With the United States suffering from energy shortages, as brownouts roll across the country, the Tea Party has set its sights on a promising new alternative energy solution: the Teapower Reactor.  The current design calls for Ed Shultz and Rush Limbaugh to sit in a glass tank together and yell at each other.  Eventually, enough steam and pressure builds up in the tank that it turns a motor on an electric generator. 

"The reactor requires very little fuel to get started," said one engineer.   "We just read the latest tweet from Sarah Palin to them and they go at it for hours."  The Teapower reactor is available in Washington, DC and is presently used for powering the debt clock, the Politico.com web servers, and CSPAN Channel 3. 

He was called the "Mark Twain of Yiddish." The parallels are strong. Both were writers worked under a pseudonym (Aleichem's means "peace be on you," the Jewish way of saying "hello"). Both had financial downfalls while searching for a big score in industry.

I think in soundbytes

everything is on the table 
the revenue problem
the spending problem
the bridge to no-where
the nuclear option
the financial armageddon
the waste, fraud, and abuse
the Bush-era tax cuts
the tax cuts for the rich
the grown-ups
the teapots
the kids
those too big to fail
too big to bail-out
too big to double-dip
the undocumented immigrant
the undocumented borrowers
the undocumented war in Libya
the surge in Iraq
the surge in Afghanistan
the surge in the weinersphere

Will you be my single-payer?

When Homer Jackson hung the I DUNNO sign in the window of his diner, Homer’s Haven, he never thought it would spark a nationwide movement in support of ignorance.  “All I was trying to do,” he says, “is to get people to stop asking me what I thought.  Truth is, I don’t think much about anything.  Long as business is okay and I have some free time to hang out with the guys, I don’t much care about anything else.  Why should I waste my friggin’ time trying to learn about all that other stuff people are always squawking about?  I don’t know and I don’t care.”  But Mr. Jackson’s small protest struck a chord with many of his customers.  Business at Homer’s Haven doubled within a few months and before long, he found himself selling I DUNNO buttons and bumper stickers along with plain old food.  Pictures of his sign hit the web and went viral.  A movement was born.

In the last six months, I DUNNO has become a rallying cry around the nation.  A national rally in support of ignorance is scheduled to take place here in Washington on Saturday.  The presence of on-air personalities from all the major news networks is a testament to the strength and momentum this movement has gained in recent months.  This writer has had a chance to interview a few of those gathering to attend the upcoming rally. 

Jack and Jill are an engaged couple from Kansas who arrived here this morning.  “I used to call myself a conservative Republican,” says Jack.  “Not because I really knew what that meant but mostly because my family is all Republican.  I would throw words like LIEberal and lefty into my conversations with other people so they would think I knew something, that I had an opinion.  But I really had no clue.  I DUNNO has allowed me to stop pretending that I care about all that crap.”  “Yeah,” chimes in Jill.  “Same for me except that I called myself a liberal Democrat and used words like Rethug and fascist.  It’s such a relief to stop thinking.  Jack and I would never have talked to each other before I DUNNO came along.  Now we’re engaged and committed to raising our future children to ignore all that nonsense.  Work only as much as you have to and spend the money.  That’s what we believe.”

Ashley is a single young woman from New York who came here to support frivolity.  “I used to feel so guilty,” she says.  “I would go out to the clubs and party and people would ask me why I wasn’t doing something more useful.  Same with shopping.  I mean, Paris Hilton is my idol, ya know, but mean people tried to make me feel bad about that.  They’d say I should care more.  About what?  I didn’t get it.  Now I can just point to my I DUNNO button and tell them to leave me alone.  Love you, Paris!”

Nate is a former voter from California who is now staunch in his support of apathy.  “All my life,” he says, “I had people telling me how important it was to vote.  Do you know how much work you have to do to know anything about the junk on the ballot?  I used to stand there and stare at it and then start checking boxes at random.  I didn’t know who or what to vote for.  Because of I DUNNO, I can give up voting and remove that stress from my life.  It’s wonderful.”

Though the formal I DUNNO rally will not take place until Saturday, groups of people have been gathering here every day.  The stories from these I DUNNO supporters are all similar: stop trying to learn about complicated issues and concentrate on having fun.  Knowledge, it seems, has become archaic.  As I look around me, I’m awed by the intensity of commitment to this movement.  It remains to be seen how much of an impact I DUNNO will have on the political process in America and what it will mean for the future but the man who started it all isn’t concerned.  “If people are honest,” says Homer, “most of ‘em will admit they never knew anything in the first place.  So why pretend?  Some people will get by and some won’t.  That’s how it’s always been.  Knowing stuff won’t change a damn thing.” 

©2011 HollyKL. All rights reserved.

This is satire, folks!

The accompanying photograph is of Dzunuk’wa, a shy hairy giant found in the forest within the Kwakwaka’wakw territories, towards the northern end of Vancouver Island.  Some view her as a fearsome creature that can be the source of great wealth. 

When Duane Pasco completed this carving in 1973 he probably never envisioned how it could represent wealth pouring into Seattle city coffers. The carving now resides in Occidental Park looking away from the water. When all is as it should be the pole would face the water, as they did when such things mattered.

If you are a resident of Seattle you have noticed that parking meters are appearing faster than mushrooms in our rain soaked woods. Not only are meters appearing overnight but also the hours of payment have been extended to eight PM in a number of neighborhoods. More meters, longer hours combined with the increased cost per minute is inviting many to stay close to home nodding to the redundancy of their TV machine.

Recently I weathered buckets of rain to spend the afternoon with Woody Allen and invited guests romping around Paris in the middle of the night. I cruised the neighborhood deciphering all the posted instructions on how long I could park and in which geographic direction the car must not intrude into while I was enjoying the film.
I thought I had it all figured out.
I parked about five blocks from the theater, as I knew any meter would expire leaving me indebted to the city for yet another parking violation.

Surprise, surprise! When I returned to my car, after spending $10.00 to get in the film and $5.50 for popcorn, I was welcomed with a $48.00 ticket for enjoying myself for way too long. I missed the part about not leaving your car past six PM on days beginning with any letter in the alphabet.

I long ago gave up going downtown as there is no longer any there there that justifies the parking rates in the garages. Am I going to have to consider staying even closer to home?

I get it. You want us out of our cars though you are not offering good alternative methods of getting from neighborhood to neighborhood in a timely manner. I just wanted to see the film, not spend half a day dedicated to the getting to and the getting from logistics.

At $63.50 per film I’m thinking about increasing my indebtedness to Netflix, who somehow finds me within a day-

The time has come to adress a serious inequity in our society today. Yes, I'm talking about the complete lack of representation in public government for the squirrels among us. Though no hard data exists to document the size of the squirrel population, it is estimated that the total number of individuals comprising this segment of our society exceeds one billion. And yet they have no representation at any level of government. I ask you, how is that fair? I am here today to argue in favor of allowing squirrels to run for public office.

One could make the argument that the sheer size of the squirrel population entitles them to representation. But leaving that aside for a moment, squirrels possess a number of other qualities that make them well-suited for public service. Let me expand upon a few of the most admirable of those qualities:

1. Squirrels are accomplished fence straddlers. Think about it. How many times have you watched a squirrel zip across the top of your backyard fence? And do those squirrels really care which side of the fence they come down on? No. As long as they can find food or something else that serves their self-interest, squirrels will jump down on whichever side of the fence gives them the biggest reward.

2. Squirrels are by nature adulterous and they don't hide their behavior. If you elect a squirrel, you can expect complete transparency when it comes to immorality. No more wondering whether your elected representative is concealing some type of lewd and distasteful behavior. You know your squirrel will cheat and mess around so it can focus on the job at hand instead of being distracted by all that morality stuff.

3. Squirrels are proficient thieves. Anyone who has attempted to keep squirrels out of the bird feeders knows that a squirrel worth its salt will find a way to steal the seed. Since the ability to steal effectively is a highly prized trait in our public servants today why not elect those who have the expertise. Squirrels are unparalleled here.

4. Squirrels are exceptionally good at posturing. Take a look around you and you will immediately see what I mean. They puff themselves up to look fierce. The twitch their tails emphatically. They chatter and yammer and throw acorns around. But when things get rough, self-preservation kicks in and they disappear in a flash. They will fit perfectly into any legislative body to which they are elected.

5. Don't be put off by the squirrel's small brain size. Squirrels are canny and shrewd. And though I'm not aware of any scientific study to verify this opinion, it's my belief that the size of a squirrel's brain more than meets the minimum required for other public office holders in our government today.

So let's give the squirrels their due. We should allow the squirrels among us to run for public office. Support your local squirrel is what I say! What do you think?

Okay, from the title you might think I'm a little crazy. And maybe I am. But here are ten reasons why I love Charlie Sheen, just the way he is.

According to duotrope's digest, it's getting to be that time of year again, when writers of all stripes do their very best to write their very worst.

Sponsored annually since 1982 by the English Department of San Jose State University, the annual writing contest honors - in a manner of speaking - the memory of Victorian writer and prose windbag Edward George Lord Bulwer-Lytton, who left us what is often regarded as the worst opening line of an English novel ever penned. Beginning with the words made famous by literary icon Snoopy, the line begins, "It was a dark and stormy night..." It then shambles on for more than another 50 words before finally coming to rest somewhere in 19th century London, miles away from where it started.

This satirical contest challenges writers to compose a similarly bad opening sentence to an imaginary, awful novel.

This year's contest deadline for entries is April 15, 2011.

The contest's website, with links to past winners and directions for submitting entries, is: http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/

So come on, people. Get writing. Badly. :)

For many years, my husband was a police physician in the town where we lived in New Jersey. Day in and day out, officers would come for treatment of illnesses and injuries and, during their appointment, relate tales of their adventures on the force. Some were hair-raising stories of lives threatened and, most often, saved. Others were humorous bits of interaction between themselves and our local citizens.

One story has stayed with me for years and always, always brings a chuckle when I think about it. Picture Kojak... just shorter and tougher. That was Butchie. He was a no nonsense cop, who wore his badge with great pride and did not suffer fools easily.

On this particular day, Butchie was patrolling the highway that bordered the northern edge of town. His routine had him hiding behind a billboard on the west side of the road, where he could see cars entering off a ramp. Butchie was just far enough away to allow drivers to pick up speed, and most picked it up about 20 miles over the limit.

As a big white Cadillac flew past him, Butchie hit the siren and the gas pedal simultaneously. Within minutes, he had a distraught woman pulled over and was lecturing her about the dangers of speeding.

"You don't understand, Officer. I have to get home immediately."

"What's the emergency?" Butchie asked the bleached blond floozy in the tight fitting lime green suit.

"Well, you see," she hesitantly began to explain. "I just got my, um, er, period, and if I don't change my tampon soon, I'll bleed through my clothes and stain this white leather seat. My husband will kill me."

Butchie listened politely, raised his hand as if to say "wait right here" and walked back to his patrol car. When he returned, he was carrying a newspaper. Passing it through the window to the woman, he said, "Sit on this while I write your ticket. License and registration, please."

You just gotta love him!

Another story that was often repeated involved Detective Ray C. and a jumper. Standing on the ledge outside a tenth floor window, the man had been threatening to end his life for more than three hours. Many police officers had attempted to talk him down, but he was adamant that he wanted to commit suicide.

Night was closing in and time was running out as were ideas. Ray had been monitoring events from a command center set up inside the building. He was tired, hungry and a little hoarse from trying to convince this guy not to swan dive onto the concrete sidewalk below.

Sending all the other officers away, Ray made a decision to end the standoff - one way or another. Climbing out on the ledge, he pulled his gun and aimed it at the guy, who suddenly realized death didn't seem so appealing.

"What the f*** are you doing?" he screamed at Ray.

"I'm helping you decide what you want to do. If, by the count of three, you haven't either jumped or climbed back through the window, I am going to shoot you."

"You're f***ing crazy. You'll be arrested for murder."

"I'm hungry and tired but not crazy. I'll tell them that I climbed out here on the ledge and tried to convince you to come inside. You grabbed for my gun and it went off. Who are they going to believe? You, the psycho, or me, the decorated cop? Now... one, two, ..."

"Get the f*** out of my way. I'm climbing back in."

Perhaps, not exactly text book police procedure, but a life was saved and everybody was home in time for dinner.

I'm hesitant about writing this last story because it is somewhat gross. If you have a squeamish stomach and are partial to beef, I suggest you not read it.

Marge Harris had been the matron at the local precinct for nearly twenty years. In that time, she thought she had seen every possible variation on crime. Each week, crooks and criminals came up with new ideas for "getting away with it." On this particular Thursday, even Marge learned a new lesson.

The Shop Rite that was the primary supermarket in town had its fair share of theft. Someone was always trying to walk out with a beer or bottle of wine, maybe candy or cookies. Occasionally, a package of pork chop or chop meat was shoved into a coat pocket and hurried home for dinner. In business, shoplifters are a constant drain on the bottom line.

Tony Smith, the Shop Rite manager, always said that watching the surveillance cameras was an education. After this day, he knew more than he needed. A very large woman, wearing oversized clothing was seen pushing a basket through the store. As she made her way up and down the aisles, items appeared in her cart but even more items were stashed in her coat. By the time she got to the checkout, she was being followed by in-store security. A call had gone out to the police department and officers were on the way.

As good as surveillance cameras are they cannot possibly see every nook and cranny in a large supermarket. Shelves and end aisle displays block a good portion of the viewing area, and a smart crook knows just where to stand to avoid detection.

The woman was allowed to pay for the groceries in the basket, but when she left the store, she was arrested. Handcuffed, she was brought to the station and placed in Marge's competent hands for processing and strip search.

As was procedure, the woman was told to remove her clothing, bend over and spread 'em. Donning her latex gloves, Marge began a body cavity examination. When she reached between the woman's legs, she felt the edge of one of those courtesy plastic bags supermarkets supply for fruits and vegetables. Giving it a tug, she met with resistance.

Fearing that she would do physical damage to the woman if she pulled too hard, she ordered her to squat and remove the item herself. As though in the throes of labor, the woman pulled out a 5 pound roast beef.

Now, I like a good steak once in a while, but I swear, after hearing this story, I ate chicken for a long time.

I'm starting the year off right With me and my lovely wife No vow to quit smoking So nobody choking The life from each other tonight. I'm starting the year off right No vow to loss weight on this night I'll eat what I want and as much as I want

30 days hath November, you lousy jerks...

Yet more reasons to love the writing of John Scalzi.

Every fall, the Literary Review in Britain hands out its Bad Sex in Fiction Award, a sniggering exercise that generates plenty of press, mostly because the nominees are selected from the ranks of highly praised novelists. Tom Wolfe, Norman Mailer and John Updike have been "winners" since the award was founded in the early 1990s, but more often than not the (non-)honor goes to the least-famous name among a list of the celebrated. (There appears to be some basis for the rumor that the prize is given to whomever is a good enough sport to show up for the ceremony.) This year, Rowan Somerville won it (for his novel "The Shape of Her") but the nominations of Jonathan Franzen and former Tony Blair spokesman Alastair Campbell are what garnered the most attention before the winner was announced last night at ... wait for it ... the In & Out Club in London.

THE DUMBEST THING I DID AS A KID was not cut the right size switch when mom sent to get one.

I was around 10 or 11 now this was back in the day that kids didn't back talk mom's and dad's or make the statement "if you whoop me I will call the police" If I had done that mom would have told me to call the preacher as well since someone would have to pray over the body. LOL

Anyway I had done something, I can't remember what it was but it must have been pretty bad or dumb because mom was going to issue a spanking. Trust me she didn't just hand those out to anybody no sir you earned those. She sent me to the kitchen and told me to get a paring knife and to go cut her a switch so she could give me my punishment...Do you know how it feels to have to cut your own switch. There is this big lump that comes into your throat and your stomach churns. The walk to where the switch patch was about a hundred yards from the house. You don't know how many times I though if I had a hundred yard head start I could just keep running and mom wouldn't catch me.

Anyway my little brain was working overtime on how I could make this bad situation better so I thought all the way down to the switch patch. When I got there boy did I have a plan, I would cut one so big that there was no way mom could bring herself to whoop me with it. I found a big bastard almost had to saw it in have and then my little lanky but went dragging it to the house. When I got back mom came to the front porch and asked "Knowlton did you get me a switch"?

I replied "Yes mama I sure did" then I pulled that big beast from behind my back. Mom got a sad look on her face and said "oh honey I couldn't bring myself to whoop you with that big ol thang" I thought to myself "yep Knowlton your a f in genius" then mom asked me the dreaded question. She asked if I still had the paring knife, to which I swallowed hard and said yes.

"Well sweetheart I guess I will have to go and show you how to cut a switch" she said as she took the knife from me and motioned for me to walk with her to the switch patch. I am thinking oh sh!t this didn't turn out the way I thought it would. We get to the patch and she says " now Knowlton you go through there and find the right one, do let it be too green or too dry we sure don't want it break. Ah and make sure that it's not to big like the last one and make sure it's not too small." Man I look and lookuntil I found the right one and I pointed at it, mom shook her head with approval so I cut the switch. Thinking ok, let's get this over with. Then mom really sends my heart down to my undropped reproductive organs. "Knowlton since I had to stop doing the dishes to come and teach you how to cut a switch I guess I need to cut one also". Ah damn and she did. Now I am a fast runner and mom cut one of those long ole green willow switches the ones that you could hear coming and make that little swish sound as they wrapped around you leg. I ran all the way home with momma on my ass. Swish swish, ahhhh swish swish ahhhhh momma I'll be good. swish swish ahhhhh " Knowlton do you think you have learned how to cut a proper switch"

Hell yes momma, swish swish ahhhhh " and that's for cussin boy".

Thanks mom for the lessons in life that made me a better person and a responsible adult.

THE DUMBEST THING I DID AS A KID was not cut the right size switch when mom sent to get one.

I was around 10 or 11 now this was back in the day that kids didn't back talk mom's and dad's or make the statement "if you whoop me I will call the police" If I had done that mom would have told me to call the preacher as well since someone would have to pray over the body. LOL

Anyway I had done something, I can't remember what it was but it must have been pretty bad or dumb because mom was going to issue a spanking. Trust me she didn't just hand those out to anybody no sir you earned those. She sent me to the kitchen and told me to get a paring knife and to go cut her a switch so she could give me my punishment...Do you know how it feels to have to cut your own switch. There is this big lump that comes into your throat and your stomach churns. The walk to where the switch patch was about a hundred yards from the house. You don't know how many times I though if I had a hundred yard head start I could just keep running and mom wouldn't catch me.

Anyway my little brain was working overtime on how I could make this bad situation better so I thought all the way down to the switch patch. When I got there boy did I have a plan, I would cut one so big that there was no way mom could bring herself to whoop me with it. I found a big bastard almost had to saw it in have and then my little lanky but went dragging it to the house. When I got back mom came to the front porch and asked "Knowlton did you get me a switch"?

I replied "Yes mama I sure did" then I pulled that big beast from behind my back. Mom got a sad look on her face and said "oh honey I couldn't bring myself to whoop you with that big ol thang" I thought to myself "yep Knowlton your a f in genius" then mom asked me the dreaded question. She asked if I still had the paring knife, to which I swallowed hard and said yes.

"Well sweetheart I guess I will have to go and show you how to cut a switch" she said as she took the knife from me and motioned for me to walk with her to the switch patch. I am thinking oh sh!t this didn't turn out the way I thought it would. We get to the patch and she says " now Knowlton you go through there and find the right one, do let it be too green or too dry we sure don't want it break. Ah and make sure that it's not to big like the last one and make sure it's not too small." Man I look and lookuntil I found the right one and I pointed at it, mom shook her head with approval so I cut the switch. Thinking ok, let's get this over with. Then mom really sends my heart down to my undropped reproductive organs. "Knowlton since I had to stop doing the dishes to come and teach you how to cut a switch I guess I need to cut one also". Ah damn and she did. Now I am a fast runner and mom cut one of those long ole green willow switches the ones that you could hear coming and make that little swish sound as they wrapped around you leg. I ran all the way home with momma on my ass. Swish swish, ahhhh swish swish ahhhhh momma I'll be good. swish swish ahhhhh " Knowlton do you think you have learned how to cut a proper switch"

Hell yes momma, swish swish ahhhhh " and that's for cussin boy".

Thanks mom for the lessons in life that made me a better person and a responsible adult.

Packing all of your belongings into a U-Haul and then transporting them across several states is nearly as stressful and futile as trying to run away from lava in swim fins.

I know this because my boyfriend Duncan and I moved from Montana to Oregon last month. But as harrowing as the move was for us, it was nothing compared to the confusion and insecurity our two dogs had to endure.

Our first dog is - to put it delicately - simple-minded. Our other dog is a neurotic German shepherd mix with agonizingly low self-esteem who has taken on the role of "helper dog" for our simple dog. Neither dog is well-equipped with coping mechanisms of any kind.

When we started packing, the helper dog knew immediately that something was going on. I could tell that she knew because she becomes extremely melodramatic when faced with even a trivial amount of uncertainty. She started following me everywhere, pausing every so often to flop to the ground in an exaggeratedly morose fashion - because maybe that would make me realize how selfish I was being by continuing to pack despite her obvious emotional discomfort.

I have done many dumb and stupid things in my life, (as I imagine we all have), but what I am looking for is one of the dumbest things that you have ever done as a kid that pops right into your head:)

The dumbest thing that I remember is when I was around fourteen years old. We raised quarter horses, and my job was to take care of them everyday. I loved it! It meant I could be outside with the animals in the sunshine, while my sisters had to stay inside and do crud jobs like cooking...alright, I guess cooking is not a crud job, it's just that I do not like to cook...at all:) I would throw out bales of hay in the winter time, and fill their water tanks up. In the summer I would make sure that they had plenty of water, and I would go around the property checking our fences so that none of them could get out.

