March 12, 2013
February 20, 2013
Now I am confused, Toyota has a commercial out that says “this is Toyota Truck Month” which is okay, I suppose. But just the other day, I see one that explains that “February is Ford Truck Month.” So we either have two auto manufacturers that are clearly outta whack, or it could be that the Japanese are just copying our products again.
Here is something else to add to the mix.
Each time that Chevy truck commercial comes on where they hook the truck to a tree stump with this massive chain and rip the stump out of the ground. Well, I just sort of smile to myself. This is because I remember Earl and Wally, who in their profound wisdom did the very same thing, with a somewhat different twist.
Earl, in an effort to appease his wife, agreed to pull some shrubs on the front of the house. He called Wally and he came over. They positioned their trusty 4-wheel drive pickup on the front lawn and hooked cable around some huge bushes in front of the house. During this preparatory cabling, they consumed several beers in the process.
After insuring that the bushes were properly wired up, and being as they were more or less, oiled or gassed up to some extent, they decided that a “whole lot of digging around the root system of the bushes” wasn’t all that critical or necessary. Jumping into their trusty steed idling on the lawn, Earl reached down and deftly put the truck in 4-wheel drive (just like on the commercials by gawd) and engaged the throttle for all it was worth.
Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvroooooom! Ka-pow, ka-chink, ka-thunk.
The bushes stood their ground, as if they were completely oblivious of what was going on. Earl’s truck however did not fare so well, they ripped out the transfer case on the 4-wheel drive to the tune of some $6,500.00 Now as you sit there and digest that, make a mental picture of it all, I will try to illustrate to you in words, the time they were both driving in Wally’s car, just below the dam at Lake Hefner. Coming home from the Red Dog Saloon in Wally’s Chevy two-door sedan.
Late at night, when all of a sudden out of nowhere, this big buck ran across the road in front of them, and they hit it. Stumbling around in the dark, they locate the animal, in their somewhat inebriated condition decide that it is dead. This is when Wally gets the great idea that “we can take it home, hang it up in the garage, butcher it and we will have venison” for everybody.
As they drag the animal back to the car there is a lively discussion that ensues on Barbecue etiquette and who not to invite. Plans are made, agenda’s set, it is on … This Saturday Night!
They open the door of the car and after a little time, they finally get the animal into the vehicle and into the backseat. They then get in, and start on down the road to Wally’s house to butcher and field dress the animal. They open their last beer, and as with all good buddies, they split it and one more dead soldier is laid to rest.
This is where the master plan starts to unravel, you see, the buck is not dead.
It was merely unconscious from the blow it received from the automobile. It awakens and comes to life, in the backseat of the Chevy 2-door and it is definitely not a happy camper. At this time, Earl and Wally, figuring discretion is the better part of valor, exit the car and for the next ten to fifteen minutes, watch as the deer (and his rack of antlers) manages to destroy the interior of Wally’s car. It rips up the seats, the headliner, just about anything it comes in contact with, until finally it extracts itself from the automobile. One trashed car, no barbecue and no deer jerky.
Well, there is the bottom of the page rolling up, I see it is time for me to close.
Next time I will share with you how this dynamic duo, this terrible two-some, decided to go coyote hunting and sat under a tree with this digital tape of a rabbit in a snare (the bait call). Both of them sitting there, in the dark, playing this tape over and over, sippin on their brew. Everything was going just swell … Until this huge owl swooped in to their location out of the dark, homing in on the sound, and put his talons into Wally’s head and they had to take him to the Emergency Room for stitches.
Not really sure if any of this happened during Truck Month, will have to check on that, and get back to you.
February 11, 2013
The Roach Coach as some of the guys used to call it.
Every day about this time of the morning, it would show up with its tantalizing treats, the sugary-delights every Fatboy yearns for in the morning. Do-nuts, Bear claws, those really slippery loaded with sugar items with the raspberry jelly inside. (My mouth begins to water just writing this)
I would always opt for the Egg Salad sandwich and a carton of Chocolate Milk. Some of the other guys would spring for the grease soaked burrito’s and even the occasional Indian Taco.
After purchasing our particular brand of poison at greatly inflated prices, we would walk over to a huge pile of lumber, and there in the sunlight of the morning, eat our treats and take our non-union unauthorized respite. Just a loose knit bunch of guys taking a break from the day.
Our rag-tag collective gathering is not to be confused with the boys down the street. I am not even sure if the food truck stopped there or not, to tell you the truth. I am talking about the boys down the street at the diesel shop, who broke every morning, almost religiously for a fresh cup of coffee as Paul Harvey dispensed his daily take on America from the radio resting in the windowsill on the east wall of the break room.
So, here we are, sitting on the pile of lumber and someone, who I don’t remember, spots this alley cat sauntering down the road, right next to the railroad tracks. He is walking our way, no hurry – no worry, and he looks bad.
He has one eye partially closed, his tail is bent awkwardly to one side, he is missing a patch or two of hair in several places. I don’t know where he has been, who he has been hangin’ with, but this cat, man, he looks pretty bad.
