My brother is getting married today, so I'll have to make this short. Seems like a good weekend to invite you all to my new home, since you're the ones who paid for it by buying my hilarious fantasy novels and short stories. Thanks for that, by the way.
Eight months ago, my family and I moved halfway around the world. About a month ago, we moved again, but this time only about ten or fifteen minutes away.
Kiln, Mississippi, locally referred to as "The Kiln", is a small town of approximately 2,000 people. It's the sort of place where they take pride in their local heroes. And with a population so small, you'd think someone with even a modest bit of notoriety would easily take the top spot.
While there are some challenges to overcome, we've found that life in the country has some advantages over life in the city. Let me take you on a tour of some of the finer amenities of country living. Follow me to...
1. The Murder Shack
I don't do a whole lot of raping, so I can't really take full advantage of what I assume this structure was originally built for.
Thus far, I've mainly been using it for storage of things that, while I don't want to throw away, I also don't mind the occasional wild animal pissing on.
But what if my family ever got kidnapped and I captured a low-level operative of the offending organization? Think of the valuable time I'll save not having to order a shipping container and adorn the interior in such a way to inspire dread and hopelessness of ever seeing the outside world again.
Not only does this place come pre-equipped with the requisite ambiance for psychological torture, but it also comes with a bunch of rusty information extracting tools, and a chainsaw with which I can convert my family's kidnapper into a nutrient-rich fertilizer for my avocado trees.
2. The Fire Pit
Nothing says 'living deep in the heart of Trump Country' quite like the smell of a roaring garbage fire.
What better way to dispose of beer boxes, incriminating documents, non-biodegradable remains of low-level operators in kidnapping syndicates?
And as a bonus, the falling ashes may be the closest thing to snow that my kids ever get to see for a while.
3. The Neighbors
Those of you familiar with my ever expanding body of fine literature know me to be something of a paragon of class and sophistication. It may surprise you that I recently moved my not-completely-white family into an even redder region of one of the reddest states to begrudgingly remain part of the union.
Sure enough, whenever I drive to or from my house, I'm flanked on either side of the street by confederate flags and Donald Trump signs. Why would I willingly choose to raise my kids among ignorant hate-mongering bigots?
This is Mississippi. Things don't get a whole lot better in the "cities". There are plenty of "Make America Great Again" (Translation: "I ❤ Racist Pedophiles") signs in Diamondhead, just south of here, where we lived until now.
The only difference between there and here was that I had to smile and wave at these people as they walked past my garage. Here, I've never even met any of my neighbors. I put out water for their horses, and my kids feed them apples (the horses, not the neighbors), and I've got a nice big white-supremacy-free buffer zone half a mile wide in any direction.
Also, horse dicks are enormous. Like, Jesus Christ. If you've never seen one up close, I can't even...
My wife frowned upon the idea of me taking a picture to post on the blog, but if you ever want to swing by with a case of beer, we can sit on the porch and laugh at them together.
Welcome to The Kiln.