The fencing closest to the house was hot wire, so I always made sure to be careful with it since I did not want to get a major shock... this is where the dumbest part comes in...

One day after I had made sure all the horses were accounted for and they were safe and sound in the pasture, I was really bored. I had a metal bucket filled with water, and since the tanks were filled, I did not need to water anything else with it. For some (stupid) reason, (knowing better the whole time I thought about it), I thought I would see if I could hit the electric fence with water, and maybe do it so fast it wouldn't shock me.

I stood back from the fence, and with all the power I could muster, I slung that bucket of water as hard as I could at the fence. The next thing I knew, the most horrendous pain shot through my body and I was picking myself up from beside the front porch.

Why I did it, I do not know. I know it was dumb, and it sure gave me an amazing jolt of electricity!

So what kind of dumb stories can the rest of you remember?

I am a proud card carrying fact chasing country raised dumb ass. With that said here is what my dumb ass did yesterday evening.

Day before yesterday I decided to make some home made root beer soda. I go digging through the family recipes and for the love Gawd couldn't find it so I put the worn out brain cells into action. Note to self take to two aspirin before engaging brain cells. I calculate the amount of root beer extract measure it out. Put the water on to boil, now how much sugar was I suppose to put in the root beer soda....alright I think to myself don't go to wine brewing mode.....for soda twoliters hummmmm let's just say a pound and a half. I put the sugar in the water bring it to a boil add the extract. It is looking and smelling good. Damn in a few minutes I will have some fresh home made root beer. I go pilfering through my cabinets I need something to carbonate the soda.....Let's see I have Tonic water from the liquor cabinet for my Gin, nope I don't think tonic will do it so I move to the next bottle....hummmm Seltzer water nah that can't be it.....What do we have here Club soda hell yeah goes great with Vodka that should give it some carbonation. I take the root beer mix off and let it cool then I start mixing Dumb ass Dumb ass.....I mix it 50/50 now I have two liters of root beer base left....WTF do I do now.

Once again I kick the brain cells in gear.......KaBoom wine brewing mode.....Now I am thinking brew the root beer wine distill it down to about 40% and we are talking (YA-Gu-My-Stu). Alright Let me think I need two more pounds of sugar so I repeat the boiling process and build a small two liter brewing bottle by adapting the screw on lid to house a one way valve....Now I know you all are thinking this is where the explosion takes place....NOPE....it is brewing fine. The explosion happens this way.

I put the home make root beer soda in the frig to cool down. Well tonight my girlfriend comes over and my room mate and we were talking about what to cook for supper. I tell them we need to taste the home made root beer I made the day before. We all go to the kitchen and pull out a small glass slap some ice cubes into the glass. I go to the frig to pull out my master piece. Twist the lid FFFFFFIIIIIIIZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!! I smile and tell them they are looking at the root beer god it's got fiz and smelling good. I slowly pour a glass twirl it around to watch the carbonationslowly escape put it up to my nose and take a deep breath...AAAAAAHHHHHHH heaven. Then the sweet nectar hits my tongue ......Good Gwad WTF didn't taste like root beer at all it tasted flat and salty.....I let my girlfriend taste her comment was I might want to step down from the god figure and rework my way up. The room mate tasted it then we agreed it needed more sugar.....I fumble through the kitchen trying to find my funnels in which the girlfriend did the dishes two days ago and put them where I would never look...lol

I place the bottle on the kitchen table and put the funnel on top....time to sweeten the puppy up.....Walla Bing in goes the raw sugar.......The explosion from hell!!!!! It made Mt. St. Helen look like an ole man fart. For those who do not know there is something in club soda when mixed with raw sugar spew like a 16 year old boy on prom night. It shot soda all over the ceiling and before I could get it to the sink, I looked like I have been dipped in a molasses vat. I AM SUCH A DUMB ASS.

Now what really makes me a DUMB ASS was just the day before, I am filtering my apple wine I have made. I put one bottle on the table place the filtering funnel on top about a three cup funnel and fill it full. I go outside piddlingaround in the yard and decide to pick up a 5 gallon bucket of black walnuts. I walk around to the end of the trailer and put them under my BBQing table then it hits me before I pick any more I might want to see if the meat inside is any good. I go in the house check on my wine, bottle have full filter half full....so I add more wine to the filter and grab a hammer and back out the door I go. I find a concrete block on the ground but decide fat boy will have to get on his knee's to bust the walnut open. Walla....the tong on the trailer house that is just as solid as can be and I won't have to get on my knees..BAMB BAMB BAMB I am hammering away when all of a sudden I hear from the kitchen KABLOOM....Oh Sh!t I go running inside...and the vibration from my hammering had cause the bottle of wine and filter to turn over and spill all over the kitchen floor.......WHAT A DUMB ASS

Well just so that you know the girlfriend referenced to that last night and said ....you have a thing about making a mess out this kitchen every time I come and clean it for ya.....lol

If I keep it up I may make the DUMB ASS hall of fame this year.

Peace.

How are you today?

Well, I should sincerely hope.

And myself?

Today I'm feeling rather adolescent-minded (or would addle-brained be the more apropos and naturally approbative mental correlation).

So (anyway), I'm sitting here pondering, "Why?"

Why should this guy make this song be about a farmer and his dog?

Say, "What", or do, "Huh?"

You know.....??

Oh, there was a farmer, had a dog
and Bingo Was His name.
Oh....

B, I, N, G, O
B, I, N, G, O
B, I, N, G, O
and Bingo was his name.

I mean, it's like if you're gonna have a song about a farmer, shouldn't you have the animal be a horse, or a cow, or maybe even a pig?

Example:

Oh, there was a farmer, had a pig
and Wallow was his name.
Oh, W, A, L, L, O, W
W, A, L, L, O....

....Oh, never mind.
One needn't deploy a brain sturgeon to piss on the court docket.

And, yes, I'm no rocket scientist.
I'm just your ordinary hedonistic heathren.
One who enjoys praying oblations toward pharmaceutical conglomerates for my pristine if onomonopedic state of mind.

Okay...so how about these words with the same tune?

I knew a girl who grew attached
to a corn upon her toe.
Woe....

Corn on her foot it got so big
it looked liked another toe ~ go fig'
looked like a freak when she danced a jig
with that corn upon her toe.

: )

I think now I shall ponder a while upon the variant differences and/or distinctions there are to be made between the plantain and the banana.

Have a nice day everyone!

Y'all come back now. Hear?

Once in a generation, or perhaps once every two generations, or twice in one generation, or even something longer than a generation time-wise (be it once or twice), a writer comes along and fundamentally changes not merely fiction or literature or the way words are linked together, but society and cognitive behavior and our understanding of time and sporting events, television and life on Earth and even the way animals mate and how humans use a debit or rewards card. That man is Jonathan Franzen.

Like a modern-day J.D. Salinger, Franzen rarely appears in public — no more than one print interview, one TV interview, one in-store appearance, one major national magazine cover and one online video post a day.

So who is he? Where does he live? What does he look like? Is he a tiny mythical creature, as some have suggested?

And when he was an hungered, the Devil appeared and said unto him, Turn this stone into bread!"

But he answered, and said unto the Devil, "Don't be talkin' trash. My wife just baked this!"

"If I am perchance politically incorrect, (PLEASE) do not educate me; my ignorance is bliss!"

I sure didn't realize all the benefits I gained when I stopped smoking

1. Weight loss: most people say you gain a little that's BS. I stopped eating because I couldn't have a smoke after a meal....pissed me off so why eat. excellent for weight control.

2. Birth control: being tempted to light one up after an evening of hot, mad, passionate, high school couple on prom night sex, I gave up sex...wonderful birth control..just wonderful

3. Improved work ethic: After I stopped smoking I really got my head into my work instead of taking all those smoke breaks seems like the other employees in the smokinig lounge don't want you hanging around if you don't light up because you're not cool anymore.

4. Saved money: God I save so much money now it is unbelievable since I stopped shopping at wal-mart because people are so damn stupid and not having a smoke to calm my nerves I was afraid I would wind up choking some poor bastard.....Lots of savings when you stop shopping

5. Quality alone time: ever since I stopped smoke I have plenty of time to myself because the girlfriend and kid say I am a cranky bastard and don't want to be around me.

6. Stock increase:G'damn did my stock go up after I stopped smoking My Maxwell house coffee stock rose 64.1% per share in two months now that I am drinking f()cking coffee by the gallons.

Hell yeah you betcha I am glad I quit those bastards....OH HELL yeah!!!

On one occasion a Congrassman stood up to test a political strategist. "Teacher," he asked, "what must I do to inherit eternal political career?" "What is written in the Law?" he replied. "How do you read it?" He answered: " 'Love your Party with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, 'Love your fellow American as yourself.' " "You have answered correctly," the political strategist replied. "Do this and you will be re-elected." But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked the political strategist "And who is my fellow American?"

In reply political strategist said: "A Democrat was going down from his district to Washington D.C., when he fell into the hands of Lobbyist and Corporate big money. They stripped him of his ethics, bribed him and went away, leaving him half dead in the re-election polls. A conservative happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the Democrat, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Liberal, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Republican, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him across party lines and bandaged wounds, working on bipartisan legislation. Then he put the man in his own SUV, took him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out an expense account and gave it to the innkeeper. 'Look after him,' he said, 'and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.'

"Which of these three do you think was a fellow American to the man who fell into the hands of Lobbyist and Corporate big money?" The Congressman replied, "The one who had mercy on him." the political strategist told him, "Go and do likewise."

We as Americans need to shed the name calling, the division among us and look at each other as our fellow Americans.

I bid you splenda peace/only 15 calories per blessing (regular peace =30 calories)

Cupid beat senseless in Wal-Mart sporting goods department-RNN

This is a Redneck News Network Special Report

From the desk of Harry Hangnail

July 30, 2010

49 year old R.D Ramsbottom from Hog Wollow Arkansas is behind bars tonight in Searcy Arkansas. Police and paramedics were called to the Searcy Wal-Mart, upon arriving Police found Mr. Ramsbottom beating Cupid senseless with a tennis racket. Ramsbottom was arrested while paramedics worked frantically to render first aid to the badly beaten Cupid. We asked the sporting goods department employee what he had witnessed.

Well I's over thar puttin up them 12 gauge and 20 gauge shotgun shells, it'll be duv season fer to long and got to have plenty in stock. So's I'ma stockin when that there Cupid feller started askin me what kinda of recurve and compound bows we had in stock. y I told him we carry all the name brands, from kodee ack to brownins. So he want's me fer to show him one. First un he tried was a Kodee ack gold model. Boy he tucka fancy to that thang like a hog to slop. Then na he asked me what type of airerswe had, I showed him the practice airers and the broadheads next thing I knowed he got one of them thar practice airers in his hand and pulled outer his pocket a heart shaped airer head scrude in ona top of it. Then He pointed it over in the durection of that Ramsbottom feller, I reckon that Ramsbottom seened it out the corner of his eyeball and took a double take cause he was standing right there next to a big un, that ole gal must wade three hunnered and sixty pounds. She was a lookin at a new shakespear fishin combo, by the way we got them on sale till next Tuesday fer thirdy five fitty. Anyway that Ramsbottom yelled out "Oh f()ck no!!! Not this time you bastard not to this f()ckin cow". Then he starts ta runnin tord me and that little Cupid guy. As he passes the Wilson Tennis rackets....by the way they's on sale too.. anyway he grabs that racket and starts a swinging away at cupid cussin all the time. He was a sayin as he was beatin Cupid "you g'damn son of a b!tch, yur f()ckin ass has cost me four houses six cars and sh!tload of child support you dirty bastard." Thats about the time I ducked down hind the campin chairs all I could see wuz feathers a flyin like a chickin pluckin on a Saturday night. Well that there Cupid tried to fly off but Ramsbottom musta broke one uh his wings with that thar racket cause all ole Cupid could do is flap round in circles. Then Ramsbottom tuck one more swings four tha pole lease got here and said "Y I odda shove that G'damn airer up yer ass you pansy a$$ half breed elf". It wuz plum all full and that thar is all I seened, did I mention we got er campin stuff fitty percent off till next Tuesday I get's a cummission offin it.

We will keep you updated on Cupid's condition as soon as we have updates. At any ratethis is just terrible, Valentine's day may be late this year or we may have seen our last one. I am Harry Hangnail reporting live from Searcy Arkansas we now return you to your regularly scheduled vine threads already in progress.

A Nation morns the loss of prominent celebrities-RNN

From the desk of Harry Hangnail

July 29, 2010

Good evening America I am Harry Hangnail with a special report. Tonight a nation morns and is moved at the loss of several prominent celebrities that have graced television and media for years. Among those who have passed are Tony the Tiger 1935-2010, Charms the Leprechaun 1942-2010, Coco the puff bird 1954-2010, Trix the rabbit 1959-2010 and Frankin Berry 1971-2010. We at Redneck news send our condolences to their families and friends this evening.

Phone calls began pouring into the Los Angeles police department today starting at around 10 am to 4:30 this afternoon reporting the deaths of the celebrities. A caretaker for Tony the tiger arrived at his house this morning to find Tony in his bathroom of his 12 bedroom mansion in Hollywood. Reports say Tony was found face down in his bath tub filled with milk and a banana up his a$$.

Bo Berry the cousin of Frankin Berry had dropped by to pay a visit and found Frankin Berry in his hot tub scalded to death by boiling milk. Long time friend Tucan called 911 around noon today when he discover CoCo in the back yard with a clear plastic bag filled with chocolate milk duct taped over CoCo's head. Manager and road agent for Charms the Leprichaun reported finding "Lucky"stuffed in his pot of gold smothered by a box of his own product "Lucky Charms" he stated that Lucky's luck must have ran out.

Around 4:30 this afternoon motel manager called police when he found Trix the rabbit in room 69 A at the sleaze way motel. Trix was reported found in the shower with leather strap around his neck and penis and a call girl's business card shoved in his mouth.

Police are looking tonight for the suspect or suspects, also lead detective Jack Webb feels with the evidence found at each murder scene, they suspect they are dealing with a cereal killer. Excuse me I have just been handed an update.

This update states Police do have a suspect in custody for questioning a 47 year old house wife with 9 children from Burbank California. Ms. Juanita Lopez. After several hours of interrogation Ms. Lopez finally confessed to the murders. When asked why she did it, her reply was "have you ever taken nine kids down the cereal isle at the grocery store? Screaming and yelling, momma get this one, no get that one, oh no get this one with the prize it. It's enough to drive a person insane, so yes I wanted those mother f()ckin cereal pushers dead." End of quote.

I am Harry Hangnail and this has been a Redneck News Network special report. We now return you to your regularly scheduled vine threads already in progress.

Redneck News Network-RNN- Police stand off with "The Easter Bunny"

From the desk of Harry Hangnail

This breaking story just in. Police have surrounded a farmers chicken coop in Screamin Holler West Virginia. It seems that the Easter Bunny has barricaded himself inside and taken three to four hens hostage. EB had demanded someone somewhere to get him the help he needs or he will commit suicide but not until he takes a few clucking b!tches with him, sources have stated.

EB's problems started several months ago but RNN did not have enough information to report the story. It seems The Easter Bunny really took it hard when the Obama administration put out warrants for Santa Claus's arrest June 24th of this year, this just may have put EB in a tail spin. Sources close to RNN said the Easter Bunny has been going to counseling for some time now for A.D.S which has taken a toll on EB for the last few years.

A.D.S. is animal displacement syndrome. We spoke with a professor at Oxford University in Oxford Arkansas who is an expert on human and animal sexual behavior and this is what he had to say about A.D.S

Doctor Demsi Duck: " A.D.S in the animal world is the exact same disorder that we see in humans such as trans-genders, lesbians and gays. Some are attracted to the same sex while others feel they are a man or a woman trapped in the other sex's body. Mr. Bunny is going through the exact same thing with animal displacement syndrome. At birth he was born with a part of the hen's anatomy that produces eggs, so while he looks like a rabbit he feels more like a hen. If Mr. Bunny's parents had corrected this at birth it may have cured the A.D.S. Hey it was something he was born with, it wasn't as if one morning he woke up and said G'damn it I want to be a hen. Yes, Mr. Bunny can live with A.D.S but the mental damage has already been done. I am sure there are some selective surgeries that would ease Mr. Bunny's pain but until someone stands up and speaks out for the animals civil rights with A.D.S they will be those out there that call him a freak, say it is his choice he is this way, not allow him to attend religous services, tell him God hates him. I just wish this all turns out well for Mr. Bunny."

We also had a chance to speak with life time friend of EB's The hare and asked him to share with us how EB's condition has deteriorated these last few months. Here are Mr. hare's comments: "Well as you know A.D.S is a b!tch, this whole having fur and a fuzzy tail but laying colored hard boiled eggs really has EB f()cked up. About three months ago he sold his hole in the country and moved into that chicken coop on the farm, thats when I think things turned bad for ole EB. We were at the bar just a few nights ago and he told me that it was not going very well. The hens didn't want him living there because he couldn't cluck, they made fun of him. They would say to him things like "Come on now you tell me when the hell is it normal for a male rabbit to lay colored hard boiled eggs. Next you will be saying a cow jumping over the moon is norm". I mean EB was saying that he just wanted to be like the other hens, he was telling me he had thought about having a complete animal change so he would fit in. I knew my old buddy EB had lost it when he kept telling me the rooster at the end of the bar was winking at him and he knew that Foghorn Leghorn wanted to screw his brains out. I told him he needed to f()ckin suck it up, he had thousands and thousand of children supporting him. Look at me, how would you like to go through life as being the f()ckin Hare that got beat in a race by a G'damn turtle; he should be damn proud to squirt out a few colored eggs"

Since we have started reporting this breaking story police have brought in a negotiator, Detective Big Bad Wolf. Who stated if EB didn't come out he would huff and puff and blow that son of a b!itchin chicken coop in, then drag him out by his f()ckin ears and kick his fuzzy a$$.

Oh this just in, EB has surrendered and voluntarily check himself into the West Virginia hospital for the Mentally challenged for treatment. I am Harry Hangnail and we will bring updates to you as they progress. We now return you to your regularly vine articles already in progress.

Redneck News Network 7/24/2010 from the desk of Harry Hangnail.

Looks like president Obama is bringing out the Big guns in gaining support for recently passed National health care plan. Obama stated in a press meeting Last week that he was going Dr. Seuss on their a$$ and will be recruiting Uncle sam. Uncle sam will be holding town meetings to explain the Health Care Plan. Obama picked Uncle Sam because of the similarities of his huge hat and the one that the cat in the hat wears. Obama wants to reach the younger up coming voting crowds as well so the book "Green eggs and ham" will be the format that Uncle Sam will be working as an outline.

Our field news woman Ima dumass caught up with Uncle Sam at on of the first town hall meetings in Biggernuts Mississippi. where she caught an interview with Uncle Sam and one of the Biggernut citizens, Here is the transcript below.

I am Uncle Sam

Uncle Sam I am

That Uncle Sam I am!
That Uncle Sam I am!
I do not like it Uncle Sam I am!

Do you like
Obama's healthcare scam
I do not like it, Uncle Sam I am.
I do not like
Obama's healthcare scam.

You know they passed it
because they really care

they did not pass it
because they care
I do not like it. it's not fair.

I do not like
Obama's healthcare scam.
I do not like it, Uncle Sam I am.

It passed with flying colors in house.
covers all Illegal aliens that enter from the south.

I do not care it passed the house
F()ck the illegals that enter from the south

They did not pass it
because they really care
I do not like it
It's not fair.
I do not like
Obama's healthcare scam
I do not like it,
Uncle Sam I am.

You know it will cover
Nancy's Botox.
And a Boob job
To make her a fox

Nancy needs more than Botox.
Not enough Whiskey to make Nancy a fox.
I do not care it passed the house
F()ck the illegals that enter from the south
they did not pass it
because they care
I do not like it. it's not fair.
I do not like
Obama's healthcare scam

I do not like it Uncle sam I am

I'm Harry Hangnail and that's Redneck News for Saturday July 27th 2010 Have a plesant weekend. RNN

It pains me to say but things have changed so much in forty years. I was going home from work the other morning and noticed that Big Lake was very low. I put my investigation skills into action and found out fish and game are draining Big Lake. I thought it was going to be a good thing and they would dredge the main channel and help the fishing. Boy was I shocked, from what I hear they are going to re-route the water and plant the whole thing in duck feed, for the duck hunters this fall. That was upsetting to me because growing up I had all sorts of places to fish on Big Lake from the main channel to the small outlets that cut across the deep thick Forrest. It was on one of those winding outlets that brings me to this story about another adventure of my dad frogging.

Mom and dad had another set of friends that my mom was childhood friends with the woman named Jessi. Now Bill and Jessi was either over at our house on Saturday or we were over at theirs. The adults loved to play Rummy and many of nights the older children would sit and watch in fact that is the way I learned to play. It just so happen this one Saturday night bill and Jessi were over at the house and it came up a thunderstorm later that night. Everyone was sitting around the table and we noticed a little lighting but nothing to worry about it was way off in the west. My mother told my dad he and bill might want to go take a look at the clouds and she would turn the TV on to check the weather. By the time Bill and dad had gotten to the back yard and Jessi and mom turned on the TV the storm alert came over Channel 8 in Jonesboro, we were under a tornado warning. A tornado was spotted in Black Oak Arkansas (yes the town where the band Black Oak lives, I knew most of the boys that played in the band) and was headed straight for Manila. Mom yelled at Bill and dad to come in and help get the kids to the storm cellar.

