- COSMIC CAFE: No. 1 Sweetie
- MUSIC BOX: Bright Lights and Sounds
- GET OUT: Adventures on the Mend
- THE BUZZ: Budgeting in a Bust Cycle
- FEATURE: The Creative Conundrum
- CREATIVE PEAKS: Of Clay We are Created
- WELL, THAT HAPPENED: Trading the Hole for the Unknown
- FEATURE: Labor Pains
- MUSIX BOX: Wild for John Wayne’s World
- CREATIVE PEAKS: Stage Savoir-Faire
REDNECK PERSPECTIVE: Hog Island retreat on VRBO
JACKSON HOLE, WYO – I awoke in the middle of the night to someone banging on the front door of my trailer. I used to keep a loaded shotgun bedside, but not since last winter when Alice, my Republican lover, stopped by while I was spending quality time with Lill, my redneck girl.
Alice had been at home watching a late edition of Fox News. Bill O’Reilly was discussing family values, and it had put her in the mood. She also knew Bill was attempting to annul his 15-year marriage so he wouldn’t have to get a divorce. Republicans get aroused by moral hypocrisy the way Democrats do when discussing ideas that were good 80 years ago.
When Alice walked in, Lill got mad and grabbed the shotgun. “It’s Alice’s fault,” I explained. “She won’t leave me alone.” Tragically, Lill was familiar with my progressive ethic of multicultural, all-inclusive, non-discriminatory dating, and she pointed the shotgun. I dived to throw my body in front of it but was too late. Birdshot shattered my new flat screen TV.
To protect my investments in big-screen plasma home entertainment, I started storing my guns in the rafters of Aunt Myrdal’s chicken coop in Hoback Nation. So now I was defenseless, vulnerable, unable to protect myself from local cartels. The brutal Hog Island Bloods were at war with the more sophisticated, yet equally vicious, Westbank Chic Boutiques over control of smuggled caramel syrup to the Town Square Starbucks for their Frappuccino® blended beverage.
However, despite being unarmed, there was the chance it was a busload of Utah girls that were lost and in need of shelter for the night. So I opened the door. I was immediately tackled by two cops. They handcuffed me before Tasering me a couple times.
“We know you are renting your bully barn as a short term rental,” they said.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “Aunt Gertrude comes up every year from Arkansas to judge the pig wrestling, and I let her stay in the shed. It reminds her of home.”
“If she is paying to stay here, you owe part of the proceeds for taxes,” the cop with the Taser said.
I struggled to my feet and staggered to the pantry.
“Take these,” handing them the jars of pickled pig’s feet Gertrude brought every year. I had been keeping them in case a nuclear holocaust destroyed all actual food on Earth.
“We have our eye on you,” they said. “People are making thousands of undeclared dollars a year with illegal vacation rentals, and we will stomp it out.”
Thousands of undeclared dollars? The next day I kicked Aunt Gertrude out and asked a real estate agent from Sotheby’s to write an ad offering my shed for vacation rental. This is what he came up with:
“Exceptional, one-of-a-kind, unique, charming and extraordinary vacation retreat in the heart of historic Hog Island. Magnificent, architecturally significant yet rustic, a dance of light and scale, perfectly nestled into its nestling area with breathtaking, sweeping and stunning views of Swinging Bridge. (The only bridge still working beyond South Park!) This property is a celebration of the classic age of Hog Island architecture and borders nature on three sides. Within walking distance of native sage, a few mature trees, and rocks that date from the early days of Jackson Hole. Don’t rent a room, rent an adventure! Contact Hog Island Vacation Rental for details.”