Built Like a Brick Shed House

I need a shack to type my neo-Luddite manifesto. Naturally. All us gun-nuts do. It's practically a requirement to be let into the club. Not the Gun part of the club, the NUT part of the club. Eventually all of us hunker into our unabomber-style shack with a bottle of bourbon, a broken down manual typewriter, and a bunch of crazy ideas in our head that we have to tell the world.

Most of us won't resort to Ted Kaczinski's murderous ways for attention and to compel publication. Murdering people is such a cop out. Gun nuts are much more sly. And Ted was not a gun nut. But how would gunnies compel people?

I picture someone like Tamara getting in contact with Art Sulzberger, the publisher of the New York Times, and surreptitiously informing him that she was in possession of certain photos involving him, Ann Coulter, tubs of Crisco, and an odd trapeze contraption. (His circle of friends and confidants will have no issue with the other stuff, but playing Slap N' Tickle with Ann Coulter is unfogiveable and would lead to permanent ostracization. He'd never get another dinner reservation.) Now, he can have these embarrassing pictures, just as soon as he publishes Tam's treatise on how snark will free the oppressed workers from their shackles of oppressed oppression... and whatnot.

Roberta X would get published by the Washington Post by spreading rumors that executive officers there have lawns infested with cinch bugs and crab grass. The damage from such vile slander would be made worse because of her extensive experience with Ham Radios. People all over the world will know about the horrible DC area lawn hygiene of the Media Masters thanks to RX's perfidy. From Eugene, Oregon to Guinea Bissau. From Palau, Micronesia to Toulon, France. "Mon Dieu! Ze Cinch Bugs? Ze Post eez now, how you say? Gauche? Yes, gauche. I should ave known zat, eet eez a French word."

Jay G would compel P. Steven Ainsley, the publisher of The Boston Globe to publish his screed by threatening parking junker cars on roundabouts throughout the greater Boston area, abandoning them in place, and hopelessly snarling traffic. Even if they do publish his works he still might park hundred's of cars on roundabouts to snarl traffic. You see, traffic makes him angry. Snarling it hopelessly is vengeance upon those that cause previous traffic idiocies in Jay's vicinity. His manifesto will touch on idiot drivers, I am sure.

Breda would be more subtle. Her access to the inner workings of a library allows her to stick little tracts in every checked out book. An unsuspecting reader cracks open a spine and out pops a little slip of paper Breda wrote about how to make the world a better place and why other people's pets and children are so damn ugly.

I am at a loss on how I would sneak something into publication. I am concentrating on the Shack part.

Check out the tiny houses here! They call small shacks 'sheds' in Jolly Olde England. They talk SO funny over there. But lookit how cute some of the houses are on those websites:

And if you are not ready to write your manifesto you can use your tiny house, shed, cabin or what have you as a base for hunting, or a place to just get away. Or, if it is well situated, sanctuary from the zombie horde.

But you'd be honored to hole up in any of those and bang out your thoughts on the keyboard.

Had I the money, I'd have built a brick shed house in my own back yard. I like brick. It matches the house. And I wanted to be able to say it was built like a brick shed house.

A shed, for me, in the country would also be of stone or masonry. Just the one room. Maybe a loft for a bed. Cast iron wood stove for heat. That sort of thing. Nothing much bigger than this one for a Katrina Cottage:



The porch is important. Yes it is.