As you can guess dad and Bill had been drinking so they were in no big hurry, they were out talking about how bad the clouds looked and then all of sudden BAM!!! Lightning struck, the wind started howling and it began to rain like hell. In the house they run, the older kids made a bee line for the cellar while Jessi and mom grabbed the two younger ones. Jessi was a small woman, my mother was a tall woman, dad was about 5'6 or 7 while Bill stood way over 6 feet. Between the house and the storm cellar was a solar dryer........a clothes line...lol that stretched from the road to the garden, it stood about 6 foot. Jessi doesn't have to worry about ducking, mom knows it is there so she ducks and keeps running, dad ducked even though I don't know why he had nothing to worry about. Just about the time mom thought about yelling back at Bill to duck for the clothes line we heard a UUUUUUUUUFFFFFF!!!!!!and a Thud. With everyone in the cellar we look out the door and here is ole bill picking himself up off the ground in the wind and rain. Dad gets the lamp lit and Bill gets into the cellar and we get the door shut and poor ole Bill was muddy, wet and a big whelp where that clothes line caught him right on the forehead.

Well the tornado missed us and it cleared off within thirty minutes. Dad and Bill decided to go get more beer and go frogging. Dad said they would be out after the rain. Well mom wasn't to happy with that Idea, because they had already had a case prior to the clothes line incident. She told them if they went frogging that we were all going even if the women and children sat in the car. So we all pile in the car and off to the store we go. Now I can count on one hand how many times I have seen my mom drink, she wasn't a drinker but dad had pissed her off that night. She told him if he was getting another case of beer then she wanted something to drink as well. Then she turned to Jessi and asked what was the stuff that tasted like cherry, Jessi told her it was slo-gin. Mom told dad to pick her up a pint of slo-gin. All rednecks piled in the car, frogging gig hanging out the back seat window here we go behind the levee to rack up on the frogs.

Now unlike the boat adventure I didn't get to tag along because dad and Bill would be walking and it was too dangerous for kids to be out there at night because of the quick sand and snakes. Like dad and Bill had any business being out there in the shape they were in. Bill was the spotter and dad did the gigging. Check gear, 1 gig, 3 hook snap stringers to put the frogs on, 1 light, 2 packs of Pall Malls, 2 six packs complete with plastic holding together thingys to run though belt to carry beer in case of dehydration. Off these two great white hunters go, into the swamps of Big Lake drunker than hell.

Mom proceeds to drink her cherry slo-gin with Coke as she and Jessi sat on the hood of the car and talked, back then we did have a problem with mosquitoes, it wasn't until they started growing rice down here that they got bad. Mom finished the pint of slo-gin and oh my God did she get wasted. So Jessi had her to get in the back seat and lay down while she watched us kids they younger ones were already piled in the floorboard asleep. A little later we started hearing her trying to heave, so Jessi get mom out of the car and stands her next to a tree as my mother begins to pray to Ralph and Buick. Bless her heart she just wasn't cut out for drinking. She made a promise that night never again and as far as I know until her untimely death she never drank.

Now I do not know what wen't on at the frogging hunt, we heard a few yelps and hollers I can only imagine the critters they ran into. Who knows if they drank their beer or it fell off in the swamp. Bill and dad finally stumble back, we all wanted to know if they got any. My dad said " Hell yes, I have been keeping count. We gigged 32 frogs show em Bill." Bill starts reaching for the stringers and there was one little frog. Bill was so toasted that he thought he was threading the frogs on the clasp and closing the stringer but he wasn't and they just fell off. That was a messed up night.

We have all heard them before. I have been assembling the list for a few years and thought that maybe there are some new and/or unique ways of saying someone just is not too bright. Here is a starter to get things going.

• All the lights are on but nobody is home
• Stairway doesn't go all the way to the attic
• Not the sharpest tool in the shed
• Head full of rocks
• As bright as a box of rocks
• Lost a battle of wits with a bag of hammers
• Couldn't match wits with a halibut
• Not the brightest bulb in the tree
• The constant ringing is the wind between the ears
• Couldn't follow directions if led by a leash
• Eyes light up when having the ears examined. (the light they shine in to look around)
• Their head can double as a floatation device
• Gets lost going to the bathroom
• Tries to clap with one hand
• A few cards short of a deck
• A couple nuts short of a tree
• A full hand of Jokers
• A flashlight without batteries
• Would fall out of a tree if waved to
• A few marbles short of a game
• Needs to be reminded to breathe
• Family tree is just one branch
• Thinks these are funny

This is to the tune of Waterloo, if you have not heard the song by Stonewall Jackson before look it up on youtube. Get the tune in your head and I think you will find it humorus the way I have rewritten the lyrics as a parody. Again this is all in fun please don't blow a gasket life is to short to stroke out over politics.

Well Obamo was not the first in history

with campaign promises for his voters to deceive

Just for spite the Republicans opposed him from the right

In 2012 Obama met his Waterloo

Waterloo......Waterloo.....where will you meet your Waterloo

Every Democrat has his day

All the taxpayers will have to pay

Every politician has to meet their Waterloo.

Nancy Poloski was the speaker of the house

she had a tendency to always run her mouth

We're passing health care,there's nothing you can do

behind door meetings is where she meet her Waterloo

Waterloo......Waterloo.....where will you meet your Waterloo

Every Democrat has his day

All the taxpayers will have to pay

Every politician has to meet their Waterloo.

The Mormons have contested Harry Reid's faith

Over his comment on proposition eight

The voters in Nevada know what to do

At the ballot box Harry Reid met his Waterloo

Waterloo......Waterloo.....where will you meet your Waterloo

Every Democrat has his day

All the taxpayers will have to pay

Every politician has to meet their Waterloo.

Beck University is proud to offer students the chance to enroll in an education program that offers our students a real roll in making their education count. We have the finest of everything, we leave no stone unturned in seeking the truth, justice and the American way. Our motto is "one voice is the multitude".

Beck University is located in a secret corner of America where life is sweet, safe and reminds you of Mayberry RFD. We cannot divulge the location until you are accepted into our program.

Our faculty members are sharp, non-tenured and non-union, independent steel trap thinkers who will guide you to the proper way to be an American, speak like one and argue for your political side without worrying about race, creed or color. We do have a preference for Christians but if you can prove that you can accept our god then you are welcome.

Once you fill out all the forms and sign your loyalty oath, a group of like minded Americans will look over your application and decide if you meet the standards we strive for, we really need to see if your fee check will bounce or not before we make any determination of eligibility.

Here is a list of just some of what you will encounter once you make the grade and become a BU student.

Dorm rooms are monitored 24/7 so that you will always no that your morals are being watched over. Each dorm room comes with a bible, a copy of each book Sarah Palin has or will ever published (including children's books). And an autographed picture of Chancellor Glenn Beck-American-at-Large. All rooms smell like apple pie and Chevrolet interiors. All bathrooms are located outside which also smells like home baked bread.

The 'Fighting Teabag' football, baseball and hockey teams, the most sexy Cheerleaders and a stadium that also can be used as a make shift prison when needed.

Seperate but equal cafaterias, we don't want our American dishes to smell like tacos, French food, feta cheese or some strange fish soup. ( no salads offered, just meat, canned corn and many different kinds of potatoes)

All of our classes are taught in English only format without large words and difficult philosophical thinking.

Bars right on campus that are open 24/7 (stocked with only the finest domestic spirits and beers).

55 different chapels for you to pray in.

A VD clinic and a secret abortion doctor.

Our library has over a thousand books and a special Rouge section. We are constantly revising our history section so that you are brought the latest take on America and her history. Sorry we have no lending policy at this time, books are dangerous in the wrong hands.

We also are proud to have our own Fraternity, Kappa Kappa Kappa.

Here are just some of the classes we offer to the really open minded.

English Department

Proper Punctuation in Propaganda

Deranged Debate skills 101

Creative Writing for Conservatives

Editing the Truth with red pencil and sharpie pens

The Politics of Poetry

Philosophy Department

Black and White- How to see the world more simply

Obfuscation and the Obvious-turning your thinking upside down

The History of Communism in Philosophy- (they were all commie rats)

Math Department

Basic math-1+1 can equal anything 101

Higher Math- 1+1 can equal anything 102

Algebra is for Arabs

The Geometry of the half filled glass

Science Department

The Biological Principles of Creationism

The Anatomy of the Christian

Simple Geology-The 10, 000 Year History of Our Planet

The Environment and Jobs- Chose one or the other

Genetics, Sexuality and the Conservative family-how to make only conservative babies

Art Department

How to Paint like Norman Rockwell

Drawing with Undocumented Conclusions

Revised Realism in Printmaking- how to print a proper poltical sign

Painting large eyed Children and Puppies for Fun and Profit

Non-nudity in Sculpture

Making Art that looks like Something- making the real more real

Business Department

Profits 101

Profits 102

Profits 102 and 1/2

Destroying the Working Class for Fun and Profit

Screwing the Tax Man for Profit

How to Profit while not looking Profitable

The Profit of Profits

Computer Studies Department

Raw Meat Web Page Design

Avoiding the Enemy when Browsing

Security and Dirty Computer Tricks

The Internet- How not to trust anything you read

Physical Education Department

Winning is Everything (required course for all students)

Football- for Real Men

How to Swim with Dead Fish and Tar Balls in the Water

Running From Villagers- How not to be run out of town on a rail

Boxing with Straw Men

Wrestling without you Genitals Touching

Political Science Department

Uncivil Civics

How Lies become Unalienable Truths

Forming an Argument without Listening

The Rightiousness of Stiffling Debate

God and Party

Jingoism for Political Profit

Pandering without Guilt

These are just some of the classes we offer to fill your brain to full capacity. We want our students to always have an answer, an argument and a way to fill your opponents with fear and consternation. At Beck University, we strive everyday to make our students and our country into the greatest, most happy and most prosperous nation on earth, so help us god.

So, sign up for the most unequal education we can offer and become a BU student.

Our rallying cry is " We put the BS in U".

So, come on, fill out your forms and send in that check to Beck University, become a 'Fighting Teabag' today. You'll be glad that we are glad you did.

I was turning 14 July 27th in 1976, Mom and I had gone to Blytheville Arkansas to do some grocery shopping and Dad took us to Sears to look at a well pump. It was great news, we were finally getting to by the property that dad had been renting all those years. I remember that we rented the house and a 3/4 acre of land for 25 dollars a month. Our land lord had passed away, and he was so impressed with my dad and had known my dad's family for so many years that he told his wife before he died to sell the property to my dad. She called us to come over to her house and when we got there she told dad that she had the deed already fix up and also my dad's parents old house that set behind the levee was included. My grandparents had worked for this man for several years and were furnished a 4 room house, it had sat empty for several years after grandma and grandpa moved to town. She sold the shotgun house, 3/4 acre of land and the 4 room square house to dad for $1000.

This was just great news, dad went to the bank and got a loan for the land and borrowed an extra $500 to have the house moved and other things to get it set up. This meant that my brother and I would have a room to share. We were getting tired of sharing the bedroom with mom and dad on one side and us on the other. Maybe that is why there are only me and my brother...lol Mom and dad had no privacy.. it also meant that we would have running water. Dad cut two rooms off of the shotgun house and attached it to the 4 room square house giving us a Bath room and a wash room for mom. The other part of the shotgun house dad enclosed and made a bait shop. We lived next to highway 18 and were on the main route to Big Lake National Wildlife Refuge, in fact we were just a mile from the boat ramp. We would go to the hills and pick up night crawlers and bring them back and place in our worm beds. We sold them for a dollar a box. Friends, we sold enough fishing worms that year to pay dad's loan off and put some money back in the bank.

I had to fill you in on that so we can continue the story. While we were at Sears mom and me were looking around at all sorts of things that we though were just neat. We were doing our window shopping but knew we couldn’t afford any fancy items....nope we went there to look at a well pump so we could have running water. But something caught mine and moms eye. There it was, like a crowned jewel setting over in the entertainment center. It was long and slender with its walnut veneer finish and velvet red speaker covers. The lid was raised so you could look in and see the latest high tech record player that played 33's,45's, and 78's vinyl albums. It also had an AM and FM radio complete with speaker balance and three graph equalizer, bass, middle and treble. Then in the middle was the greatest of all things, being in love with music and playing music since I was 7 years old, this item made my heart stop right there. I was in love....in love I tell you when I looked at the brand new 8 track tape recorder complete with two microphones to record with. I said "Mom we have to get this for Christmas. Mom, do you realize that me and the boys could record all of our music....I had a four piece band by that time and we were always looking to record our music.

She said son I am sorry but I don't think we can afford it with just buying the house and trying to get it moved. I was down hearted. The next day Shorty Wagner came by our place and was talking to dad. I came around the corner of the house and Shorty said "R.G. that little Knowlton is sure growing up." Dad replied that I would be 15 in a few months. Shorty turned to me and said "son how would you like to have a job for this spring and summer". I said "Boy would I". Shorty said that he would put me to chopping cotton with his crew. So I did, I chopped cotton along with my mother that summer. My brother who was younger sold the fishing worms and I helped when I wasn't chopping cotton. Anyway mom and I had made an agreement after we talked to dad, we decided to go into a partnership and buy that beautiful stereo console 8 track tape recorder.

Well the day finally came that we went to pick it up in dad's 1972 Ford pick up truck. I invited my "boys in the band to come over to try it out. Worked like a charm for us 14 and 15 year old young redneck musicians. I got to be very good at repairing those 8 tracks, you had to have a fast flicking wrist when you popped that tape back into place...lol

Well as you know my dad loved to have a beer or two and we lived about 1/2 of a mile from what is known around here as "The skull cracker" It's official name is "The Fisherman’s Inn" but over the years it was known to be a rough place and someone was always getting their skull cracked. One day after work before dad came home he stopped off at the skull cracker and shot pool, drank a six pack or better before coming home. Mom was not happy. Dad came home and proceeded to have another six pack, just sitting in his chair not bothering any one smoking his cigarette and drinking his Bud. What we didn't know was dad had taken a valium that the doctor had prescribed for him. So dad after a twelve pack and a valium began to get sleepy. Mom told him to get up and go to bed but he wouldn't do it. He told her he would just sleep in the chair. Mom told him to do whatever he felt like and went to her bedroom.

My cousin from California I was down to visit and was sleeping on the couch, he has a stuttering problem. I am in my bed, from my bed I can see into the living room where dad is sitting. He turns out the main light and leaves the lamp on. Little later I hear him get up and start walking around. I am thinking maybe he is going to bed, then I hear the lid to the stereo open. I think well maybe he is going to listen to the radio. Then I hear something that I am not sure what it is. Then I hear my cousin start stuttering ....unc unc unc le.....GGGGGG Geee......WWWWhhhat aaaarrre yyyooou doo ddddooo doing. Well at this time I am out of the bed and into the living room. I yell at my dad.....DAD... he turns and says "Boy get out of the bathroom when I am in here taking a piss. I told him he wasn't in the bathroom that he was pissing on mine and mom's new console stereo. He finishes and lets the lid down and goes back over to the chair and passes out. Mom is up by this time Oh God was she mad, we took the stereo out on the front porch with a f()ckin 5 gallons of piss running out of it.

The next morning my dad told us he was sorry but he thought he was in the bathroom and the stereo lid was the toilet lid. That 8 track tape recorder never ever worked the same. Mom put dad on the wagon for about six months after that caper. Trust me my mom was the woman that kept my dad in line.

I posted on one of Hugo's articles "In case the plane goes down" or something close to that. I posted a couple of lines that I use in some of my stand up skits. So I thought I would type the whole routine for you. Well not the whole routine it goes from airplanes to buses and then taxi's.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen you know there is something you may not know about me. I am scared to death of flying, I don't know there is just something about turning around to say good bye to your loved ones at an airport and reading the sign above your head that says "Terminal" f()cking terminal last I recall there is no cure for that. I have flown a few times but I will tell you the damn airport bar is glad to see me come in when I have to fly. I got on a plane to go to Fort Dodge Kansas one time and was seated next to this really nice looking lady around my age and we began to talk as the plane was just about to take off.

We exchanged some conversation as I felt the ground leave the wheels of the plane, I told her that I was going to a convention. She said "oh really so am I." I thought as pretty as she was and the make up she was wearing it must have been an Avon or Mary K convention so I asked her if she was going to a beauty products convention....and right then is when I wish could have bailed from the plane, she said "no I am going to a survivors of air crash victims convention. My boyfriend was killed in a crash a little over a year ago. I am speaking at the convention" Now if that just don't scare the sh!t out of ya. I am thinking hummmm Lady the last thing I want to hear as we leave the ground is about crashing. She asked if I wanted her to explain. I of course said no.

I know I know some of you will say Knowlton if it is your time to go, it's your time to go. Well yeah I have no doubt about that but Hell I don't want to be sitting next to someone that has done something so bad that he has to go right then and take 257 other people with him.

I was on another flight and had gotten seated when the stewardess came by and I stopped her and said "I understand that they know how much jet fuel to put on this plan by the amount of weight it will be carrying." she said "Well you correct they do." I told her "hey lady I got a credit card just fill it up. G'damn I would hate to crash because some b!tch said she was 120lb when she's pushing 305. And the other thing that scares me is if you have a blow out on an engine you can't pull that son of a b!tch over to the shoulder and call triple A towing, no your pretty well f()cked at that point.

Also they will go as far as asking you to volunteer, you know the emergency exits. God forbid you get seated next to that bastard. All that is, is a way for you to say hell yeah I will pull the door and let every f()cker trample me to death trying to get out of the plane. Or you get a fat a$$ that pulls the exit hatch and gets stuck and the rest of you are screwed. I have never been accused of being a hero, so the exit door puller job is not for me.

Another thing I think is just horse sh!t. When you get seated the stewardess with give the flight emergency plan instructions. The first one is in case you have an emergency landing....why don't they just say crash....on land. They tell you to tuck your head and torso knee level. what the F()ck. I can hear the paramedics when they arrive. What the hell was he doing when they crashed, well I am not well endowed....so I guess I was just kissing my a$$ good bye. The other is in case the plane goes down over the ocean....the stewardess told us that our seats could be used as a floatation devise....No f()ck....I am thinking the last thing I want after going down in the ocean at 500 fukin miles per hour, ripped up by falling metal and glass. yeah the last thing I want is to be floating on a bobber squirting blood out of my body waiting for a shark to come along and chew the rest of my a$$ off.

The last flight I got on the stewardess asked me where my seat was. I looked at the ticket and said the little black box. She goes I don't understand sir, the little black box. I said yes the little black box, because if we crash that is the only thing that survives and when you open it you will see my little a$$ crammed in there smiling, saying I made it and I ain't flying no more.

Good night everyone you have been great and if you tip your waitresses make sure you stand them back up when your done.

I am currently reading a book and this excerpt cracked me up so much I just had to share it! It is a book about a Native American who has a God come back to mess with his life. I will post a book review when I'm finished, but for now, giggle over this:

Coyote Gets His Powers

One day, a long time ago, before there were any men or televisions, and only animal people walked the Earth, Great Spirit, the first worker, decided the he would give everyone a new name. He told the animal people to come to his lodge at sunrise and he would give each one a new name with all the powers that went with it. "To be fair," Great Spirit said, "names will be given on a first-come, first-serve basis." The Earth was a pretty fair place in those days as long as you showed up on time.

Coyote had a problem with this method, however. He liked to sleep until lunchtime and lie around thinking up tricks until late afternoon, so getting up at sunrise was a problem, but he really wanted to get a good name. "'Eagle' would be good,' he thought. "I would be swift and strong. Or if I take the name of 'Bear' I will never be defeated by my enemies. Yep, I got to get me a good name even if I have to stay up all night."

When the sun went down Coyote looked all over for a good espresso bar, but even in those days they were full of pretentious, pseudointellectual animal people who sat around in open-toed moccasins and whined about how unfair the world was, which it wasn't. "I don't have the stomach for that," said Coyote. "I think I'll just score some magic wake-up powder and stay wired that way."

Coyote went to see Raven. It was well known among the animal people that Raven had a connection with a green bird from South America and was always good for some wake-up powder.

"I'm sorry Coyote, my friend, but I cannot extend you any credit. I'll need three prairie dogs, up front, if you want the product. And remember, I like my prairie dogs squashed real flat." Raven was a greasy little prick who thought he was cool because he wore sunglasses all the time, even at night. Who was he to act to high and mighty? Coyote was insulted.

"Look, man, I'll have a new name tomorrow. I'm going to go for 'Eagle'. Just advance me the gram now and I'll give you six prairie dogs in the morning."

Raven shook his head. Coyote slunk away.

"I can stay awake without magic," Coyote said. "I just have to concentrate."

Coyote tried to stay awake, but by the time the moon was high in the sky he started to doze off. "This isn't working," he said. "I can't keep my eyes open." Talking to himself often gave Coyote ideas, which was a good thing, because hardly anyone else would talk to him. He broke a couple of thorns from a cactus and used them to prop his eyes open. "I'm a genius," he said. Then he fell asleep anyway.

When Coyote finally awoke the sun was directly overhead. He rushed to Great Spirit's lodge and burst through the door flap. ""Eagle'! I want 'Eagle,'" he said.

His eyes were dry and cracked from being propped open and his fur was matted with blood where the thorns had pierced his eyelids.

'"Eagle' was the first to go," Great Spirit said. "What happened to you? You look like hammered @!$%#."

"Bad night,' Coyote said. "What's left? 'Bear'? 'Bear' would be good."

"There's only one name left," Great Spirit said. "Nobody wanted it."

"What is it?"

"Coyote."

"You're @!$%#ting me"

"Great Spirit is not a @!$%#ter."

Coyote ran outside where the other animal people were laughing and talking about their new names and powers. He tried to get them to trade names, but even Dung Beetle told him to get lost. Great Spirit watched Coyote from his lodge and felt sorry for him.

"Come here, kid," Great Spirit said. 'Look, you're stuck with a lousy name, but maybe I can make up for it. You have to keep the name, but from now on you are Chief of the Without Fires. And from now on you can take on any shape that you choose and wear it as long as you wish."