The cat, without so much as giving us a glance, walks on by. He gets a little bit past our collective group, and someone, again I don’t know who, begins to laugh. Soon, the entire group of men sitting on this pile of lumber eating their mid morning snacks are engaged in raucous laughter.
The cat abruptly stops walking.
Slowly it turns around and curiously stares intently at these guys on the pile of lumber, and each one to a man, suddenly stops laughing. You could virtually hear a pin drop, it was that quiet. Satisfied that the humor at his expense is over, the cat turns around and slowly walks off.
At that point, I turn and look at Hal, an Ex-Marine and a burly sort of guy, who could if he wanted to, break you like a piece of dry kindling. I said, “Hey Hal. Why did you stop laughing?” Hal looked at me and replied, “Uh, I dunno. He sort of looked like he meant business, so I thought it was time to shut up.”
Have a great day today, go out into the world and put your best foot forward. And please check yourself in the mirror at the house before you go out … Appearance is what it is all about y’know.
February 9, 2013
Recently I noted that someone who writes a daily “grammar blog” has come on board for a following/subscription to this blog. This of course worries me, I am a grammar blog writer’s ultimate nightmare. I used to have a university professor that followed me, drove her nuts. She nailed me all the time on apostrophe’s, said I put them in the wrong place and was constantly pointing this out. Last I heard, she had gave up and was working a rig in the Balkan Field in North Dakota as a tool pusher.
Let’s talk of Lover’s Day, that magical time of the year, that is quickly approaching.
Soon the WordPress.com media will be full of nothing but happy, sappy, posts about this illegitimate holiday. Time is running out for a lot of guys, Valentine’s Day, that illegal estrogen enriched time of the year sponsored by all the chocolate manufactures and of course, jewelry shops nationwide is now clearly visible on the romantic horizon. A banner day for Hallmark Cards I suppose … and the immediate downfall for the poor sucker who forgets.
Some of these holiday’s are suspect anyway. Did you know that last Friday was “National Wear Red Day?” Well, it was, “If I am lying, I am dying” as my buddy Billy Raye Littler used to say. This month, b’sides Valentine’s Day we also have President’s Day (the 18th) we ought to buy him and the family a one-way ticket to Borneo and give him a carton of Marlboro’s.
But I digress … sorry.
My marriage firmly locked down in the layered bedrock of the planet, established way back years ago, when the earth was still warm, does not require a yearly injection of false admiration and adoration, so I assume I am free. I should be able to slide under the radar, much to the chagrin of some of you other suckers who will not. All I have to do is remember to pick up the seat and I am okay for a month or two on the by-ways of matrimony.
Not a big fan of the holiday, as you can see.
My feelings about Valentine’s Day are mixed. I remember as a small lad, we were required to give Valentine’s cards to all our young classmates in school. The teacher would give us a list of each child in the class, and we were to dutifully fill out a little sentiment and then pass them around on the appointed day. This gesture was to be seen as goodwill and friendship, but in reality, quite cruel to the kids who were an exception to the rule, and received no cards whatsoever.
I never cared for it.
Most of the time, the man is going to “get something for himself” and then pimp it off as a gift for her. Box of chocolates, something racy and sweet, from Fredrick’s of Hollywood (for himself). Now when you are secure in your relationship, you do not have to spring for these things.
One of the readily apparent benefits of a libido in retreat and being older, is the fact that at our age a trip to the Catfish Cabin, some shrimp, a short well timed visit to the Salad Bar and later, some bread pudding and you are set.
I would even venture that both would cost about the same in the end.
In my younger days, being the sleeze-ball that I am, I would have opted for this new thing on the market … The C-string. Have you seen one? Here is a photo sampling for your perusal and a live demonstration. This would not be suitable for showing at work, so check the room first.
As you can see, this clearly leaves little to the imagination and is a testament to the female form.
Here is a working example of a C-string on some lovely, I would assume it is Mexican Television, it sure would not be aired here in the U.S.A. even Fox would not touch that (pardon the pun).
Clearly this is not a gift for the older audience but for the younger set. Most of us who read this site, would be just as happy with a new toaster over. I don’t know where the chocolate would fit in, but then again, it is the thought that counts. Best get busy and do some shoppin boys, time is running short.
Please remember, “do not go overboard.”
Possibly Related: Here is a lighter look at the subject of love, Timber Wear from a few years back.
January 30, 2013
REACH OUT AND BUG SOMEONE: Went to the telephone store yesterday. I look at the kid and say, “My telephone bill is five dollars high this month, can you tell me what is going on?” he says, “Let me see your bill.” I say to him, “they don’t send me a bill, they do it all electronically.”
So we walk over to the computer and I give him all of my identification and the name of my first born male child, we are off and running. He says to me “Here it is. You had 12 photographs at .50 cent each.”
Now as our kid is really proud of his kids, and sends pictures of the youngest standing next to a trash can all of the time. Some months ago, I had this feature disabled on my phone (along with text messaging at the same time) or at least I thought I had this covered. I am not supposed to get photo’s or text, I am just supposed to get telephone calls for new storm windows, carports, septic tank pumping, miracle weight loss cures, stuff like that.
