Cowbells in the Fog

Friends, Latigo Flint does not recall scaling the shelving units in the music section of his local Best Buy, and spending two wobbly hours screaming at bewildered customers and staff about the glorious sound of distant cowbells in the fog, but multi-angle security camera footage doesn't lie.

Wednesday morning began like any other - I arose at dawn, watched Open Range, read a Louis L'Amour novel, drank approximately 37 Coors Long Necks and by 11:30am was prostrate in my closet, reenacting famous gunfight showdowns with a coat hanger and a trowel... Then the next thing I know, it's 8:00 in the evening and I'm sitting handcuffed at the in-store security desk of my local Best Buy, watching 16 different angles of myself leaping nude from shelf to shelf screaming about cowbells.

It was difficult to pay attention to the grumpy, uniformed men firing questions at me. Video of your own buttocks in action can actually be rather distracting. (Especially if they're as tawny and rippley as mine are.)

Some memory fragments started to come back. I had wanted to purchase a CD - something that would move me. I seem to recall becoming furious upon discovering there weren't any albums that featured the sounds of cattle roundups - specifically the glorious sound of distant cowbells clanking in the fog.

Youth culture dominates popular music, and most cowpunchers were young. Detecting the sounds of a lost herd somewhere nearby in the swirling mist would have been a tremendous feeling. In his exaltation the young wrangler would have felt like dancing with a passion and fervor to rival any seen upon today's stage and floor.

I believe that's more or less what was going through my mind just prior to me repeatedly screaming: "The free range beauties make the sound, Clank de-dank dank-dank!!!"

I don't quite remember why I needed to be naked to prove my point. Tearing down the long florescent bulbs from the ceiling and using them to violate the life-sized cutout of Rob Thomas probably wasn't necessary either.

But you know, now that I've had the opportunity to view this so-called security camera footage I'm beginning to doubt its authenticity. I don't care how distraught and disgusted with their taste I might become - I'm quite certain I would never be so vicious as to force-feed the contents of the "Hot New Releases" rack to a terrified group of young music shoppers.

The footage ends with me attempting a running leap from the top of a twelve-foot shelf in the general direction of the electronics department. At least this part I know to be accurate, I have the laceration on my inner thigh from landing on a digital camera's open viewfinder and a reverse "Philips" stamped on my forehead from when the display model plasma TV fell on my face.