Coyote thought about it for a minute. It was a pretty good gift; maybe he should work this pity angle more often. "So that means that everyone has to do what I say?"

"Sometimes," Great Spirit said.

"Sometimes?" Coyote asked. Great Spirit nodded and Coyote figured he'd better leave before Great Spirit changed his mind. "Thanks, G.S. I'm outta here. Got to see someone about some sunglasses." Coyote loped off.

This is from Christopher Moore's "Coyote Blue", pages 71-73.

Ever wonder why air piracy never really caught on?

I just thought of it and there are really a lot of logistical problems with it and I put together a list of the typical hold ups for the aspiring air pirates out there.

1, Fuel is expensive. Unless you are already rich, fuel will be hard to come by. You can't just drive off after filling up like a gas station, there is a little more to it than that.

2, Pulling up beside your target is inherently unsafe. So far, nobody has been successful in boarding another air plane to grab the loot.

3, If you want to use cannons, they need to be secured really well. They also don't work at high altitudes because once you open the cannon port, all the air goes away.

4, Piloting an air plane is really hard. You would probably make a better living if you went out and got a pilot's license and a job flying them professionally than trying to run a pirate ship.

5, Adding a crow's nest makes your ship aerodynamically unstable. Sure, it lets you see farther away but at 35000 feet, who cares? Besides, there is a neat thing called RADAR and it works much better.

6, Swords and flint locks are frowned upon. Since the seats are so small and uncomfortable already, these things just get in the way and make the flight less enjoyable. Just getting them in board is difficult these days at nearly every airport.

7, Finding a crew that does not turn out to be a bunch of pansies is a real challenge. Most of the men you might find have problems with the profession and probably couldn't get permission from their mothers or boyfriends to join the crew to start with. The women are better suited for the work but generally not as strong. (Though I have seen a few that can hold their own)

8, Raising the Jolly Roger is hazardous. Just like opening the cannon ports, as soon as you open the door to raise the flag, all of the air goes away. Some times, the crew member also disappears out the door.

9, Keeping a parrot on your shoulder might look cool but there is the issue with the white stripes down your back. They are messy and if you are not careful, they will rip your ear to shreds.

10, Don't wear an eye patch! If you only have one good eye, you might want to choose a different career. Depth perception is a bit on the important side here.

11, If you have a hook in place of a hand, the controls might be a bit difficult to operate. Throttle handles are about all you can deal with, the switches and buttons are just too small to operate when the hook is so much bigger than they are.

12, Peg legs are also discouraged. Air planes have so many controls to deal with that you need both hands AND both feet to use them.

13, Landing on a deserted island to bury or retrieve your treasure is extremely difficult. Runways for effective landings and take-offs don't exist on these islands.

14, You can't just drop anchor and wait for your next target. Your pirate ship needs to keep moving to stay in the air. This uses even more of that expensive fuel and will eventually bring you down.

15, Launching a dingy to haul the loot to shore does not work from an air plane either. Paddles and manpower just don't cut it when trying to utilize one. Even an outboard motor lacks sufficient power to keep it in the air, let alone taking off at all. Then there is that pesky air/door problem again too.

16, More and more countries are better prepared to deal with you that you might think. They have defensive forces that can easily find you, chase you down and take you out of the air with the push of a button.

Well, I hope this discourages all of you aspiring air pirates from considering this for a lucrative career.

This has been a public service announcement.

Purple Prose is on the rise in literature. This overly descriptive flowery language which detracts from the imagery it is supposed to improve stalks writers of all genres. Even worse most victims of Purple Prose are unaware of the attack until after their writing has been made available to public scrutiny.

L.D. Rucks, a real sounding fictional writer speaks about her encounter with Purple Prose in vivid detail.

" I was stricken thrice with purple prose of a most divinely inspired nature, despite, or perhaps to-wit my Promethean endeavors hath failed to root out the sublimely melancholic demeanor of my intended interest in devilishly decadent descriptions."

Miss Rucks has recently leveled an accusation of Intellectual Rape against her alleged attacker. Purple Prose declined to comment.

The College Of Fictional Authors where Miss Rucks is enrolled recently received a letter from one A. Litteration claiming partial responsibility for the acts of 'creative terrorism' against the young writer.

" Truth to tell twas torturous, my mercenary mission, to tactically terrorize the wordy worldly writings of misguided Miss Rucks." A. Litteration candidly confessed before implicating Purple Prose as an accomplice;

"Purple Prose perfected the plot to precisely pinpoint the pejorative predicate present in the purported prose."

A.S. Sonance and H. Participle have sent similar letters outlining their involvement in the plot to derail the young authors work.

Palin Drome deinied involvement in the fiasco, claiming that the actual terrorists were hiding in Central America;

" A man a plan a canal Panama." he told 'Fictional Fiction Magazine' last Tuesday.

Dear Perrie,

In another 25 years, may you be as bright, spry, and lovely as these ladies pictured, and as witty and ornery as the one in the Poem. I have NO doubts you'll be more than up to it.

Your Friend,

Dr Rex Dexter

“Seventy-five…Now how did that happen?” she queries the face staring out at her in the bathroom mirror.

“So, happy birthday yourself,” she adds with a nervous titter.

She recalls the times when she outran time, but is convinced time has started running over her, these days.

‘Must be global warming,’ she considers, whimsically.

She still has a trim figure and keeps her wits about her.

“No time for those with no wit,” she guffaws.

Still she always was a clothes horse

and can still “…saddle up pretty good…”

In spite of time’s sneaky little conspiracy.

“And,” she praises honestly.

“While I might have to stretch

a point to call it pretty, this face

has got a lot of respectable handsome character.”

“…From about ten feet away…” she snorts.

She applies modest make-up with practiced artistry,

along with the understated jewelry and understated confidence, she decides “…not bad

for a seventy-five year old ‘widder’ woman,”…

And with an appreciative smile at her image smiling back, she doffs a jaunty hat and announces, giggling softly,

“Guess I’ll head out and break me some hearts…”

Sung to that wonderful Wizard of OZ song "If I only Had a Brain", Please sing along at the top of your lungs.

I could while away the hours, conferrin' with world powers,

pickin' at their brains,

And my head I'd be a scratchin' while my plots were busy hatchin',

If I go against the grain.

I could unravel every problem for people who are sobbin',

in trouble or in pain.

I know the thoughts that I am a thinkin',

could make me the next Abe Lincoln,

If I go against the grain.

Oh, I could tell you why the oil is close to shore

so I might think of things you never thunk before,

and then I'll make you sit and think some more,

I would just be a meadow muffin

if my brain were full of turkey stuffin',

my heart filled with things that I abhor,

I could dance and never be called a fairy,

life would be more homoginized with dairy,

If I go against the grain.

This is a direct result of someone making a comment from my comment, art moves in mysterious ways. Enjoy.

Grandpa came over today to visit and drink some coffee. Had a great chat and he was in a very unusual good mood. My grandpa grew up during the great depression and has always been very thrifty with his money. So a pair of new boots for him was a major purchase. Most times he would go to the thrift store or he would say "back in the day son we had shoe shops." He said that you could pick up a good used pair for a few bucks. Sometimes someone would come in to have a pair repaired and never return to pay the ticket and the cobbler would put them up for sale. When I was touring I always had a very nice pair of boot to wear on stage, either snake, lizard or ostrich skin. My grandpa would tell me when I came off the road to visit "Boy you pay to damn much for them boots. Me and your grandma could take a weeks vacation on what you spend on them boots". I would just laugh and tell him that I would get him a pair just like mine. Well he let me know right then and there, I would do no such thing. He said he didn't need any boots that fancy.

Just so happens today when he came over, he came to show me his new boots. The first new pair he has had in twenty-five years. He was smiling from ear to ear. They were pretty neat boots, a good bull leather made by Justin boot company. He told me that he had decided to treat himself to something nice for Fathers day and he told me he almost backed out when the sales man told him they were $275.00. He told the sales man "What the hell I ain't gettin' no younger I will wear home, put my old ones in the box."

He said he went home and wore the boots all day around the house, took grandma out grocery shopping and then to the mall and he said "you know she didn't notice my new boots. She didn't say a word of how nice they looked." Sometimes my grandma can be a little ornery to grandpa but she must love him since they have been married for 64 years. Grandpa said it did hurt his feeling a little but the more he thought about he said the more mad he got. He said " The nerve of that woman as many things as I have bought for her and I buy one pair of new boots in 25 years and she doesn't notice." So he told me "Son I was going to fix her wagon and she will have to notice."

Grandma was lying in bed reading a book when grandpa came into the bedroom and told he was going to take a shower before bed. He went in the bathroom took his shower and came out of the bathroom with nothing but his new boots on and shouted at grandma, "Hey Mable do you notice any thing different" (pointing at the lower half of his body). Grandma looked up from reading her book and said "Nope Monroe everything looks the same." Grandpa pointed again and said "Mable, honey are you sure you don't notice something different." Grandma slowly closed her book and peered over her reading glasses and said "Nope Monroe everything looks the same. Your Johnson is hanging down looking at the floor like it always does, like it did yesterday, the day before in fact just like it has for the last ten years."

Well Grandpa said that pissed him off and he told her " You're damn right Mable and do you know why he's looking down at the floor, He is looking at my new boots. What do you say about that Mable?"

Grandma with out missing a beat said, "Monroe maybe you should have bought a HAT!!!! Good night dear"

My favorite dogs are Golden retrievers. They have a very good disposition are great with children and older adults. They are very smart dogs as well. Abagail was very easily trained at commands and also going outside to do her business. The funny thing about Abagail is I bought her to be an inside dog, but the first day I brought her home she demanded to be outside and most of the time that is where she stayed. I would let her in the house when I come home from work in the morning and spend some time with her before going to bed. She is a great dog and I can't wait for her to get a little older I really want to send her to bird school, to be trained to hunt quail, pheasant and some other birds that we hunt in this area. I really don't want her to get involved with ducks because retrievers have such thick coats.

Well Abagail is about 8 months old now and as I said she likes to stay outside and visit with me in the mornings. Monday morning she pulled a good one on me. You see when I get off of work I come home and change into sandals, shorts and a T shirt. I put my uniform on the clothing chair next to the bed but before I do I take my wallet, checkbook and other things out of the pockets and put them on the night stand. I normally cook my supper and take with me since my eating schedule is pretty whacked.....to me supper is around 2:30 or 3:00 am. but not this past Sunday night, I decide I am going to just pick something up in the vending machines at work. I stop by the ATM on the way to work so I had a bunch of quarters, dimes and nickels left over after I had gotten my food and soda. That Monday morning I just take the handful of quarters, dimes and nickels and through them on the night stand in a pile along with some other change that was there.

Abagail comes running in all glad to see me and I am busy hanging my uniform on the chair and I hear cough and gag. I look over and she had both paws up on the night stand and a mouth full quarters, nickles and dimes. I yell at her to spit them out but the pup that is still in her figured that I wanted to play a game of chase. She takes off running through the house and out the doggy door. I am right behind her the more I yell the more she thinks it's a game. I open the door so fast I forget to move and whack myself in the forehead.....son of a b!tch......I finally catch up with her after a good ten minute chase and she is panting I look all over the yard and can't find any of the money so I know she has had to swallow it. Now I get worried because I don't know how many of the coins she has digested. So I go in and call the vet and he said to go ahead and bring her in.

I get there and the first thing he wants to do is X-rays. I figure O.K. at least we can see if she swallowed anything and how many. I wait in the exam room while they haul little Abagail to be X-rayed. 45 minutes later she and the vet comes back and he showed me the film. She had swallowed 5 quarters 6 dimes and 4 nickels. I asked him could this be dangerous and he said that he wanted to keep her overnight to make sure they don't get lodged in the intestine. So I bid my little Abagail farewell and leave her at the vet hospital and go home and go to bed. I get up for work Monday evening and go in put in my 8 hours and come home early Tuesday morning. Well the first Thing I do is call the vet hospital to check on Abagail.

I get a hold of the doctor and ask him how Abagail was doing and he told me.......NO CHANGE YET.!!!!!! ROFLMAO........Enjoy and have a great day....

The Job I had before taking this job was one that set me up pretty well financially. It was a good job, I got to do a lot of traveling to a lot of cities across the country and one of the perks was I got to play golf on some of the best courses across the county. The only thing about my job was I got a lot of ribbing and teasing because I was a sales representative for a major manufacture of Tampons. Giggle and laugh if you must but someone had to do it and it payed very well. One of my trips took me to a large convention in Virginia beach and I had a free day so I went to Kempsville golf course to play a round of golf.

It was a great day to play golf and I had made it to the third hole when I heard someone say "yooh who, sir can you help me." Well I looked up and saw this very pretty blond who was trying to make a shot on the second hole. I asked hee What I could help her with and she said that she was confused at what hole she was at. I told her I was playing the 3rd hole she was one hole behind me so that would make her playing the second hole. She thanked me and I continued on. Well I got to the 7th hole and once again I hear her hollering at me and waving. she said "excuse me sir your going to think I am just stupid but I have forgot what hole I am playing again. I told her I was playing the 7th hole and she was one hole behind me so that would put her at playing the 6th hole. She thanked me once again and I continued to play on.

I get to the 12 hole and wouldn't you know it here she is again wanting me to tell her which hole she was playing so again I told her I am playing the 12th hole your one hole behind me so you are on the 11th hole. I finally get to the 18th hole when she shows up again and says "I hate to be a pest but what hole am I playing?" I told her that I was at the final hole which is the 18th hole and she was one hole behind me so she was playing the 17th and the next hole she would play would be the 18th.

I make my last shot and head to the club house to have a beer and relax, as I am sitting there the young woman comes in. She comes over to where I am setting and asks if she can set down and buy me a drink for being so helpful and not getting aggravated at her while I was playing golf. I told her sure, so she buys me another beer and we start talking. she asked me why I was in town and I told her I had a convention to go to tomorrow. The she asked the dreaded question of what I did for a living. So I told her that I was a sales representative for Tampons. She broke out in laughter which embarrested me. Then I told that there was nothing funny about what I did for a living and that it payed very well.

She regained her composure and said that she was not laughing at what I did for a living she was laughing because she was in town for a convention and she was a sales representative for preparation H......so she was still one hole behind me.

Have you ever had that one friend whom you trust with your life, one that you grew up with and just inseparable? I do his name is Richard were grew up as kids in the cotton fields of Arkansas. When he was about 14 I even taught him to play the banjo and we formed a little group, all through the years we remained best friends. In high school the Seniors all got together for a senior trip, they decided to go to Florida to the beach, well Richard and I decided we were going somewhere different. Richard and I had over the years spent many days and night on the fishing banks in our little area of the world. In 1981 our senior year we decided that we were leaving the state of Arkansas and doing some major fishing in Canada, so we did. This started our yearly tradition of our trip to Moose Jaw Manitoba Canada. Even over the years when we would move away to a different town or state we made that yearly trip together. What fun we had in a tradition lasting over two decades.

Well a couple of years ago, Richard and I got together to take that trip but unlike all the other years he talked me into waiting and going ice fishing. Now I will tell you I have been Ice fishing one time......and that was on that trip. There is just something about being from Arkansas that says it doesn't get that damn cold to freeze ice thick enough that it will not break through on ya......Just a fear I have but anyway. We take from Arkansas in December of the year we went Ice fishing.

We drove through Missouri and got half way through Minnesota when we ran into a freak blizzard in the ruel area of Minnesota where there is no trees or house for at least 40 miles. I tell Richard we need to pull over and wait out the storm. Hell no not him he says Knowlton you worry to much, Hell I been trucking through this kind of stuff for the last 20 years. So we keep going or should I say crawling. The wind is howling and the snow is so thick you cant even see the yellow line or a foot in front of your face. I keep on at him to lets stop and wait out the storm, which he informs me the nearest town is 30 miles up the road. My a$$ was so draw-ed up you couldn't have shoved a pin in it with a 40lb sledge hammer, it was scary.

After going about 2 miles I told him to look off to the left it look like there was a farm house just off the road. I pleaded with him to pull in and see if we could just wait the storm out there. The wind and snow was getting harder and I know that they wouldn't have the snow plow out until the morning. He gave in and we pulled into the front yard and walked in to a screened in front porch and knocked on the door. A young woman in her mid 30's came to the door and asked what we wanted. We told her that we were on our way to Canada to ice fish and got caught in this storm and wondered if we could wait the storm out overnight there.

She said that she was very sorry but, that her husband had recently passed away and it might not look good to the neighbors if she had two men staying there overnight. I told her I understood and respected what she was saying but that we really needed a place to stay. She said that if we had sleeping bags that there was a barn about 50 yards from the house that we could stay in. She said that her husband had built it last summer and put a heating unit in for the thoroughbred horses he raised and sold. We told her that would be just fine. So Richard and I thanked her and went to the Cherokee Jeep to get out sleeping bags and headed through the snow to the barn.

It was one of the most amazing barns I had ever seen. each stall had a heat above it that blew the warm air down on the horses. Needless to say we stayed warm all night and I slept like a baby. I took my sleeping bag over next to the hay stacked near the stall and passed out. The next morning the sun was out and the plows had the road cleared and we went on our way.

We spent a week fishing and camping and having a good time, then we headed back to Arkansas. Well then about nine months later I get a letter in the mail from the lawyer of the woman who let us stay in the barn. I read the letter and said Son of a b1tch you have got to be kidding me. I couldn't believe it so I read it again, Sh1t no f@ckin way. So I get on the phone and I call my best friend Richard. I asked him "Hey buddy do you remember our fishing trip about nine months ago?" He replied that yes he did remember the trip and that he thought it was about the best trip we ever had up there. I then asked him if he remembered us staying in the barn and he replied yes he remembered. I asked him "Richard did you happen to get up in the middle of the night and pay that young lady a visit?" He said " Well Knowlton I am a little embarrassed but yes I did." Then I asked him another question "Richard when you payed her a visit did you by chance use my name, number and address." He replied "Knowlton man I am so sorry but yes I did. I know it was wrong and again I am real sorry"

Well I had to let him know so I told him "Well I just want you to know that I got a letter from her lawyer today and do you want to know something. SHE DIED AND LEFT THE FARM AND ALL MONEY TO ME!!! THANKS OLE BUDDY!!"

RNN- Redneck News Network Saturday Headline

From the desk of Harry Hangnale

6/12/2010 05:33am

The disaster in the halls of congress has created one of the biggest Bull Sh!t spills in history. The B.S. that is flowing from congress is causing more damage than the oil spill in the gulf. Because of the B.S spewing from Washington we see that more Americans are with out jobs. But congress has promised to try and patch the hole in the political break down. As we Americans sit and watch the many attempts that have been made over the course of several months we see that the Bull Sh1t is growing. At first congress tried the jobs creation bill, which proved not to create as many jobs as promised. This caused the B.S spill to grow creeping across the entire country effecting both coast lines.

secondly they moved to health care where we saw the split widen across America as congress gushed out thousands of gallons of Bull Sh!t in buy off promises to states and behind closed door deals. Sources say that there even maybe thousands of gallons of Bull Sh!t that we are not even aware of. Turning to illegal immigration more B.S. on top of B.S.

All Americans are concerned about the Bull Sh!t spill, all the way down to presidents daughter as she asked her father the question "Daddy have you plug the hole yet." And president Obama in a press meeting today stated that he is tired of the B.S that is flowing uncontrollably from congress and that he would like the run down of where it is coming from so he knows whose a$$ to kick.

I love the weekends it is a time when I don't have to go into work and I can just stay around the house and get some things done. Well this past weekend started out pretty good. I got off of work 7am, I work third shift. Got home around 7:30 checked my answering machine and my girlfriend said that she was coming over to spend the day with me. I thought hell yeah defiantly going to be a great day. So I took a shower, shaved and put on my favorite sleeveless T-shirt, sandals and cut offs. I went outside and took a look at the garden and it really needed to be weeded, but I thought nah it can wait because the girlfriend is coming over a little later.

I turned on the radio to listen to some tunes, when the weather report came on, hot and dry for the day with temps in the lower 90's. So I fix a glass of tea and head to the shade trees where I have my hammock, and I kick back. A few hours go by and here comes the girlfriend, she pulls up in the yard, gets out and comes to greet me. Oh what a greeting, she is such a sweet thing, and not afraid to get a little wild if you know what I mean but that's another story. We sit and talk for a little when then she said Knowlton that garden looks terrible it needs to be weeded. I told her I know, that's what I thought also.

Well she told me to lay back down on my hammock and she would weed the garden, how sweet of her. I was out of tea so I asked her before she started on the garden if she would mind grabbing me a beer and that angel brought me a beer along with the latest edition to Field and Stream to read. I sure enjoyed watching her weed that garden, there is something about dark haired southern girl in tight jean shorts and tan legs that is pleasant to the eye. That girl can bend in incrediable positions.

About 30 minutes later she finished the garden and asked if I wanted another beer, I told yes if it would be no trouble. She brings the beer to me in the hammock. I told her to sit in the shade with me for awhile but she said she needed to trim the hedges, they were starting to get to bushy. God what a woman, and all the time she was trimming the hedges she would check on me and bring me more beer. I thought now that's a woman a man can be proud of. After she finished with the hedges she once again came to check on me. I said "honey the weather man says it is already 92 and the humidity is a 80% why don't you take a break". Her response was oh no she needed mow the yard before it rained, once again she went and brought me a cold beer before starting to mow.

Halfway through the mowing, she looked over at me and I waved the beer can at her; so she stops mowing and goes inside to get me a beer. She comes back out and says honey your out of beer so I will go to the store and get another case for you. I gave her my bandanna to wipe her face with before she left, bless her heart she was sweating like a two dollar whore in a Baptist church. I will say that the low cut top was not bad to watch the sweat glistening on her cleavage. She returned with some Ice cold beer for me and brought the cooler filled with ice out to the hammock under the shade trees and got me all set up, then went back to mowing the lawn.

