do is whine.

The left has no idea on how to handle all the troubles erupting at once.  In order to defend their guy, their programs, and their activist groups, they have fallen back on a tried and true tactic.  You know; call’em racists.  Problem is, they started calling so many people racists, they are unable to coordinate the hate.  It has all started running together, so they just painted with a really broad brush.

How stupid are they?  This is pouring gasoline on a forest fire.  You can call one man racist, you can call a police department racist, and you can call a corporation racist, it’s always worked in the past.  But calling more than half the country racist?  It ain’t gonna work this time guys.  Remember, you play the race card, you don’t throw the whole deck.

The president has made an attempt to calm the situation.  He came out with a statement saying there was no racism in the Van Jones affair, and that he accepted Joe Wilson’s apology.  Good idea, but it was a week too late, and pretty much ignored.  The left and the news media are moving way too fast for you.  They are on board the racism express, and stopping in everyone’s home town.

Obama has got to start taking charge here.  He has to begin by regaining control of the news cycle.  He needs a bold move, one that is sure to make everyone pay attention.  He must remind Americans he is in control of the agenda.  I would like to offer an idea that is sure to help the president.

Go punch Jimmy Carter in the mouth.

Trust me.  You’ll make lots of friends.

CJ Cupp

I decided late to run out for the last weekend of dove shooting.  Mark had his girls, Al came from Texas, and Rob had the rest of the gang.  Rob had already been there a couple days, and had found the spot, limits around.

The spot had the birds alright, but it was a shit hole.  It was a dump area for damaged cantaloupe, next to large manure piles.  The 100 plus degree days had created an unbelievably nasty smell, rotten and shitty sweet.  The melons were scattered next to a dirt road for at least a ¼ mile, and maybe 100 yards wide.  There were cattle standing in the middle of it, gorging on the rotting melon.  Along with them were ravens, doves, and millions of flies.

The flies appeared to be one gigantic swarm over the whole area.  It was ugly.  Mark and I were the only ones brave enough to challenge the flies this morning.  When we asked Rob if he would come with us, he said, “Fuck the flies!”  He had been there the day before.  He had enough.  He and the others went to hunt the creosote to our north.  Now by ourselves, Mark and I loaded up, and slid into a line of low cat claw bushes north of the road, and watched the sky.

As the sun got higher, you could actually see the cloud of flies, faintly black and higher than the manure piles.  They were relentless.  Bug spray didn’t work, and swatting at them was pointless.  I cussed at myself for wearing short sleeves.  Standing still, all we could hear was the constant buzzing.  But the dove were also buzzing.  Wads of Mourning dove from behind us in the creosote were coming over our heads and landing in the melon.

Our first couple shots scattered the cattle and they moved off, but not the flies.  My hands, arms, and legs were covered.  They were on my face, and I had to constantly work to keep them out of my nose and eyes.  Mark told me later he had ate at least three that crawled into his mouth.

It was so bad, I remarked to my good buddy that we looked like Ethiopian refugees, and that at any moment, Bono would step out of the bushes and offer us a bowl of rice.  Mark laughed and suggested Sally Struthers instead of Bono.  He said at least we could ask her to show us her tits.  That’s what I love about hunting with Mark, he always thinking of me.

Each time we shot, the flies would lift off of us for a second, then land again.  It was all a bit much, but the shooting was great.  Our bird counts were going up steadily.  Mark and I lit up a couple cigars and started talking about politics between the birds.  The flies paid no attention.

Mark was fired up about Joe Wilson.  He is the South Carolina congressman who called president Obama a liar during his speech on health care.  The president had said that the proposed plan would not cover illegal aliens.  At that moment, Wilson yelled out the now famous quote;”you lie!”  This outburst momentarily silenced Obama and drew a look from Nancy Pelosi that would turn any man to stone.

For calling the president on his crap, Wilson was a hero to Mark.  He argued with me that he didn’t care about decorum, he was just happy someone finally called Obama on his bullshit.  I agreed with Mark.  He is pretty good at making his point, especially since he had more birds then me.

We all know how the game is played.  We have all been played by politicians for a long time.  The president has no intention of keeping illegal aliens from getting benefits.  He may state that the illegals are not entitled, but it’s all bullshit.  Regardless of what it says in the bill, Obama and the Democrats have no desire to enforce any such provision.  That’s why they defeated enforcement amendments twice.

Wilson’s outburst, no matter how disrespectful of the occasion, changed the game.  It put the Democrats in a tough spot.  They have to back off their current insincere game plan, and quickly switch to a new one.  Like the flies, they back off only when you disturb them, and in a second, they land on us again.

You can’t deny this game our politicians play.  They will do what they have to in order to get what they want.  If not all at once then incrementally.  In this case, Joe Wilson has made sure they are stuck denying health care benefits to illegal aliens.  So they just have to make sure there are no illegal’s anymore.  Problem solved!  Amnesty will now be paramount.

As I stuffed my last bird into my vest, I said “Let’s get the hell out here”.  Mark already had his limit.  I have been chasing him and that damn model 12 for years.   We packed up quickly, and went to look for Rob.  As we drove out, I looked out the window and thought it funny how much this spot was like Washington.  Keep your eyes open, and remember most politicians are like the flies, they eat shit and bother people.

CJ Cupp