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My office window is open; someone’s been running a chainsaw in the neighborhood.

I just heard a crash, a very loud “OH SHIT” and now there is… silence.

I am mildly concerned.

It was an incredibly loud crash, too, with notes of wood and crumpling metal. The “OH SHIT” was delivered in the same tone a man in the Middle Ages might blaspheme in upon seeing something terrifying.

…well, the chainsawing has resumed, somehow sounding angrier but paradoxically more tentative than its former self.

I am unreasonably tempted to take a walk to see the damage.

YOU GUYS.

Someone just screamed “FUUUUUUUCK!” from the direction of the chainsawing.

I am absolutely afire with curiosity.

The chainsawing has now halted?

It’s hard to work with all this fun stuff going on.

Holy wow. Apparently Gondor called for aid, and another chainsaw answered? There are now two in a growling, buzzing, burring duet. I don’t hear any more expostulations, though.

Went out in the backyard. It might be unrelated (might!) but in the direction of the chainsawing I can definitely see a bit of smoke.

WHO KNEW WEDNESDAY WOULD BE SO EXCITING?

Okay so I’m on the deck with the dogs (they’re both Doin’ a Bask) and the chainsaw duet reached another crescendo.

There was ANOTHER crash, slightly smaller than the first, and two voices howled “HOLY SHIT” and “JAYSUS!” in tandem.

The dogs only appear mildly concerned so I’m taking my cue from them.

Now there is silence except for birdsong. I can’t tell if the quiet is finality or foreboding.

I have the last of the whiskey I bought a few weeks ago and am awaiting developments as the dogs proceed with the inaugural episode of their summer bake program.

The smoke from the direction of the former ruckus is thin and white, so I’m not TOO concerned. And yet...

No more chainsawing. Now there’s only a rhythmic metallic clanging accompanied by some conversation I can’t quite make out.

I feel pretty sure this story won’t have a—WAIT.

Someone is now feathering something with a single chainsaw. You know that sort of rhythmic bzz-bzz-brr like Leatherface is jacking off? Like that.

Whatever is really going on in the cul de sac over there cannot match the breathless stories unreeling inside my head from this auditory input, sad to say.

There is now high-pitched demoniacal laughter approximately following the rhythm of the chainsaw feathering.

Whoever is running the remaining chainsaw sounds like they’re having a truly excellent time.

The wind has shifted. I can smell the smoke. And... burning metal?

I long to yell “HEY... CHAINSAW PEOPLE, WHAT’S GOING ON?”

The neighbour over the back fence is out wrestling with a lawnmower and cursing under his breath, poor fellow. The chainsaw is further away but he seems perturbed.

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@lilithsaintcrow Intersting

I'm thinking that tree definitely fell on top of something big like a car or house

@lilithsaintcrow Can I quote you on this? This is a hilarious turn of phrase.

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Ragged Feathers

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