As she went to the back side of the house to mow, my neighbor who had been nosily watching the morning and early afternoon activities came outside and walked over to me and started chewing my A$$. I was minding my own business not bothering anyone just lying in the shade on my hammock drinking my cold beer when this nosey bitch makes it a point to get in mine and my girlfriends business. She came over and said "you lazy @ssed son of a bitch, you got that girl out there working her @ss off and then waiting hand and foot on you while you lay up there like a fat tick in that hammock.......you lazy bastard you should be HUNG!!!!!!"

In which I replied "It's none of your business but, I AM HUNG!! why do you think she takes such good care of me!!!!!!"

I always try to do the right thing by my fellow man, neighbor or even strangers. Whenever I see someone in need, if I am able I am always willing to lend a helping hand. I found out sometime back that being a good Samaritan doesn't always pay in the end. I found this out a few months back.

My Band "Cherokee Rose" had a one night gig at an Eagles club about 100 miles from where we lived. I called the drummer and asked if he wanted to go over early that Saturday morning with me and set the sound system and instruments up for the show. He said yes he would go with me then we could spend the day checking out some pawn shops and kick back for a few beers before doing the show that night.

The Bass player, the steel guitar player, and my other lead guitar player planned to ride over together later that day. I play fiddle, guitar and do most of the lead singing. The drummer came over early that Saturday morning and off we go. We make it to the Eagle club and it was a cool rainy morning so we parked under the awning to unload the equipment, we get everything set up and do a sound check all sounded good. I told Jimmy my drummer I was going to move the van to the parking lot and he said he would order us a beer, it was close to 11:30 and I am sure 12 o'clock somewhere.

At the bar was myself, Jimmy and the barmaid whom we were well acquainted with because we have played there several years off and on and one other guy at the end of the bar he was slumped over the bar. She was a sweetie, she bought our first round and we sat and talked for awhile. Then we got up to go to the pawn shops. As we got up to leave the barmaid asked if Jimmy and I would give the guy at the end of the bar a ride home. She said he had been there since 7am. I thought, well it is raining outside and it looked like he was in no condition to drive so Jimmy and I said sure no problem.

We go over to the guy and tell him we are going to give him a ride over to his house. He smile and slurd something that kinda sounded like thank you. I set him up on the bar stool and as I started to get him to stand he did a face dive. What the f3ck, so I told Jimmy to get under one arm and we would help him to my van. We get to the door and it is raining moderate and I tell him where we are parked and we get him stable and Bam the f3cker goes down again. I look at Jimmy and said looks like this may turn into a full time baby sitting session. We pick him up and go running through the rain to my van. I tell him he is going to have to stand on his own while I unlock the door so he can get in. He slurs the word no. I said listen man we are trying to help you, come on help us out here Just stand here a second and we will get you in the van. Well I let go and reach in my pocket for my keys, somebitch if he didn't fall again.

We are all water logged by now but we get him into the middle set of seats, then we get in the front seat and I turn around and ask him what his address, he was almost passed out by this time and slurring so badly I though well sh!t. I get back out open the side door in the pouring down rain and go through the guys back pocket for his wallet. Thank god there wasn't a policeman around he would have thought we were mugging the poor guy, who had a little blood from his face drops to the ground and me going through his pockets.

Ah and address so I get him seat belted into the van and off we go to his address, he was slurring and pointing to the right then he would point straight ahead. I guess he was trying to give us directions, which I thought feller in your condition you couldn't find your ass with both hands. We pull up to his house and I asked if he could make from here, he shook his head no and slurred something that sounded like "you son of bitch" . I thought you ungrateful bastard, but trying to do the right thing Jimmy and I get out and try to get him to his house in the pouring rain. He takes two more dives to the ground before we can get him to the door.

Finally here we are all three standing at the door Jimmy on one side, me on the other and the ungrateful drunk in the middle. I ring the doorbell and about 30 seconds later this beautiful woman answers the door. I told her that we had brought her husband home from the Eagles club, she smiled and said "Thank you two sweet men for bringing my husband home, but where is his wheel chair."

Satire--------- Disclaimer: No individuals, drunks or handicapped persons were hurt in the telling of this satire story.

side note: disclaimer meant for Hekofawoman......LOL

Where to start, I have kept this so quiet for so many years. The area of the country that I live in there are still many that are in the closet about this way of life style. I started at a fairly young age and over the years I kept it under control but later on no matter how hard I tried it took control of me. Like any addiction a person thinks they can control it and only do it in moderation but I am here today to tell you that you can't no matter how hard you try. So I confess to all my newsvine friends I AM A RECOVERING SWINGER.

It has cost me several girl friends, two wives because no matter how hard I tried to stop I couldn't and it was something that they didn't feel comfortable doing and I do have to give them credit they tried it a couple of times.We would invite a couple of friends over and do it, sometimes we would just go out and do it with complete strangers but they found out it did nothing for them. I would talk to them and tell them they just had to give it a chance that it would take them high and make them feel in control, but in the end they left because I was addicted. I am not the only one out there, they are thousands that you don't even know about but even though our society is tolerant they are those that will spread hate about SWINGERS. They say it is a dangerous irresponsible life style. Well I tell you they have never experienced going out late at night and doing it. God before I hit rock bottom I would sneak out and do it till the sun come up the next morning, barely making it home in time to get showered and go to work.

It got so bad that I would have my secretary set up fake business meetings in other cities so that I could do it there. One time I even asked her to go with me, I was like a drug dealer on the streets not only was I a full blown swinger I had become a pusher. Pushing became just as bad as doing it. I mean I was pushing complete strangers I didn't even know. The more I pushed the more they got into it, and before long they would become a full blow swingers. The final straw that put me into S. A. SWINGERS ANONYMOUS, I missed out on my youngest son birth, because I was in another town swinging with friends three solid days and didn't even know I had a new son. Then my oldest son came to me when he was 13 and told me that he had an addiction to, No he was not a swinger like me, He was addicted to Merry- go- rounds.

All I want to say is it doesn't matter if it is swings, slides, teeter totters, monkey bars, or merry-go-rounds, there is help out there if you will just admit you have a problem.

RNN-

35 year old Greg Neadsum of Farmington Michigan was fired from the Vlasic pickle factory last week when he was caught putting his penis into the pickle slicer. Mr. Neadsum had been employed with Vlasic for two year and had work his way into Vlasic's top pickle inspector. In an interview with Mr. Neadsum wife this week she told RNN that her husband had told her many times of his fantasy to put his penis in the pickle slicer. She said that she advised him against that idea for her fear of him being maimed.

Vlasic Representatives Spoke with state health officials and FDA agents this week to assure them Mr. Neadsum actions were against company policy and that was why he was terminated. Vlasic HR department has also terminated 32 year old Dorthy Givesit the pickle slicer. From Redneck News Network I'm Harry Hangnale.

Well, a few days ago I made my sourdough bread. It was great. I got the recipe here:

http://confectionsofamasterbaker.blogspot.com/2008/09/be-nice-to-your-mothersponge-part-2.html

So this morning, I decided to do the sourdough pretzels, recipe located here:

http://confectionsofamasterbaker.blogspot.com/2010/02/bretzen-putting-bayrisch-in-pretzel.html

We own a restaurant and my husband does the food shopping for the restaurant and at the same time, us. So, this morning I was in the kitchen feeding my sourdough starter and I yelled out to my husband:

Me: Wow! My yeast is REALLY thriving!

Hubby: I bought some vinegar!

Me: Uhhhh...NO, my sourdough starter!

Hubby: OH!

A little later, I was sitting playing with our puppy, Buster.

Me: Ouch! No, Buster! OUCH! Buster, NO! Mike, Buster won't stop biting me!

Hubby: He's biting you because you cut his balls off!

Then later:

Hubby: Where's the chews?

Me: What Shoes?

Hubby: No, chews! I can't find the chews.

Me: I don't know what shoes you want.

hubby: No! Chews! Chews! Chews!

Me: Damn it Mike, WHAT SHOES?

Hubby: Not SHOES, CHEWS! C-h-e-w-s! For the puppy!

Sometimes I think we've just been married too long ---

Good evening I am Harry Hangnale for the Redneck News Network. Todays top story is taken from "The Riverton Rukus Weekly" Newspaper est. 1874

There has been a fuss lately about Moose racing, so I set out to set the record straight, in my research I have found a tidbit of information that you may find interesting RNN sent me on an all expense paid trip to Riverton Wyoming to bring to you the truth about Moose Racing I ran across an article in the Riverton Rukus Weekly newspaper dated 3/23/2004 This is where I started my Journalistic research.

Moose racing is an old Wyoming event that was held at Mountain man Rendezvous. It was started by two of the most famous Mountain men in American history, Jim Bridger (1804-1881) who moved west in 1822 at the age of 17 to trap fur and scout for the U.S. army. The other mountain man was Kit Carson (1809-1868) he made his start as a trapper and lived among and married into the Arapahoe and Cheyenne tribes that lived along the upper Green River which flows through Pinedale and Riverton Wyoming.

The first known Moose Race took place in Riverton at the annual Mountain man rendezvous in 1825. The object of the sport was two fold. 1) The contestants were each given a pint of corn whiskey in which they had to down, then they had to rope and catch a moose that was corralled in a high fenced area. 2) When all the contestants caught their ride they had to place their muzzle loaders (rifle) between the paddles of the moose. Once this was done and the rider had straddled the moose a shot was fired and the contestant that made it to the finish line with his muzzle loader still cradled between the paddles of the moose was the winner. If a contestant lost his rifle he had the option to retrieve it, though most did not for trying to re-catch a moose in the open led to loss of limbs and sometimes death.

The first winner of Moose racing was Jedediah Smith (1799-1831) world known Mountain man. Jed won this event 6 years before his untimely death in 1831 when he was in the process of inventing Grizzly racing. (authors note: one should always be sober when in the area of Grizzly bear)

Moose racing saw it’s heights from 1825 through the mid 1840’s and along with the mountain man era it also died out, until recently. A group of young adventurous dare devils who have tackled snowboarding, skate boarding and sky-boarding are making a gallant effort to revive this sport. Gary Logan founder of “The brotherhood of Moose racing” gave us this comment in a recent interview. Quote: “Them G’damn Padlock cowboys think getting on the back of a bull for 8 seconds is a rush. Hell bull riding is for pu$$ies, get half loaded on whiskey and try to ride a moose, there is your adrenalin rush.

Reporting for The Redneck News Network I am Harry Hangnale.

Hope this sheds some light on the subject....ROFLMAO

Knowledge is powerful Ignorance is blissful

My girlfriend and I were lying in bed the other night and I was just about asleep, you know that stage where your fading in and out. As I was about to doze off, I felt her warm hand slowly run across the back of my neck up over my ear to the top of my head. I thought hmmm....as tried to break free from the sand man's slumber.

Then she started running her hand down the middle of my back, till she hit my thigh, then she moved over to the front, and up my chest. I was wide awake by now, and had rolled over from my side to my back as she moved hand across my chest again and started down the other side. Then I felt her reach over to my inner thigh and work her way down the inside of my leg and back up. I am thinking to myself Knowlton must have been a good boy!!!!!Just before she got to the area that causes tax deductions, and the trading off the sports car for a mini van she stopped.

Damn!!! I thought, then said "baby you don't have to stop."

She replied "Oh I found the remote."

NOW THAT WILL P!SS YOU OFF!!!!

A few weeks ago someone asked me: "Are you in a bad mood?"

Though I wasn't in a bad mood, I was focused on a big project and feeling a little stressed. Even so, I am proud to say my reply was diplomatic. But what I really wanted to say was: "I wasn't in a bad mood until you walked in." or "Yes, but I won't be in a bad mood after you leave."

What's the most humorous reply you can think of for such a question?

Villains: They're crazed, they're flamboyant, and they're the smoggy, sparking engine that keeps many a story chugging along. Except that a villain who can't kill the hero for some contrived reason is worse than having your hero fight global illiteracy.So here are some of the most absurd rationalizations that villains use, instead of just getting on with it and being freaking villainous:

I am addicted to Christopher Moore's writing style. I admit it. I know there are people who could read his books without being impressed, but I wouldn't understand them. He's just so-funny. I literally could not put this book down. I read it in the parking lot if I was driving somewhere. I lot of times I laughed out loud, causing curious stares from strangers. That in turn would make me feel like a character from the book, which would make me laugh even harder.

Charlie Asher's wife, Rachel, has just given birth to their first child, a baby named Sophie. As he is visiting her in the hospital, Rachel becomes tired so Charlie leaves the room leaving Sophie in her mother's arms to head home. When he reaches the vehicle, meticulous Charlie discovers he has forgotten to leave Rachel with her favorite Sarah McLaughlin CD. He retrives it from the minivan and goes back up to Rachel's room to deliver it. When he arrives, he sees an extremely tall man in minty green attire and Charlie confronts him. Minty Green is upset to learn Charlie can see him. Charlie is upset that Minty is disturbing Rachel's sleep. It is then that Minty informs Charlie that his wife is not sleeping anymore.

Fast forwarding to after her funeral, Charlie is away from his antique store when a package arrives for him. His employee, Lily, receives it. Possessing little respect for others and lots of curiosity, she opens the box to discover a book, "The Great Big Book of Death". Lily assumes the tome is meant for her, but after Charlie is present at a couple of people's homes right before their deaths, she realizes it is meant for Charlie.

Meanwhile, under the sewers, Charlie can hear demonic, female whispers beckoning him and tormenting him as he walks through the city. The voices nickname hime "Meat". Charlie is so confused and scared that he seeks out and finds Minty Fresh, the gentleman present at his wife's deathbed. Minty is once again distressed to see Charlie, as agents of death are not supposed to talk to each other. It tips the balance of good and evil towards the evil side in the world. Minty explains as much as he's able to about what happens when you're death, and warns him to stay away from the voices. He also explains that he will receive correspondence with a given date on it. That means he needs to find and take the soul who is supposed to leave this earthly life on that date or there will be evil consequences. When he takes a soul, he has to put it in an object that the living person loved during life. It turns out that Rachel's soul is on her Sarah McLaughlin CD. This knowledge sends Charlie on a quest to find his wife's soul on her CD.

Meanwhile, little Sophie has been somewhat of a jinx in the home. All pets die very soon, and one day Charlie and Sophie pass a Muslim in a cap on the street. He informs them that they are sinners and must repent. Sophie has learned to talk by this time, and with her chubby little fist points to the Muslim and says, "Kitty!" The man drops dead on the spot. Then three strange, large dogs come to protect little Sophie from the owners of the voices who come to plague her because of her father's unrecognized occupation.

Who do the voices belong to? Why do Sophie's pets die? Will Charlie Asher ever find is wife's soul? The answers are a varied and enthralling read to the finish. I highly recommend you satisfy your curiosity!!

I thoroughly enjoyed this book!! I've been a Christopher Moore fan ever since I read Lamb, and though his writing style is predictable (which is a great thing) the plot is completely unpredictable. You know it's Christmastime when Salvation Army kettle attendant's make appearances at local stores, and Pine Cove is no different. Lena Marquez is dressed in her best Santa attire when she encounters a tough customer, her ex-husband, land developer Dale Pearson. Dale promised to add to the kettle when he arrives at the Thrifty Mart. He does his best to avoid his former spouse ringing the bell on his way out, but to no avail. Lena proceeds to put the bell up close to his ear and requests Dale to "Give up the cash, you cheap son of a bitch!"

Unfortunately Dale Pearson came to the Thrifty Mart to purchase a 10-lb bag of ice. He uses is to hit his ex-wife in the gut after repeated requests for money for the poor. This prompts the ladies at BULGES, a women's fitness boutique in the same strip mall, to phone the police. The only cop in Pine Cove is Theo Crowe, and there is no love lost between he and Dale Pearson either. Lena accepts a $40 donation from Dale to drop assault charges. Then things really heat up.

As a land developer, Dale is obligated to plant five trees for each one he takes down clearing land in the forest containing Monterey Pines. However, the law is not specific on where he has to plant new trees, so he opts for the local cemetery. Lena is aware of this, and on a dark night decides to dig up a tree to give to the poor. Dale notices activity as he's driving home from an event where he played, no kidding, Santa Claus, in the cemetery. He confronts Lena with a gun he is packing in his truck, and Lena attempts to shield herself from him with a shovel. A little pushy-shovey occurs and the next thing you know, Dale is down in his Santa suit and Lena's shovel has cut his throat. Lena attracts the attention of a local drifter who gives her aid disposing of her ex's body, vehicle and takes her out for a date. This all makes perfect sense when Christopher Moore gives his rich character descriptions of his quirky cast.

Unknown to anyone, Lena and Tucker, a.k.a. drifter, have been observed by a 7-year-old boy who is on his way home late without permission. He's already stressed out by his circumstances when he observes Santa's murder. He scrambles home quickly to find he's the recipient of a stroke of luck; his mother is out to dinner with his stepfather and isn't aware of his tardiness. Josh, the child, breathes a heavy sigh of relief but becomes terrified that Santa knows he's been bad and now he is dead. He's terribly afraid Christmas will not come. He blurts out a heartfelt and intense prayer to God asking that Santa please not be dead so Christmas can come.

Cue Raziel, the clueless angel from Lamb. He's not learned anything in 2,000 years and is still bumbling about his assignments. He is sent to earth to grant Josh's wish. Eventually he finds Josh and discovers Santa's new resting place, which just happens to be the cemetery. He commands the dead to rise. They do not. However, a nearby branch snaps so he's aware that something is happening. It will just take time to bear fruit, that's all.

And bear fruit it does. The few dead in the small town of Pine Cove as well as Santa are given new life. But in order to live, one must eat. The only cuisine that the dead enjoy does in fact appear to be brains. On the same day as a Christmas party that a good portion of the town attends, Santa and his new friends arise to seek revenge on the partygoers.

With action-packed sequences very well described and Christopher's trademark off-the-wall satire, the people of the town band together to fight the dead. Along the way, friendships are formed, grievances forgotten, lovers unite, and heroes are made. Although Moore's storyline travels in many exciting directions, he brings it all together with what seems a perfectly logical conclusion. I find his books to be very fulfilling in humor, logic and in defiance of societal norms.

Paddy, I think I'm dying.

I don't mean "dying" in the generic, fate-of-all-mankind way; not as in "we're-all-going-to-die-some-day" type of statement. I really think I'm getting to the end of the race, so to speak.

And before you ask, yes, I am quite sure of it, thank you!

So, as someone who is leaving the party, allow me some last minute requests (consider them the words I've been dying to speak):

First of all, please don't ask me why I'm dying. Or rather, why I think I'm dying. I really don't know. I just feel different these last months, and believe I am quite capable of deciphering the myriad little messages my body keeps sending me. If anyone should know, I should know! I know I said that I don't know why I'm dying, but I do know that I am dying. I trust your little mind can wrap itself around the Queen's good English, my Irish friend.

Secondly, please don't phone me up and say you're sorry. It's not as if it's your fault, is it? So why apologize? And if you mean "sorry" as in "I'm feeling sorry for myself because I will miss the sublime privilege of your company", well, don't be so base and egocentric! I mean, I'm the one that's dying, and you're feeling sorry for you? No, that would be too much for me to take at this stage of the proceedings.

Thirdly, don't ask me to leave you anything. My will is written out, signed and sealed, so it's too late. Carol gets everything. Oh, and remember your trite, tired, tiring and trying little joke? "Where there's a will, I want to be in it"? Well, there's one here, mate, but you're not in it.

Fourthly, you can forget about my darling Carol. I know you fancy her, but she's faithful! Last night I told her about my impending demise, and I can still hear her promise ringing in my ears: "My darling, I'll remain a widow till my dying day. Or yours, whichever comes first" (she has that habit of adding little snippets to everything she says. I rarely understand them, but I love her little Irish quirks).

And finally, if all this comes as a shock, well, I can't say I'm sorry. You thought you were my best friend, didn't you? Well, I'll finally spell it out for you: I hate, loath and despise you! Why? Because you're false, that's why! All these ten years you've pretended to like me, but it's Carol you like. Oh, I know it all, mate! Six months ago I saw a message on her iPhone which you had sent, and she then told me everything. She showed me all the little messages describing imaginary nights you spent with her when I was travelling (as if I don't trust my own wife!), and even those photos of both of you in bed (you're good with Photoshop, I have to admit). I was going to kill you, nice and slowly, but she told me it didn't mean anything to her. She admitted that she never even read the messages, nor looked at the photos, and only kept them all in her safe in case she needed to show them to me some day, the little pet! And, if I made the matter public, she would be slandered, so I agreed to keep it all quiet.

And that is probably what's been killing me slowly since then. To know that you, my "best friend", were tormenting my wife for years. To know that you even suggested she kill me with little doses of poison in those lovely lemon pies she makes me every Sunday. How stupid. Did you actually think I'd stop eating them because of that? I trust Carol with my life, mate!

I've asked her to post this for me, as I'm too weak to leave the house. I've been going rapidly down hill these last days, but I relish this little victory at the end of the day: your heaviest blow will be posted to you by the one you love most! Deal with it, mate!

Au revoir to you. Don't bother coming to the funeral. Oh, and Carol says: "Tell him I still love the only love of my life". Which, of course, is me, you fool.

Yours, Sir Richard Peabrain, VC, KBE, MP.

The January 31, 2010 deadline is approaching for the annual Erma Bombeck Writing Competition.

Entrants are invited to submit personal essays in the categories of humor or personal interest. Submissions are made on line only. There is no submission fee.

The link provides submission guidlelines and other necessary information.

9 proofs and a couple of graphs that prove once and for all... lol, you have to see it for yourself, and you better ;)

Thank you for turning in the manuscript so quickly. I thought only Stephen King could crank out 400 pages in four months! Seriously, there's some terrific material here, and all of us at Harper Collins are thrilled to be publishing your life story.

