My Tee Pee, My Squaw, My Rules

May 20,2020 Diary entry: If I had it all to do over again, things would be different, I’ll tell you that, I wouldn’t cow tow to any woman, when I come home to the tee pee from a long day on the warpath because the office manager is on my ass and he doesn’t give me any credit at all, I’m gonna relax, I’m the king of my castle and nobody can tell the king what to do, if I want to dig a moat around my wigwam, I’ll dig a goddamn moat around my wigwam, my squaw would be there to serve me, “Fetch me my moccasins and my peace pipe”, “I’m gonna do some smokin'”, “Pour two jiggers of firewater into a hollowed out buffalo horn”, “And bring a bear skin for my legs, I feel a chill coming on”, “Then bring some more wood for the campfire”, “I’d like a nice fat muskrat for supper, and could you stuff it with some of those herb’ed bread crumbs like your mom makes”, then there’s a whole other thing, the In-laws, I don’t mind the squaw’s mother but I can’t stand her father, he drinks all my firewater and he smokes all my mushrooms and I can’t talk to the gods, I’m left stuck in this dimension holding a ball of yarn as I talk to the squaw’s mother, or I’m stringing colorful beads on a necklace while the squaw’s father sits on the other side of the tee pee talking to the ghosts of Sitting Bull and Geronimo, I’m as sober as a gut-shot coyote, and he’s over there howling because the ghost of Chief Running Dagger just told him the joke about the stupid white hunting party that got lost in the mountain because they thought their compass was a pocket watch stuck on six o’clock, damn white men should go back where they came from, Europe or wherever, yeah, if I could live life over, things would be different, there wouldn’t be any of that complaining about my beaver skins cluttering up the tee pee when I was in the mood to be romantic, “Can’t you clean up your beaver skins”, “Can’t you organize your beaver skins”, “Can’t you stack up your beaver skins more neatly”, “When are you going to do something about your beaver skins”, then when it’s time to gather up all the beaver skins to take in to the trading post to sell them, it’s “Do you have all my beaver skins loaded into the wagon”, “Make sure you don’t forget any of my beaver skins”, “I’ve got plans for the money I receive from my beaver skins”, then I have to go another year without that neat deer antler hunting knife I’ve always wanted, oh god how I wish I had another shot at life, I’d make an amazing one hundred yard shot from my bow and I would shoot the heart out of life, then I would gut and skin it, and roast the best parts of it’s hindquarters over my campfire as I scream to the heavens above that I am the brave warrior that brought life to it’s knees and subdued it like a hungry mountain lion subdues it’s weak prey, and all the squaws would dream of riding that great wild mountain lion, that great wild mountain lion they call Paulie, yeah, just one more shot at life is all I would need, well, they say hindsight is twenty twenty and foresight can’t be attained until it’s too late, how true those words are, we live and we learn but we live too much and learn too little, anyway, if there is one thing I have indeed learned, it’s that a bitchy squaw is better than no squaw at all, this is Paulie, shalom…

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