The Myrtle Fire burning south of here. I don’t know why it’s called the Myrtle Fire. Perhaps it was started by a careless octogenarian named Myrtle when she flicked her cigarette butt out the pickup window while taking a swig off a tall boy Budweiser. She was no doubt playing Toby Keith when she did it.
More likely it started in “Myrtle Gulch” or along “Myrtle Road”, though I have never heard of either.
Not too far from this fire is a remote Fundamentalist Mormon Compound. A while back, I road-tripped down to the southern hills to take a gander at it, never having seen any kind of compound, let alone a Fundamentalist Mormon one. I was not impressed.
“Why in God’s name would anyone want more than one wife?” I thought as I gazed at its walls, then remembered that masochism was a turn-on for some people.
It takes all kinds, I guess.