Before we move ahead, the fact-checking department has asked me to pass along a few notes and comments that may require some revisions on your part.

After Danny drove away, it was very quiet in the well field, but for the HMMMMMMMM of Well #3. I parked the monster car down by Well #1, near the main road, where I could watch for guests, and continued with the measuring schedule. I hoped that Fred was resting, and that the man on the hill did not get bored and leave his post. It was strangely comforting to know that he was there. Every hour, relentlessly, my watch beeped and off I went to take yet another round of measurements and to collect and analyze samples.

A lovely man named Sean O'Malley came from Danny's office to help with the measurements early that afternoon, remarking that since Paddy had been out to see me, he didn't want to feel 'left out o' things.' He was a merry, fun-loving man who told me that he'd met me that first day, but I'd been too busy to take much notice of him.

"Wait a minute…" I said. "O'Malley-- Chief O'Malley is your brother? He's such a nice man!"

Sean laughed and said, "I'm sure the criminals would agree with you, too!"

"Well, that is an entirely different matter!" I said, "I wasn't too pleased to be on the wrong end of that gun that first night here, either!"

We laughed and soon had an easy-going friendship. He was, of course, attending Paddy's party, as well, and pleased that I would be there. "Danny puts on a grand party," he said. "He's hired The Fiddler!"

"Is that a band or a musician?" I asked.

Sean smiled in anticipation, "Oh, The Fiddler is a great man! He has a couple of boys with him, and they make the grandest music! You'll love it!"

I nodded—it sounded like a wonderful time would be had by all! Danny was making sure that the Chief would help him the next election. "Who else from the office is coming to the party?" I asked.

Sean laughed and said, "Dennis won't be there, don't worry about that!" He laughed again, and said, "Dennis was sent off in shame this morning to clean Filter #4, and will not be heard from for about three weeks. The other guys are worried that you're mad at them."

"No," I said, "of course not. But they know better."

"That they do," Sean agreed. "Danny told me to tell you that he's sending out another crew at 4, so you'll have some time t' get ready for the party. Here's the address, they'll save a seat for you." I felt Sally's kind hand in this reprieve to have time to dress for the party.

Sean measured while I scouted around for some lunch, ending up at the same Deli on the Green. This time, I was armed and ready to go with an order at the counter. I tried something new and different, got my sandwich, paid my money, and was out of there with a minimum of fuss and bewilderment. The same counterman didn't crack a smile, but I was a polite customer and I wasn't heckled. At 4 o'clock, another crew came out, and I stayed with them through the measurements and samples to be sure they knew what to do. Then, I must confess, I left without a backward glance! A party! What fun!

Fortunately, in anticipation of at least one night out and about, I had packed some suitable clothing. Otherwise, I would have been pounding the streets looking for a clothing shop. After prying directions out of the hotel manager, and driving in circles for a bit, I found Patrick's Pub not far from my hotel. Then, after more circling, I managed to find a place to park the monster car in a bank parking lot, yet another miracle.

I rounded the corner of the bank to see Patrick's Pub, and the place was HOPPING! I made my way into wall-to-wall Irishmen, all laughing and dancing to the music of a fine band, and screaming fluent Gaelic. Sally found me, and pounded Danny on the shoulder, "Look Danny, there she is! Oh, the poor thing, she doesn't know me, go and get her!"

Danny stood and motioned me toward a seat he had saved by evicting a large Irishman out of it, "Come here, girrul! I've got ye a spot!" He was seated at a large table, with Sally on one hand and Chief O'Malley on the other, Sean was sitting beside his brother, and next to Sally, there was a place for me. The room was packed, and over the din, you could see other police officers and their wives, calling to one another and laughing. Several of the officers were the ones that had come out to sit with me at the well field, and they waved greetings.

Sally stood as I got to the table, and hugged me to her heart, "Welcome to Great Neck, my dear!" Sally was just about the age I am, now, but she had beautiful, dark red hair, and bright green eyes, and I could see, without ever having to be told, that she had been a stunning beauty. She still was. I found her to be a truly beautiful person, kind-hearted and warm.

"Sally," I said, hugging her close, "I'm so very glad to meet you!"

Chief O'Malley, full of Irish blarney, asked, "Surely this lovely lady is not the same urchin we pulled out of the well field two nights ago?"

I smiled at him and said, "Dear Chief O'Malley, it was the by the grace of God you came and got me! Thank you again, for your kind care!" I shook hands with Danny, the Chief, and Sean and sat with them. The party swirled around us—men in policeman's uniforms, men in suits, beautiful women in brightly colored clothing, all singing at the top of the voices, dancing, and calling out to one another. The din was deafening, and I couldn't understand one word they said. Many of them spoke Gaelic! Those that didn't seem to speak a combination of English/Gaelic that was completely foreign to my ears, especially in the general din.

Listening to Gaelic is a very frustrating experience. It sounds like liquid English, almost as if you had poured the English language around a worn stone, allowed it splash a little, and caught it in a puddle—my mind almost had it, and then, Flash! It was gone. A forgotten pattern that was just almost, almost, there. But not quite. It is a beautiful language, a poetry of sounds and inflections that I only wish I could speak.

They had no Kentucky bourbons, not even Old Fitzgerald, made by the Kennedy family in Owensboro, no less, which I found to be shocking! Absolutely Shocking! Nor Maker's Mark, nor Jim Beam, nor Very Old Barton, nor Old Grand Dad, etc.. The bartender looked at me in consternation when I asked. I drank a mild Irish whisky that went down with flashing lights like a pinball machine, but it was very good, and I took my time with it, sipping it slowly.

The band was wonderful! The Fiddler was a small man with bright red hair, dressed as a leprechaun, wiry and strong. His face had a merry, devil-may-care look, and a twinkle in his eye, but, when he played slower songs, the look in his eyes made me shiver with sadness. The man was a musician, an actor, a mime, and a very gifted artist. He danced upon the small stage, and danced upon the table and chairs, he danced through the crowd, fiddling his heart out, playing the songs that I knew best from childhood.

The songs that he played were songs that my parents and grandparents had sung when I was a child, but they were recognizable and familiar favorites! "Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye", "The Irish Washerwoman", "The Rose of Tralee", "The Rakes of Mallow", and "The Minstrel Boy". In some of the songs, the crowd sang along with The Fiddler, skipping lightly through the notes, but in Gaelic. I sang along, heartily, in English, since that was all I knew, and no one seemed to mind. At least the music was familiar, and I wondered about my Irish roots, and how deeply they had been buried. I was surprised at how many of the children's songs I had learned in school were Irish!

At one point in the evening, Danny and Chief O'Malley rose to toast one another—a masterpiece of political maneuvering that Old Honey Fitz* would have enjoyed himself! Danny made sure everyone had a drink, and raising his glass proposed a toast to "Chief O'Malley, whose service for 25 years has brought the City of Great Neck through many a storm, and who will continue to serve and protect all of us!"

Everyone drank and roared their congratulations and approval. Chief O'Malley responded with a toast to "Danny Laine, the canny Irishman who'll take the coat off your back without your knowing it, one drop at a time! Thanks for the fine celebration!" Again the crowd roared approvals and congratulations. Then the party was back on! The Fiddler resumed his dancing, fiddling, the guitar players continued their backup and the crowd danced and had a marvelous time. Chief O'Malley's wife joined us, as did Sean's and the crowd became a little more frenzied.

At one point, I got up to find the ladies room in the crowd and on the way back, located the bass guitar player, "May I request a song?" I asked, dropping a twenty in the cup. I shouted a favorite and "For Danny Laine", and thanked him, slowly picking my way back to the table in the crowd.

After awhile, The Fiddler, announced "We have a special request for our fine host this evening!", and the band broke into "Danny Boy". The place came to a standstill, as The Fiddler played the plaintive refrain to the song. Everyone sang at the top of the their lungs, wiping tears from their eyes, and toasting my friend, Danny, as the verse of the song came to its sweet conclusion, "I'll sleep in peace until you come to me."

A tear glistened in Danny's eyes as he wrung my hand in thanks. ""Twas a fine song, girrul, a fine song. I'll be thankin' ye, for it, I will!"

"Danny," I told him, "thank you for including me in your party!" Chief O'Malley tightly smiled, and I wondered if I had done a political service for Danny, all unaware…

"Danny Boy" was the last song from The Fiddler that evening. He had danced and played and mimed for two long hours, but he was not done. Oh no! The Fiddler passed his green top hat around, "For the orphanage in Ulster!" he declared. "For the orphanage in Ulster!"

Everyone was contributing money to the orphans, so, of course I reached in my purse and threw a ten into the pile. When I did, The Fiddler, stopped, bowed, waved his hat, and said, "This fine girrul has been lost to the old country for far too long, 'tis time we welcomed her home!" And with that leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, and lifted me to my feet. "Welcome home, girrul, we're glad t' see ye again!" The crowd roared, the few people I knew raised their glasses in friendship, toasting me, as well. I slightly bowed my thanks, and quickly sat back down, the limelight too bright. The Fiddler nodded at me, "Ye've got friends here, miss, good friends!"

The Fiddler lightly walked behind the stage and disappeared behind the bar, his band following him. The crowd found seats, laughing and drinking, and traditional Irish music began to play over the loud speaker. Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Chief O'Malley and his wife left, and I followed shortly thereafter, thanking my hosts, climbing back into the monster car, and driving through the dark streets to my hotel. My head rang from the noise of the crowd.

In my room, as much fun as it was I was almost glad to get back to the cockroaches. I had nearly begun to think of the cockroaches as my little friends, who watched over the room during the day. My dog was at home, safe with my family. My cats were watching my house, and I was lonely for them. It was only the third day of the pumping test, and I had more than a week to go. I climbed into the bed, set the alarm for six am, and fell asleep almost immediately.

*Honey Fitz was Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy's father. Rose was the mother of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

Next Up: The Bluidy Orangemen!

To hear the melodies of some of the Irish songs played that memorable evening, click here:

Irish Music and Lyrics

Links

Part 10, The "Deli on the Green"

Part 11, Doesn't everyone in Kentucky live on a horse farm?

Next Up:

Part 13, The Bluidy Orangemen

Before we go any further in this saga, I must explain that in my small city, we didn't have delis in 1982. I had never seen a deli, and had no idea what a deli was about. I had, of course, heard of delis, but thought it was just a place to go and get a sandwich, much like at the grocery store where you walked up to what was called the Deli Counter and ordered a Cheese and Baloney sandwich on whole wheat. Nothing fancy—you got a slice of baloney, a slice of American cheese, on two slices of whole wheat bread. No big deal. They spread a little mayonnaise on the bread to make it stick together, and that was that. So, when Fred directed me to a deli named The Deli on the Green, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Deli on the Green was located about 20 minutes from the well field, in a little city park. It had bright green walls with white trim and bright green and white striped awnings. All the furniture outside was white, so it was a very pretty place. I doubt that I would have missed it on my trek for food the night before, but it was just over the next hill and out of sight. I found a pull-in parking place for the monster car, which was a stroke of unbelievably good fortune and walked into the shop.

Now, remember, I am used to going to the grocery, and ordering a ham sandwich with cheese on whole wheat, and getting it. No fuss, no problem. I went into the deli and was confronted by a menu, hanging on the wall. There was bierwurst, zungenwurst, Lebanon bologna, olive loaf, pickle loaf, pepper loaf, Braunschweiger, bresaola, capicola, chicken breast, chorizo, saucisson, corned beef, chipped beef, shaved beef, sliced beef, cotechino, gelbwurst, baked ham, boiled ham, honey ham, cooked ham, prosciuitto, smoked ham, jagdwurst, krakauer, liverwurst, mortadella, pastrami, praksy, polony, roast pork, finocchinona, pepperoni, sopressata, sulze, turkey breast, smoked turkey breast, veal loaf, garlic bologna, summer sausage, ham with cheese, honey turkey breast, honey peppered ham, etc.

For cheese choices, (and remember I am used to American, cheddar, and Swiss), there was Swiss, aged Swiss, baby Swiss, fontina, havarti, mild cheddar, sharp cheddar, Monterey jack, Monterey jack with hot peppers, Colby cream cheese, provolone, gruyere, Colby jack, mozzarella, mild provolone, aged provolone, etc. Then, for breads…

I was a lost ball in tall weeds. I read the menu through, not having any idea what most of it was, stood in line for a bit, trying to decide, and got to the counter. "Whaddayawant?" asked the guy at the counter.

"Uh," I said, all at sea, "I'd like a ham and Swiss cheese on whole wheat."

The man pursed his lips in impatience, "Ya want smoked ham, honey ham, baked ham, boiled ham, cooked ham, ham and cheese? Which one?"

"What?" I smiled, "No country ham? Just give me honey ham, please." There were just too many choices.

"Ya want baby Swiss, aged Swiss, new Swiss?" His fingers drummed on the cash register impatiently.

"Uh," I said, "Uh, baby Swiss."

"Bread?" he asked.

"Whole wheat," I had an answer, but not good enough for him.

"We ain't got any. Read the menu for Chrissake!" he said, impatient with my stupidity. You and me both, I thought. I'm tired of being stupid.

"Uh," I said, "go ahead and help the next guy, and I'll come back around". So I went to the back of the line to try and figure out breads.

After reading the bread choices, I really wasn't any more educated than when I started, but had picked something that might work. Presently, I got back up to the front of the line.

"Now," he said, "Whaddayawant?"

Proudly, I said, "I'd like honey ham and baby Swiss cheese on a Kaiser roll."

"Mayo?" he asked.

"Yes, please" I answered.

"What kind?" he asked.

"What kind?" I asked, bewildered. Wasn't mayo just mayo?

"Read the menu for Chrissake!" And he tapped on the sign above.

"Ok, help the next person, and I'll come around again," I said, all at sea yet again. Mayo? There are kinds of Mayo?

Finally, I found the mayonnaise section on the menu… There was curry, lemon, sweet, light, mustard, jellied, and herbal mayonnaise. Golly, I thought, if I keep going like this, I'll never get anything to eat. After a few minutes, I got back up to the cash register.

The man gave me an evil look, and, drumming his fingers on the cash register, said, "NOW whaddayawant?"

I looked him in the eye, and said, "I would like honey ham and baby Swiss cheese on a Kaiser roll with sweet mayo."

He cocked his eye at me, and punched buttons on the cash register. "Lettuce?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I said.

"What kind?" he asked.

"I don't care! YOU pick!" And I gave him a look that would stop a clock.

He shrugged his shoulders, and said, "OK." I think he was tired of dealing with me. I know I was tired of dealing with him.

"Make that two," I said. Charlie was probably hungry, too, and I'd better grab food while it was in reach.

"That'll be $18.78," he said. Putting his hand out for the money. $18.78? My Gosh! I thought. At home, you could get six sandwiches for $20, and have change left over… I handed him a twenty dollar bill, and he handed me the change pointing to a large jar that said, "Harold's Sweet Kosher Dill Pickles", on the label, and "TIPS" on the glass. TIP? You've got to be kidding! But I dropped my change in, if only because I may have to come back there for food again. My choices were obviously limited. I got my sandwiches, bought a couple of cokes out of the machine, and made my way back to the well field.

Fred was leaving as I arrived, going home to get some rest, and would return to relieve me at midnight. He said that I was not allowed to stay out there all night, just until he got back, and that Charlie, (who grinned sheepishly), sitting in one of two rickety lawn chairs, would help me. I was not to worry—the friends were gone, the punks had been run off, and everyone knew I was out there. He said the police may stop by to make sure I was OK, but I was not to be afraid. "Don't be scared!" he admonished me, and left.

"Well," I turned to Charlie, "of course I'm not afraid if I have a friend with me. You want a sandwich?" Charlie's eyes perked up. "Here," I said, "I hope you like ham and cheese. You won't believe what I went through to get this!"

We munched companionably together, and Charlie, who finished his sandwich in about 2 minutes, told me about his family as I chewed thoughtfully. I am a slow eater to this day He was married to Stella, he explained. "Danny's secretary?" I asked, and he nodded. Ah, another piece of the puzzle. Stella didn't want me out here at night with her husband. Like I was going to hornswoggle him into a 'quickie' in the well house. In a strange way, it was kind of sweet. She thought he was unbearably good looking, (and Charlie was a nice looking guy), so how could I resist? I'm just Not Up For This, I thought. But Stella doesn't know that.

I nodded as he told me about their two kids, their extended family, their cat, their apartment, and his life. I told him a little about my life in Owensboro, my house, my dog and cats, my family. No real history, just companionable chat. We measured and sampled the wells on time, and chatted amiably, splitting up to measure and sample, until about 7 pm… Then, out of the blue, in the darkness "SCREEEEEEECH!"

Charlie jumped up and looked wild-eyed. "Don't worry, Charlie, it is just an owl," I told him. "Nothing to worry about. Scared me to death the first time I heard it, but it is just an owl."

Charlie chuckled, and sat down with trepidation. "Really, Charlie, it is OK," I said. "It scared me, too, when I first heard it! I thought that someone was being murdered out here! But, once I saw it was just an owl, it was OK. It is a big white owl. It must live up in these trees somewhere."

"I'm supposed to be taking care of you!" Charlie said.

"Well, you are!" I told him. "It is very frightening out here by yourself. It isn't so bad when you have a friend with you."

Just as Charlie was beginning to settle down, a big black car, silently glided up to the well house where we were sitting, and a man with a big hat got out of the passenger side. He gently shut the door of his car, and carefully picked his way over the gravel toward us. I stood, walked to meet him, my hand outstretched, "How do you do, sir," I said. "My name is Marsha Talbot."

He took my hand and shook it, one quick shake. "I'm Tony Cabinerarri," he said. He was a nice looking business man, in his black overcoat and hat. He had a pencil thin mustache, and a cordial, if chilling, smile.

"The pleasure is mine, sir," I said. "I am very sorry that we disturbed your parents last evening. We will be out here for a couple of weeks, measuring and sampling the wells, sir. I hope that we won't bother your parents. We will be very quiet, I assure you."

He looked at the well house, the set-up at the well through the open door, and at me, taking it all in. He reached some kind of internal decision and touched the brim of his hat, "No, I'm sure you won't disturb them. We may stop by, from time to time."

"You are welcome to visit, any time, sir," I said. He nodded, walked back to his car, climbed in, and was silently driven away, never to be seen again-- by me, anyway.

Charlie was sitting next to the well house in his lawn chair, stricken. "Don't worry, Charlie," I told him. "We sort of 'met' last night."

I patted his arm, "Is it time for another measurement? Want me to take Well #3 and the monitoring well up by the bramble?" I asked. He nodded, at a loss for words. We continued measuring and sampling, every hour, becoming more comfortable friends.

About 10 pm, the police came, slowly driving up the lane. I walked down to them, "Gentlemen! Such a pleasure to see you this evening!"

Officer O'Malley smiled, "You look much better tonight!"

"Thanks to your care of me!" I said. "Thank you so very much for checking on us. I have a friend with me this evening. We have another crew coming at midnight, so please don't be alarmed if you don't see me here. I don't think anyone will bother us."

Officer O'Malley chuckled, "They won't. Goodnight."

As they drove away, Charlie asked, "So, we are guarded by both the police and the friends?"

I smiled at him and said, "Yep! Ain't life grand?"

Charlie looked doubtful, and I said, "Whatever you see out there, just accept it, and we'll be all right. No one wants us to cause a ruckus out here, and nothing will harm us. And no matter, what, Charlie—" and I looked him in the eye, "I will not let Stella be a widow-woman. I promise." It is much easier to be brave when you have someone to be brave for.

He laughed, a little sheepish, and then I asked, "Is there ANY place to get some food around here? Besides a deli that costs an arm and a leg? A grocery? A take-out place? Anything?"

"I don't live around here", he said, "I don't know. You'll have to ask Fred."

We sat together in the lawn chairs that threatened to give way, chatting amiably, measuring on the hour, until Fred returned to relieve me.

Next Up: Doesn't everyone in Kentucky live on a horse farm?

Links

Part 7, Alone in the dark

Part 8, 'Twas the luck o' the Irish that saved me!

Part 9, Friends at last

Next Up:

Part 11, Doesn't everyone in Kentucky live on a horsefarm?

Danny Laine put me in my car, shaking his head as I added my purse to the stack on the briefcase, and firmly shooed me away to the hotel for food and rest. By this time, I was famished, so I stopped at the gas station to get gas, and to hopefully find something to eat. All they had were candy bars, so I bought a couple, got a cup of coffee and a small box of cigars, and paid for the gas.

When I got to the hotel, and walked through the lobby dragging my purse, briefcase, and carry-on, the unhelpful girl at the desk stared at me. I left a little trail of mud bits, leaves and twigs behind as I walked. It didn't matter. I was so tired, all I wanted was a shower and sleep. I had eaten the candy bars on the way there, sipping the hot coffee, so food wasn't an immediate problem, but rest was. I got to the room, scaring the cockroaches away again, and looked in the mirror.

No wonder Danny believed the police's story of my wild night! I looked like the survivor of a massacre! My hair and scalp was caked with blood, and leaves and twigs were stuck in my hair. My coat was a sodden, muddy mess, my clothes covered with mud, leaves, and stick-tights, but my face… I'm one of those people that need a little make up to look decent, and, tired as I was, I had that wild-eyed look of someone who had had a deathly fright. No matter. I climbed in the shower, dumping my clothes in the bathroom in a tangle, (Norman Bates, if you're in here, just make it quick!), and found that no matter which of the un-marked faucets I turned, there was no hot water. Piffle. At least the water wasn't iced cold.

I shampooed my hair and cleaned up as quickly as possible, got out, and climbed between the sheets, shivering with cold. If there are cockroaches in this bed, I thought, I hope they are warm ones. I closed my eyes and fell fast asleep.

Six hours later, I awoke with a snap! Was it time for another measurement? 2 pm. I had told Danny Laine that I was going to be there at 3, so I needed to hurry. I got dressed in clean clothes, rolled my hair, (I was still at that stage in life where I never appeared in public without make up and rolled hair), and found that I was absolutely famished. Almost-ready-to-eat-those-cockroaches famished.

Downstairs at the desk, I asked the lady, "Are there any grocery stores here?" She stared at me blankly. "Ma'am," I said slowly and clearly, "Excuse me. Is there a place nearby where I can shop for groceries?"

She shrugged her shoulders and looked puzzled. They really need, I thought as I turned away, to get someone at the front desk that knows how to deal with people.

I walked the opposite way of the Greek restaurant because I didn't want them to see me looking so frazzled, and after three blocks, all I had found was a butcher. Peering in the doorway, the only real food that I saw, other than sausages, were three dead chickens, plucked, but still whole. As hungry as I was, an uncooked chicken with the head on it was just not it.

My stomach growled. OK, I'll ask Fred or the guys at the well field. Maybe they knew where to get something to eat. I drove out to the well field, familiar, now, with the roads, looking for a grocery, a sandwich place, a drug store, anything, and driving, which is hard to do when sitting on top of a briefcase and watching traffic. Not one fast food place presented itself. Not one convenience store, nor grocery, nor anything that remotely looked like quick food. Even if I could have parked the monster car, there was no place to go. Where did these people eat? I thought. The city that never sleeps obviously never eats, either.

I drove up the lane to the wells and a water company truck was parked at Well #2, so I got out and went to the door. No one there, so they must be up the hill with the bramble. I climbed up the hill to the monitoring well, and there was Fred, taking a measurement. He sketched a wave and wrote the measurement down. "How is your head?"

"My head?" I asked.

He pointed to the bramble, where a long hank of reddish-blonde hair hung, tangled around a thorn. "In a bit of a hurry, were you?"

I laughed and said, "There was an owl screeching at me and I thought someone was being murdered."

He gave me a long look, and asked, "Are you feeling better? Danny wants to know when you get here."

"I'm fine, thank you, just hungry," I said. "Fred, what happened with the police and Danny?"

Fred chuckled, and said, "Chief O'Malley lost an election to Danny at the Sons of Ireland and wanted to get even, so he called Danny, at home this morning. Woke him up screaming about how you had faced down 'the friends' and were out here protecting his property while he was safe and warm in bed. Sally, Danny's wife, heard all the ruckus and gave him all kinds of trouble for leaving you out here by yourself, especially since you are from out of town. The police said that you had hidden from some punks in the trunk of your car. Said you were completely hysterical when they got here-- they couldn't understand a word you said. They said if it happened again, they were calling the head office and getting him fired. They said that if Danny wanted police protection of his workers, they would charge him time and a half!"

He looked closely at me, "I didn't believe him until we got here this morning. None of the guys would come out here at night by themselves, and they were ready to fight him after they saw you."

"What do you mean, Fred?" I asked. "I don't understand."

Fred smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said, "No one ever brings the guys food."

"Oh." I could see why no one ever brought them food, there wasn't anything to bring but dead chickens, but I doubted that anyone wanted to tangle with Danny over anything. Fred called Danny on the radio and we finished up the measurements and samples. As we were finishing, Danny roared up the drive, spewing gravel.

"Marsha!" Danny called as he got out of the car. Somehow, during the day, I had graduated from 'girrul', "Ye're lookin' a bit better for ye' rest." He looked closely at my head and face, "Aire ye doin' well this fine afternoon?"

"Danny, thank you, I'm just fine," I said, shaking his hand. Danny held my hand gently with both hands, and I said, "I'm just a bit hungry, Danny. Is there a restaurant nearby where I can get something to eat? I couldn't find anything last night."

Danny nodded, and said, "Charlie will be comin' by, and Fred can take ye somewhere for a bite."

I thanked him, looked up in his blue eyes, and said, "Danny?" He nodded and I said, "Thank you for coming this morning. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble."

Danny clucked and shook his head. I said, "Danny, there is something you don't know." He cocked his head, a confident, crafty, redheaded monkey with a kind heart—if forced. I said, "I'm part Irish, too, you know. A lot of my family came from Ireland, England and Scotland. Who knows, maybe we're related!" I patted his hand, "Anyway, maybe the luck o' the Irish covers me, too!"

Danny threw back his head and laughed, "Weel, Marsha, I knew ye' were o' the Green! Only a hard-headed Irishman would ha' talked back to me the way ye' did that first mornin'—and only an Irishman would ha' stood up to 'the friends'. Ye've got guts, girrul, I'll gi' ye that. Don't worry, dear, ye're no trouble a' tall. I'm the hard headed Irishman that didn't listen t' ye. I should ha' known ye'd stay out here t' do ye're job. Ye're like me, girrul, nice when you kin be and tough when ye cain't."

We laughed together in the sunshine, friends at last. "Charlie will be here soon, dear, and Fred will show ye some supper. Charlie will take good care o' ye, girrul, and not let anyone bother you." He patted my hand one last time, "I'd best be gettin' home t' Sally, she'll be wantin' t' know ye've forgave me."

I waved as he left and he nodded, 'gettin' home t' Sally', my unseen friend.

Next Up: The Deli on the Green

Links

The Saga of the Hick in New York City, Part 1

Part 6, I said "crews", not "cruise"

Part 7, Alone in the dark

Part 8, 'Twas the luck o' the Irish that saved me

Next Up:

Part 10, Deli on the Green

It was just after 11 pm, and I had been on the job for 13 hours, after two nights fitful sleep with the cockroaches, and had a long way to go. Tired as I was, I had to go take another round of measurements.

The sun was shining brightly through the bones of the trees, and it was very quiet in the well field, as I made my rounds. Every hour, I had six wells to measure, some of them up in the surrounding hills and underbrush, and three samples to collect and analyze.

The next morning, the alarm beeped even earlier, and I needed a crow bar to pry myself out from under the covers.

Leaving the restaurant, I was feeling much better due to the coffee, breakfast, and blessing. I wondered if anyone in the city would be able to understand my long, drawling way with words, or if I was going to be condemned to wander around the city, using sign language.

The next morning, my travel alarm started beeping at 6 am NYC time, which is 5 am Owensboro time. I had just begun to sleep well—typical.

Before I get too far along on the Long Island Expressway, let me explain something. My small city had one four-lane road through the middle of the city, and a four-lane bypass, with no traffic on it.

While standing in line at the rental car office, I noticed that everything was moving along with a minimum of fuss. Various businessmen went to the desk, handed over their sheaf of papers, signed a few dotted lines, were given their keys, and left to get their car.

What do we, the human race, have in common? Not much... which becomes evident if you toodle around on this website for a while.

Southerners love to laugh at their own. Just look at the popularity of Jeff Foxworthy. So beware if you laugh at these jokes you just might be a redneck.

HILLBILLY VASECTOMY

After their 11th child, a hillbilly couple decided that was enough, as they could not afford a larger bed. So the husband went to his veterinarian and told him that he and his cousin didn't want to have any more children.

The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem but that it was expensive. 'A less costly alternative, ' said the doctor, 'is to go home, get a cherry bomb (fireworks are legal in hillbilly country), light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to your ear and count to 10.'

The hillbilly said to the doctor, 'I may not be the smartest tool in the shed, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me...'

'Trust me,' said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count!

'1'

'2'

'3'

'4'

'5'

( you'll love this..)

...at which point, he paused, placed the beer can between his legs and continued counting on his other hand.

This procedure works in Tennessee , Kentucky , Louisiana , Arkansas , Mississippi , Alabama , Georgia , Florida , West Virginia .... And

Washington DC.

next one:

Driving Information:
Alabama has its own version of traffic rules. The truck with the loudest exhaust goes next at a four-way stop. The truck with the biggest tires goes after that. Note: Blue-haired ladies driving anything have the right-of-way
anytime.
The morning rush hour is from 6:00 to 10:00. The evening rush hour is from 3:00 to 7:00. Friday's rush hour starts Thursday morning. If the term 'merging delays' is ever used by the person reporting the traffic, even in passing, call in to work and tell them that you will be at least 30 minutes late regardless of where you are in your commute.
If you actually stop at a yellow light, you will be (at the very least) rear-ended, cussed out, and possibly shot. This applies to male and female drivers alike.
You must know that 'I-459,' 'I-59,' 'I-20,' and 'I-65' are the same road.
They just loop around, cutting in and out of each other's path. We think this was a ploy utilized to confuse outsiders and discourage visitors after the War of Northern Aggression.
Always, always, always, find out if it is a race or football weekend before you get on any of these highways to travel somewhere. If it is a race or football weekend, stay home. You won't be pleasantly going anywhere else.
Construction is a permanent fixture . The barrels are moved around in the middle of the night to make the next day's driving a little more interesting.
If someone has their turn signal on, wave them over to the shoulder immediately to let them know -- you can be sure it was 'accidentally activated'.
The minimum acceptable speed on 'I-65' (see above) is 85 mph. Anything less is considered downright sissy.
This is also Alabama 's state-highway-sponsored version of NASCAR -- especially during rush hour (see above) and everyone in the city is driving at once, bumper-to-bumper.. If you are in the left lane and only going 70 in a 55-65 zone, you are considered a road hazard, and will be 'flipped a bird' accordingly.
Do not gawk at the woman in the car beside you in traffic who is applying make-up, drinking a Diet Coke, smoking a Marlboro, and maintaining a steady speed of 85 mph on I-65 in rush hour traffic. If she is coming from north
of Burminham( that is Birmingham to you yanks), she might be packing. If she is coming from south of Burminham, she IS packing and is not afraid to use it.

Weather Information:
If it's 110 degrees, Thanksgiving could be next weekend. If it's 10-20 degrees and sleeting or snowing, then watch out. Burminham residents consider this 'demolition derby' day and will be all over the roads (front ways, sideways, etc). Please proceed with caution, as you could be
the next target..

Seasonal Information:
If you stick to the seats in your vehicle, it is Spring.
If you need to let the car 'get some air' while standing next to it with the doors open for a minute before you can stick your upper body inside to crank it and get the air going, it is Summer.
If you are sweating even with the windows down, driving 55 mph, it is Fall.
If you finally turn the AC off and roll your windows up, it is Winter.

General Information:
Do not ever speak during the song ' Sweet Home Alabama ' unless it is to sing along with the lyrics. This is a form of heresy and will erupt in a brawl if everyone doesn't show 'proper respect' to the band who gave us Free Bird. This is especially true if alcohol is present (notice I didn't
say 'sold at this event,' but 'present').
Yes, we know that Vulcan is mooning the entire city of Burminham . It's not that funny to us anymore, and by now we're used to it.
If you ask someone for a 'coke,' they will often ask you, 'What kind?' This is not a trick question. Tell them what you want: Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Root Beer, etc., it is all 'coke'.
All tea is sweet. If it's not sweet, you are in a Chinese restaurant or have crossed the Mason-Dixon Line ..
Possums sleep in the middle of the road with their feet in the air.
There are 5,000 types of snakes on earth and 4,998 of them live in Alabama .
There are 10,000 types of spiders. All 10,000 live in Alabama , plus a couple no one's seen before.
If it grows, it sticks; if it crawls, it bites.
Onced and Twiced are words.
It is not a shopping cart; it is a buggy.
People actually grow and eat okra.
There is no such thing as 'lunch.' There is only dinner and then supper.
Iced tea is appropriate for all meals and you start drinking it when you're two.
DGeet is actually a phrase meaning 'Did you eat?'
You don't have to wear a watch because it doesn't matter what time it is. You work until you're done or it's too dark to see.
You don't PUSH buttons, you MASH them.
You measure distance in minutes.
You'll probably have to switch from 'heat' to 'A/C' in the same day
All the festivals across the state are named after a fruit, vegetable, grain, insect or animal.
You install security lights on your house and garage and leave both unlocked.
There are only own four spices: salt, pepper, Tabasco and ketchup.
The local papers cover national and international news on one page, but require 6 pages for local gossip and sports.
The first day of deer season is a national holiday.
100 degrees Fahrenheit is 'a little warm'.
We have four seasons: Almost Summer, Summer, still Summer and Christmas.
Going to Wal-mart is a favorite past time.
Fried catfish is the other white meat.
We don't need no stinking driver's ed ... if our mama says we can drive, we can drive.
EVERYONE can't be a Alabamian; it takes talent. You might say it's an art form or a gift from God

next:
Back before Christmas a redneck family was visiting the city, shopping in a mall for the first time in their life. The father and son were strolling around while the mother picked up a few necessities. They were amazed by almost everything they saw, but especially by two shiny, silver walls that could move apart and then slide back together.

"Paw," the boy asked, "what's 'at?"

The father responded, "Son, I dunno. I ain't never seen anything like it. I ain't got no idea'r what it is."

While the boy and his father watched with amazement, a fat old lady waddled up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened and the lady stepped between them into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched the small circular numbers above the walls light up. As it reached the last number the numbers began to light in the reverse order. Then the walls opened up and a gorgeous, voluptuous 24-year-old blonde woman stepped out.
The father, not taking his eyes off the young woman, said quietly to his Son, "Boy, go git yo Momma.... "

and

Did you know?The Louisiana State Department of Fish and Wildlife is advising hikers, hunters, fishermen, and golfers to take extra precautions and keep alert for alligators while in St. Tammany, Jefferson & Orleans Parish.

They advise people to wear noise-producing devices such as "little bells" on their clothing to alert, but not startle the alligators unexpectedly. They also advise the carrying of "pepper spray" in case of a 'gator encounter.

It's also a good idea to watch for fresh signs of alligator activity and be able to recognize the difference between young alligator and adult alligator droppings.

Young alligator droppings are small, contain fish bones and possibly bird feathers.

Adult alligators droppings have little bells in them and smell like pepper.

and last but not least:

Perhaps all y'all who are not from the South might get some understandin' from this little lesson!

Southerners know their summer weather report:
Humidity
Humidity
Humidity

Southerners know their vacation spots:
The beach
The rivuh
The crick

Southerners know everybody's first name:
Honey
Darlin'
Shuga

Southerners know their religions:
Baptist
Methodist
Football

Southerners know their cities dripping with Southern charm:
Chawl'stn
S'vanah
Foat Wuth
N'awlins
Addlanna

Southern girls know the 3 deadly sins:
Having bad hair and nails
Having bad manners
Cooking bad food

More Suthen-ism's:

Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and that you don't "HAVE" them, you "PITCH" them.
_____

Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."
_____

Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of "yonder."
_____

Only a Southerner knows exactly how long "directly" is, as in:
"Going to town, be back directly ."
_____

Even Southern babies know that "Gimme some sugar" is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table

Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad.
If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin!
_____

Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between "right near" and
"a right far piece." They also know that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20
_____

Only a Southerner, both knows and understands, the difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and po' white trash.
____—

No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.
_____

A Southerner knows that "fixin" can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.
_____

Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines, ... and when we're "in line,"... we talk to everybody!
_____

Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.
_____

In the South, y'all is singular, all y'all is plural.
_____

Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.
_____

Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.
_____

Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it -- we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk.
_____

To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by your Southerness: Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!
_____
And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Southern stuff...bless your hearts, I hear they are fixin' to have classes on Southernness as a second language!

And for those that are not from the South but have lived here for a long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't from the South, but I got here as fast as I could."

"Do Southerners laugh at different things than Northerners do? Yes--Northerners."

So laugh a little at yourself. It is usually the best joke of the day.

This one took me a while but I will bet a couple of my "genius" friends out there will get it faster. Pictured are my brainteaser researchers. They delight in stumping me and they keep score. Right now I am holding my own but they are determined to do me in!!!

Complete the following sentence with one of the 4 words

"Read every third spot young..."

vagrant
warrior
psycho
doppelganger

Evidently I had a brain freeze on the first one because everyone is getting it easily. So I have added another to this post. Here we go

Start at the second month of the year in the Julian calendar and go backward 4 months. Combine the antepenultimate letter of that month with the ultimate letter of the month during which Daylight Savings Time began in the US prior to 2007. Add that to the antepenultimate letter of the month named for "Venerable Caesar." End with the penultimate letter of the month of the autumnal equinox.
The resulting word is
a...Eukaryota
b... an unfocused image
c...a boaster
d...the fifth color of the rainbow

Please leave an answer by using " contact this author".

A story my grandmother told me just came to mind today. She and her sisters and brothers lost their mother when my grandmother was very young. I believe there were nine siblings all together, I may need to go back and check. Four girls if I recall correctly, Ida the oldest, Hester, Claudie, Ossie and my grandmother Nona.

I remember my grandmother told me that one day her father had to go to town, so he hitched up his mule and wagon then headed off to the ten mile trip into town to get some supplies for the farm. Great grandpa trusted the boys to take care of the fields and livestock, while the girls would keep house and prepare the daily meals for the boys in the field.

Well it seemed that Ida the oldest girl had gotten into Great grandpa smoking tobacco and stashed some tobacco and papers away. She share with the others that they were going to the barn to try smoking since daddy was going into town for the day. They all waited till he had been gone for an hour or so and headed for the loft of the barn. They sat there on the bails of hay as Hester tried to roll a smoke, which proved to be harder than she imagined. They gave Claudie a chance and she failed. Next in line was Ossie who came up short as well, being frustrated they gave Ida a try and she rolled the cigarette with ease.

The girls all gathered around in a circle to puff away on the tobacco. For some reason my grandmother could not remember but she glanced out of the loft door and who do they see coming down the road Their dad. Oh in a frantic they were wondering what to do with the cigarette. They knew if they got caught their father would tan that hide. So my grandmother Nona just took the cigarette and tossed it out the loft door to the ground below. Little did they know that a group of hens were scratching in the yard underneath the loft door. Gravity pulled the lit cigarette with force and the aim that was not even applied by my grandmother found its way into the tail feathers of an old Rhoad Island Red hen.

The girls scrambled down into the house before their father made his way to the barn to put up the wagon. She said when he got to the barn all hell had broken loose as the Rhoad Island Red was running back and forth just a smoking. She said he father started yelling for the girls to come to the barn. As they got to the barn they saw their father chasing the chicken around in circles fanning it with his hat trying to put out the smolteriing hen. They had chicken that night for supper and confessed to great grandpa what they had done. He was laughing so hard she said he didn't spank them.

Last year a friend of mine upgraded from GirlFriend 6.0 to Wife 1.0 and found that it's a memory hog leaving very little system resources available for other applications. He is now noticing that Wife 1.0 is also spawning Child Processes which are further consuming valuable resources. No mention of this particular phenomena was included in the product brochure or the documentation, though other users have informed him that this is to be expected due to the nature of the application.

Not only that, Wife 1.0 installs itself such that it is always launched at system initialization, where it can monitor all other system activity. He's finding that some applications such as PokerNight 10.3, BeerBash 2.5, and PubNight 7.0 are no longer able to run in the system at all, crashing the system when selected (even though they always worked fine before). During installation, Wife 1.0 provides no option as to the installation of undesired Plug-Ins such as MotherInLaw 55.8 and BrotherInLaw Beta release. Also, system performance seems to diminish with each passing day.

I talked politics with my grandpa as a young teen before he passed away because I was not sure the difference between a Democrat and a Republican. I remember it very clearly, we were sitting on the back porch and he had his pocket knife whittling a piece of wood.

He stopped whittling when I asked him the difference, folded his knife and put it in his overall pocket. Then he took a pack of Kool's from the bib pocket and lite one up. He took a puff and then he said " son it is an interesting question you pose to me. All my life I have worked on a farm until retiring. Your grandma and I have not seen a lot of monetary wealth, but we have always made a way and saw that your dad, uncles and aunts were taken care of.

Now they are those who say that Republicans are for the rich and well to do; big business and the uppity. Others say that the Democrats are for the poor, down trodden and the less fortunate people."

Then he continued, " But son in all my sixty seven years, the one thing I know about Democrats and Republicans is this...(he cleared his throat) walk them up a steep hill throw the Democrat and Republican in a wooden barrel, take a good roofing hammer and nail it shut. After you have done that kick that barrel off to the side and as it rolls down the hill you have a son of a bitch on top all the way to the bottom."

He also told me never trust a politician and if they shake your hand make sure when he is done you still have the ring on your finger and the watch on your wrist.

Growing up in the mid sixties and seventies was a time of great memories. As a young boy I could not wait till dad came through the door at 4:00pm. We would pile into the pickup and head to the hills to my grandparents. My mothers parents lived outside of Heber Springs Arkansas on Pryor mountain, grandpa had one hundred and eighty acres and it was pretty secluded.

This weekend was special because my moms sister and brothers were all coming over to grandma and grandpa's to cook, make homemade ice cream, then the men would spend the night coon hunting with grandpa. There were kids all over the yard and I remember that grandpa had blocked off a area underneath a big oak tree and hauled sand in for a sandbox for us kids.

Grandpa and the men folk all went to town to get a block of ice and charcoal for the evening meal. My mother and her sister went to visit a friend that they hadn't seen in a long while, leaving my grandma with the kids.
The day was going well I was playing with my cousins and my brother when one of the older cousins decides he is going to run off into the woods. I told him grandma would be mad.

Just as I suspected a few minutes after he left grandma come out to check on us, she opened the screen door and did a head count. She began to yell "Leslie where the fire are you!" We all pointed in the direction of the woods where he had disappeared. Out the door she came, now mind you my grandma was four feet and ten inches tall but when she was mad she could cover some ground quickly.

Ten minutes later she came back with Leslie by the Knapp of the neck. She sat him down and pointed her finger at him and said, "Young man you better not run off again." Back inside the house she goes, no more had she gotten into the house Leslie took off to the smokehouse that was a little ways down the road next to the barn. You guessed it, here come grandma. Once again we all ratted him out.

She brought him back and this time she told him if he ran away again; she would take one of grandpa's coon dog collars and chain him up to the front porch. For some reason Leslie sure didn't like to listen very well because off he went again. This time he went to the apple orchard, Oh grandma was fit to be tied when she came to the screen door. She couldn't find a collar big enough so she took one of grandpa's belts went and got the dog chain and harnessed Leslie, then tied him to the front porch.

My other cousins and I were amused at watching this whole ordeal go down but busied ourselves in the sandbox. Grandma went back inside to the kitchen to finish preparing for the BBQ. Leslie began to howl, bark and scratch at the screen door. This went on it seemed like forever when grandma came to the door and yelled "Leslie what in the tar nation is wrong with you?" To which he replied "Grandma this little puppy wants a drink of water."

I was one of the lucky grand kids growing up. My brother and I spent the summers and a lot of our weekends with grandma and grandpa. Of course years passed and my brother and I grew up, then I moved away.

After several years I returned to my little hometown. I took one Saturday in late summer to go and visit with grandma and grandpa who were getting on up in years. The old home place was located back in the woods off of the main highway. Not much had changed, the hardwoods still clung to the side of the old gravel road. The dark rich delta soil still provided healthy fields of cotton, beans, and corn.

I continued on the winding dirt road headed farther into the woods, then I came to the old mailbox that was still nailed to the side of a large elm tree. I was finely there, I could see grandpa out in the front yard at the end of the road, where the little house with a screened in porch sat. Bigger than life was grandpa tending to his roses, he loved roses. He seemed a little more frail that I remembered as a kid. He had a little shuffle in his walk now but still wore his overhauls with a red handkerchief hanging out of the back pocket, white shirt and a grey short brimmed hat.

As I drove up he started to wave and had a smile on his face that was ear to ear. You could see the joy that beat in the little mans heart. I opened the door and the first words out of his mouth were "Come here sugar dumpy and give grandpa some sugie". I remember that was his favorite line to use on us grand kids as he would take his chin, with day old scruffy whiskers and leave red marks on our cheeks. I embraced my grandpa with arms that were now grown and could reach around him. Then I followed up with a handshake.

He invited me in and said that grandma was making a big evening meal and was looking so forward to seeing me. She had all of the country fixings just as I remembered as a kid, fresh tomatoes, corn on the cob, beans and potatoes, gravy and fresh fried chicken that she taken from the back yard earlier that day. she also had fresh made yeast rolls that would melt in your mouth. For dessert we had peach cobbler, and homemade ice cream.

I was so stuffed after supper I could barley move, grandma, grandpa and I had a great time looking at old pictures and talking about old times; but it was about time for me to start back to town. Just then grandpa said "Son lets take a trip down to the old fishing pond, on the back twenty. I have fixed it up real nice, I planted some peach tree, apple trees and cherry trees down there to give shade and put off fruit. I also took the Ford N9 and leveled around the edges and put a couple of horseshoe pits in. There is picnic table and chairs around the pond now so that we can hold our family reunions there and the kids can fish and swim."

It was getting late but I agreed to go see the old pond with him. He grabbed his hat and gave gramma a kiss on the check as we walked out the door. We had just started down the trail when he turned and said "Wait let me get a five gallon bucket and we will pick you some apples and peaches to take home with you."

With bucket in hand we head down to the pond as we started up the hill grampa stopped and told me to be quiet and we listened for a bit. We could here voices, giggles and laughing coming from the other side of the hill. We started back up the hill as the commotion got louder and as we topped the hill, down in the pond was six or seven young women in their twenties skinny dipping and having a grand old time.

My grandfather made our presence know and when he did those young ladies headed to the deep end of the pond. One of the girls yelled at us that they were not coming out of the water because their clothes were on the bank and they had no swim suites.

My grandfather didn't miss a beat he said "Now ladies me and the boy didn't come down here to tell you all to get out of my pond. We didn't come down here to spy on you skinny dipping." He just held that five gallon bucket up and said. "ME AND THE BOY JUST COME DOWN TO FEED OUR PET ALLIGATOR!"

God I love my Grandpa.

I just posted a comment on an article and then joked about being old. But the truth is as the saying goes " age is just a number" or the other one "you are only as old as you feel". I like the last one because in a week I can be all different ages.

Monday.. 13 -grumbling about having to get up and go to school ( oops work, I mean)

Tuesday.. 18-full of myself and raring to go

Wednesday..22-impatient for the weekend to come around

Thursday..28 -efficient and taking care of business

Friday..35-a little tired but still enough stamina to go out that night and play

Saturday..50-got all the household chores done, wouldn't mind having friends over

Sunday..too old and wondering why I was not wise enough to get more rest

"You need to act your age" is what a friend (well she was then) told me a few days ago. Why? Because I was in the backyard with my granddaughter turning cartwheels. At my age I am thrilled that I can still do that. I do not consider it childish or embarrassing that I can still do some of those kind of things instead I am grateful.

I have been dragged kicking and screaming through my forties and now being well into my fifties I do not intend to age gracefully. I intend to enjoy every moment . They say with age comes wisdom. I think that is true.
For example I now have the wisdom to be my own person, to accept people as they are not what I wish them to be, to not care what other people think of my choice of lifestyle or life partner, and I have learned how to forgive not only myself but those around me who make mistakes.

Speaking of mistakes I certainly have made my share but I hope I learned from them ( at least the important ones)
and I try to not make the same ones twice but at my age who can remember them all? Also a few of those mistakes turn out to be some really good memories. One of my biggest mistakes was back in 1969 when I .......oh can't tell that story here but trust me it was a doozy.

But back to the question of age. How old am I? 57 and proud of it. I have earned every gray hair that I hide with color.
Sometimes the body aches but the spirit soars. Long hot baths and a few wise choices of diet and exercises go along way to helping my body keep up with me. As well as a few vices because after all why live if all you do is exist.

So next year on the fourth of July when the family cookout is once again at my house, because the young ones in the group say it is more fun there, I will in the backyard right in the middle of the bottle rocket war and loving every minute
if the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise.

Let me end with the words I have hanging on my refrigerator door:

It takes a long time to become young.........Pablo Picasso
The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.......Lucille Ball
How old would you be if you didn't know old you were?.....Sacthel Paige
A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams.....John Barrymore
There is no pleasure worth forgoing just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward... John Mortimer
It is not the years in your life, but the life in your years that counts....Adlai Stevenson

and I saved my favorite for last

Live every day as if it were your last, because one of these days you will be right......unknown

It is a proven fact that laughing will make you feel better both mentally and physically. So my goal is to put some laughter in your day as well as exercise your brain. Today I am going to ask you some questions. All answers should be voted on by degree of humor.

1. If you have sex with a prostitute against her will is it rape or shoplifting?

2. Can you cry underwater?

3.Why is "phonics " not spelled the way it sounds?

4. If you have to put your two cents in but your thoughts are only worth a penny, where's that extra penny going to?

5.Once you are in heaven, are you stuck for eternity wearing what you were buried in?

6.Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

7.What disease did cured ham have?

8.How is it that we put a man on the moon before we figured out it was a good idea to put wheeels on luggage?

9.Why do we say "I slept like a baby" when babies wake up every two hours.

10.If a deaf person goes to court is it still called a hearing?

11.Why is an actor IN a movie but ON tv?

12.Why do people pay to go to the top of a tall building just to put money in giant binoculars yo see things on the ground?

13.Why do doctors leave the room while you change if they are going to see you naked anyway?

14.Why is "bra" singular and "panties" plural?

15.Why do toasters have a setting that will burn bread to a crisp that no human being would eat anyway?

16.If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares why is there a stupid song about him?

17.If the Professor on Gilligan's island could make a radio out of a coconut why couldn't he fix the hole in the boat?

18. Why does Goofy stand erect and Pluto stays on all fours aren't they both dogs?

19.If Wile E. Coyote had the money to order all that Acme crap why didn't he just buy dinner?

20. If corn oil is made from corn and vegetable oil is made from vegetables where does baby oil come from?

21.If electricity is comes from electrons does morality come from morons?

22.Do the Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the Alphabet song have the same tune?

23.Why did you just try singing or humming those two songs from the last question?

24.Why do they call it an asteroid when it comes from outside of the hemisphere but call it a hemorrhoid when it is in your butt?

25.Did you ever notice dogs hate for you to blow in their face but when in a car they want to stick their head out the window?

26.Why do we press harder on the remote buttons when we know the batteries are dying?

27.Why does day break but night falls?

28.Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

29.Why does Superman stand there and take a bullet in the chest but duck if they throw the gun at him?

30.Why do you believe someone if they tell you there are four billion stars but check when they tell you the paint is still wet?

31.Why do they use sterilized needles for a lethal injection?

32. Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

33. Whose idea was it to put the "s" in the word lisp?

34. If quizzes are quizzical what are test?

35.Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator as if something new to eat will have materialized since the last time they looked?

36.How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light fixtures?

37.If God dropped acid would he see people?

38. If a word is misspelled in the dictionary how would we know?

39.Why do we say out of whack, what is a whack?

40.If your bird sees you reading the newspaper does he wonder why you are just sitting there staring at the carpet?

THE FLAWS BEHIND OVERCONFIDENCE

I'm through with menopause. Finished. Whew. I had surgically induced menopause ten years ago at age 35. I could not wait for my girl guts to be removed. They had caused me nothing but time, trouble and pain since the advent of my period or as it was once called, aptly for me, the curse.

I knew there were myths about 'the change'. I remember my Grandma and aunts talking about it. I thought we had become more enlightened. It’s the 21st century. I thought that as women we were a sisterhood, we communicated better, had more answers, shared and didn't keep secrets. I was WRONG!!!

Oh, there are lots of cute little jokes about hot flashes or power surges. Night sweats, hair loss and hair growth, skin changes and incontinence. Newsflash! These are just the tip of the iceberg and your post-menopausal friends are hiding the dark secrets of menopause from you. They're hiding their sadistic glee at watching you go through it, this is one of the symptoms.

Hot flashes: Sounds kind of harmless. Heat. Flash. A momentary feeling of being of overheated. Not! A hot flash is walking into 4x4 room with kiln wearing a fur coat while having heart palpitations, the door slamming behind you. Your skin feels like you feel asleep during a heat wave in Death Valley. This can last for several minutes, but it only seems like hours. Oh, and it can happen several times a day. Power surge my ass.

Night sweats: Closer to being apt. However you don't wake up in the morning with damp pajamas and say "Oh my, I must have become a little overheated whilst the sandman was here." Nay, nay. You will wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. You'll think you have suddenly developed malaria. Your light sleeping t-shirt is so wet you could wring it out and water your houseplants. Your hair is plastered to your skin. You are sticky and clammy as are your sheets and your pillow. You dry off, change and cool off, somewhat refreshed. Weary, bleary and confused you return to your slumber. Get your rest! It could happen again. Tonight.

Hair loss/Hair growth: Now gray hair isn't the only issue to be concerned about, the hair can begin to thin OR there is hair loss, on your head! Male pattern baldness (sexist, I know), the color starts to fade. The curtains no longer match the rug. Sometimes. Many women lose hair and gray "down there" as well. Have you had a woman "friend" mention this. Pffft. Then, yes it gets worse. Hair growth. Oh sure, make jokes about the poor guy whose eyebrows, nose hair and ear hair have grown out like kudzu. But be careful. Karma may bite you in the butt. Some men look great with a mustache. Women...not so much. I now have one. On one side. Sparse. But it's there. Bleach products have the effect of battery acid on my face, but feel free to try that. Plucking works, but it is hard to see in the mirror when you're crying. Electrolysis or laser is an option if you have a college fund for your child you want to dip into. I use a razor. Then...you have the wild hairs. We're talking about hair that could be harvested and used in the brushes used to clean barbeques. I have five on my chin and neck. Black as the ace of spades on my fair, aging skin. And nobody tells you about the gray, yes gray, and black hairs that appear around your nipples. Woo hoo! I didn't groom this much when I was twenty. Tweezers are my friend, they are not a tool, an instrument or some kind of handy plucking device. They are literally, my friend.

Skin changes: In the best of times, my skin was never great. After menopause, well some may blame it on aging, BUT remember I went through this at 35. Brown spots. Thickening. Glow? Brightness? Smooth and elastic? Yes! I buy Dutch Boy semi-gloss in nude peach and roll it on everyday. Delightful. Fills in pores and wrinkles, covers spots, evens out skin tone and gives you that youthful glow. Plus you can buy it by the gallon! Oh, and your neck. Remember in grade school when you would take your Elmer's glue and spread a thin coat on your hand and watch it dry and get crinkly and kind of like snake skin. Yeah, well that's what your neck will look like. And there's nothing you can do about it. Deal with it.

Incontinence: You thought you experienced this when you were pregnant. You were told to do Kegels and work those muscles and whip everything back into shape. Well, that is a lie perpetuated by the Kegel Foundation. You're going to work those muscles all right. Holding it in. This particular 'symptom' can develop into a real handicap. You actually have to stop and consider whether you want to sneeze, cough, stand-up, drink coffee - or anything, laugh, fart, bend over, I could go on. Who can control all of that and their bladder? I defy you to do it. Go ahead. Really. Try.

Being a woman is great. I wouldn't have it any other way. I just think it's time for someone to speak up and get these issues out in the open. No more cover-ups. No more illusions. We can handle it. Information is POWER! Sweaty broads with hairy chins UNITE!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to change my underwear. Damned allergies.

They sound the same but they are spelled differently and mean different things. They also confuse the hell out of people and sometimes it's just plain funny.

Homonyms are words that are identical to other words in spelling or pronunciation, or both, while differing from them in meaning and usually in origin. Or something like that.

Mainly, they can befuddle and frustrate. There are some very common ones seen everyday on Newsvine and elsewhere. They are fun to play with in puns and jokes. Here is an idiotic example:

Joe said the little plain landed over their on rode 26. Eye didn't sea it until the toe-truck that picked it up came in too town. I've herd they had engine trouble and landed wear they could, road 26 was the closest thing to a runway. Joe said he saw the hole thing plane as day, he was sure a crash was coming, but their was know place fore them to go. He said that pilot was doing sum quick thinking, people could have been killed or worse.

There, they're and there are commonly misunderstood or misused. One I see a lot is lose and loose. Sometimes a person can be described as a "loose cannon". I would wonder about someone who could lose or misplace a cannon.

This is what I saw on a church marquee yesterday - "Find Piece with Christ"

I think we are all guilty of it at one time or another. Will you admit to it? Do you have a favorite?

"To get to the other side" is the classic punch line for this joke, probably the first one any of us ever remember telling.

Can you come up with a better reason why the chicken crossed the road? (Newsviner Stephanie RN's young son says the chicken crossed the road to see its farmer.)

Exactly what chicken is this joke about? What road did she cross? What was on "the other side?" What did she experience as she crossed the road?

Can you explain why this joke has endured!?

And why, when I search clip art for "chicken," do I get images of roosters but no chickens!?

Knock. Knock.

Who's there?

Norma Lee

Norma Lee who?

Norma Lee I don't knock on doors asking for jokes but I've had one of those weeks where I want to knock my head against the wall. I need some giggles.

Knock Knock Jokes are the best and worst jokes ever.

They're timeless.

They're ubiquitous.

They're punny... um, I mean funny.

What are your favorite knock knock jokes?

Share the good, the bad, the ugly. Just make me laugh, please!

After hanging around the third rock from the sun for 45 years I've come to a few conclusions about life and the world. Just my opinion of course. Many I really believe to be true. Many are just questions I have that there are probably no good answers to.

My first bra shopping expedition was with my mom. Ah, a milestone for a twelve year old. From the beginning it was a humiliating experience. When mom announced the reason for the outing, dad said "Why the special trip? All you need is a box of Band-aids." Thanks dad.

We went to a small local department store. I made my way to the lingerie section and furtively perused the selection of flimsy 1970s A-cup bras with the requisite pink bow or yellow rose in the center. Why? I thought. NOBODY was ever going to see my bra. EVER.

After making my choices, I slunk to the dressing room to try them on. While struggling with the mechanics of putting on my first bra, a femalevoice came through the curtain, "Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes," I mumbled. Then the saleslady pulled back the curtain! Are you joking! I'm in a bra! With a pink bow! Already my illusions are shattered. Does this happen to everyone? I turned and covered myself. Now I would have to get the one with the yellow rose.

We purchased two bras that day. I could not look the saleslady in the eye. I knew there would be a photo of me in the next day's paper, 'Budding Pre-Teen Gets First Bra'. She and mom were actually talking about bras. Out loud. In public. Bras, bras, bras. My horror and shame knew no bounds.

It's been over thirty years and a lot has changed.

Those first bras were white. Period. At the time, for girls there were mainly white bras and bras that were white. Now there are more kinds of bras than rednecks at a NASCAR race. A smorgasbord. Myriad. Legions. Masses. Multitudes. A seemingly innumerable selection of fabric and wire breast supports.

And I can't find one that fits. Seriously.

I don't wear an A-cup anymore. Or B. I decided to search the internet for information on how to measure myself for the perfect bra fit.

After visiting several websites I discovered there was a general consensus regarding bra fit and measurement. Great! This was going to be a walk in the park! With bra-fitting wisdom in had, I got my trusty measuring tape out of the sewing box and retired to my bedroom, confident in the knowledge that in minutes I would emerge bearing the elusive combination of letters and numbers that would set my breasts free by properly confining them.

According to the instructions, the first step to finding your correct size is finding your band width. Begin by wearing your best fitting bra. Measure directly under your bust (gently but firmly),expelling air as you do so, you want the measurement to be as small as possible.

Now, if you are sagging in this bra (duh), tighten the straps until the crest of your breasts are approximately half-way between the elbows and shoulder. This is the proper alignment for most breasts (most breasts?), at the same time making sure the tape is level all the way around your body and parallel to the floor. This is critical.

Well, my breastage is so saggy that using the straps on my bra and lifting for proper alignment would be akin to using dental floss to hang a chandelier. My solution was to stand on my head. I nearly suffocated. Then I fell over, cracked my knee on the nightstand and knocked over a lamp. You had to be there. Or not. I decided to do it their way.

So, per instructions, when you take this measurement, round to the closest whole inch, either up or down. For example 29 3/8" would be 30", 30 5/8" would be 31", BUT because band sizes are in even numbers, you must add 4 inches if you have and even number and 5 inches if you have an odd number.

This is when you realized there is a real possibility that alge(bra) can be used in real life.

This process took approximately one hour and ten minutes. I took a nap.

Another method for finding your band sized is to measure around your body, straight across your back and chest, directly above the bust at underarm level. Again, expel air, and keep the tape measure parallel to the floor. Do your best! If this measurement is an odd number, add one inch and the result is your band size. Why didn't I do this in the first place?

This process took about 45 seconds. Had a drink. Or two.

Moving on to cup size. Picture this. Standing straight, with your arms at your sides, measure around your body at the fullest part of your bust. (While wearing the aforementioned crappy bra that doesn't fit). Again, with your bust apex being midway between your elbow and shoulder. How, you ask, do you measure your boobage while you have your arms at your sides? Duct tape. Take a strip of duct tape six to inch inches long and affix it to the center of your measuring tape, then attach it to your back at the bra closure. Level, of course. Bring each end of the measuring tape around to the front and place them in your mouth. With your elbows firmly at your sides, reach up with your hands, (in the manner of a seal) and grab an end of the tape with each hand. Do you follow? Measure across the bustine with the tape just touching, but not binding. Round the resulting measurement up or down to the nearest inch as you did to find the band size.

Now, after I ripped the duct tape off my back, I got my pencil and index card. Per my instructions, I subtracted the band sized measurement from the second measurement, this would give me my cup size. For example, 38" minus 34" would equal a D cup. What could be easier? A cup for every inch. Or is it an inch for every cup?

So, I discovered I am a 36DD not a 42Long. It took only one day, and ice pack, duct tape, a lampshade, three ibuprofen, and half a...well it took some vodka.

The next morning I woke up refreshed and excited, albeit with a slight limp. I prepared to journey to my favorite department store. I put my dingy ill-fitting bra on for the last time and hit the road. The index card with the magical code grasped tightly in my hand. I would soon acquire beautiful, lacy, smooth comfortable bras. I would emerge from the mall, giddy and triumphant!

I arrived at the store and hustled right to the lingerie department and made a beeline for the bras. The choices! I picked out four bras almost immediately. I found a sales person to let me into a dressing room. Normally I detest trying on clothes, particularly bras, not today! This was going to be a revelation!

The first one I tried on seemed a little tight at the apex. Aha, I said to myself, I forgot to bend over and do the ta-ta tango. This is where you lean over and sort of jiggle and settle the girls into the cups and then stand up and pull the straps over your shoulders. So I did. I look in the mirror and discover that I have muffin boob on the left side. Not good. Obviously this is a defective bra. It happens.

Bra number two made me looks as though I was wearing one of those bullet bras from the 50's. The pointy cone ones. I picture Ann-Margret in a tight sweater dancing in an Elvis movie. It looked good on HER. Back THEN. Madonna revived this look. It didn't look good on HER. EVER.

The third one squinched my chest in such a way that it looked like I had four breasts. While in theory the idea of four of them would be nirvana in the opinion of some men, it was decidedly not appealing to me. My eyes began to sting.

I didn't try the fourth one one.

I left the dressing room. Deflated. The sales person asked me if any of the bras worked for me.

"Not really", I said.

"I'm sorry. Would you like me to measure you? Perhaps you're not choosing the right size. You know, sometimes bra fit varies from brand to brand."

"Really? I was kind of hoping for a perfect fit." My knee started to throb. I handed her the bras and headed for the exit.

As I hobbled to the car, crumpling the index card with my carefully written measurements, I wondered if there was any vodka left.