I tell him this, the nice kid, who still has lipstick on his cheek where his mother kissed him good-bye this morning.
He offers me nothing. So I say to him, “I never got any pictures, this has to be a mistake.” He says, “Let me see your phone” and he looks for the pictures that I received that are clearly not there, and this shrugs his shoulders and says, “Must be some kind of glitch.” He removes the charge and gives me a credit, which doesn’t really put anything back in my bank account, so we may or may not be done with this issue, I am not sure.
I then ask him, “How about these junk telephone calls, am I being charged for them?” and he says, “No.” I ask him, “so I am not charged for them even if they leave a message on my voice mail?” He says, “Oh that is different. If you open your voice mail and listen to the message, then you are charged for the call.”
Hmmmmm, “this means, that I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t, wouldn’t you say?”
He smiles, and says … “Yes sir. That is about it.” Nice kid, most likely will be some kind of politician one of these days.
FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES: I live in what they call a “Fly Over State” and see a lot of aircraft in the sky. Have you ever wondered how many airliner’s are flying above this country at any one given time? The numbers are clearly amazing, it would astound you. I often look up at see the contrails in the sky and wonder where it is they are going and why so many of them are up there. Here is a link, you can check it out for yourself.
The technology of this site amazes me. Lot of interesting data can be found. I clicked on one that said it was Air Force One and I found a shot of Mr. Obama’s aircraft on its first pass over Texas, you can see it here.
EIGHTY-NINE CENT PIE: We are at the Root N Scoot, I have to buy my lottery tickets for the game on Tuesday. I don’t want to be stinkin’ rich … but I would not mind smelling bad. Anyway, this gal, all decked out to the nines in jewelry and stuff, bling-bling (I don’t know if it is real or fake, but it looks nice) walks up to the counter, lays down a .89 cent pastry. No big thing, right? Then she pulls out a credit card and pays for the pastry with the card. Now here is the rub, she walks outside and get into a Lexus SUV. What is wrong with this picture Boys n Girls? Sort of like this thing one of our readers sent to me this week:
This is kind of hard to read, here is what it says: “A woman said she noticed her purse missing from her car just before 5P.M. Sunday. The car was parked at her residence on Hornet Drive. The woman said the car had been locked, and her purse was in the back seat. the purse was valued at $400, the wallet was valued at $200, and cash in the purse was reported to be $800. Also missing were the woman’s Food Stamp Cards.”
Kind of brings a tear to your eyes, doesn’t it.
ALL TANKED UP: Subject: New gasoline coming to your gas station. Folks pay real good attention to this one. Those friendly folks at the EPA (which stands for Exxon Prostitutes, whores and a**holes) all those unelected buddies, we have in the government have come up with a new wrinkle to get you out of your car. Watch this video about E15 gas if you have a car older than 2012. There is a link to the story on Fox News, but if you go to that link, surprisingly the video and information is “missing.” Hmmmmmm? Over on Utube you can find it all.
This move by the oil companies and the government together is in your best interests. You see as we all slowly digress to a nation that produces nothing but debt, if we do not have an ample supply of doctored up gasoline (which insures our sucking off the petroleum tit for the next 100 years easily) we will not be able to deliver pizza’s to each other and get them to the house while they are still warm.
Is this statuetory rape? Or is it just a moosedemeanor?
(Stop laughing! This is serious.)
Now I am off to the tireshop. They put four new tires on my car last month to the tune of almost $700 and the right-front will not hold air for some reason. I just can hear it now … “Have you been running your car with the ignition turned on? This could affect the outcome of your final billing Mr. Smith.”
January 22, 2013
You know, dinosaurs really bug me. How do they know what a dinosaur looks like? I see all these pictures of them, and it is nice how they dress them out, with skin color and different pigments. But here it is in a nutshell … No one ever saw a dinosaur except for maybe God. So what makes anyone think they know what they looked like? I am a huge supporter of National Geographic and all that, but puh-leeze, give us a break.
There were no Kodak Moments in our world some millions of years ago, no one took a photo of one, nothing was ever found scratched on a cave wall somewhere. So how do they really know what they looked like? From some very old fossilized bones, bleached white, dug up from the soil in North Dakota?
Now I understand that Louisiana is going to actually start teaching kids about dinosaurs and telling them ludicrous things like “they really lived and walked on the face of the earth” this I believe is called “Creationism” or something like that. What is this world coming to?
It’s thought engaging material like this, that brings people to this site over and over. And you get comments too! “You are so cool! I do not suppose I’ve read something like this before. So great to find somebody with a few original thoughts on this subject. Seriously.. thanks for starting this up. This website is something that is required on the web, someone with a bit of originality!”
Then of course, there is reality.
People do this all of the time, they post “nice comments” on the wrong site, but in this Facebook/Twitter day and age … I will take anything I can get. Sort of like Tom Cruise, whatever is available, give it to me, I will make it work.
So this morning I am in the kitchen and I am reading this new book that was sent to me by the U.S. Government from their current best seller list. It is entitled “You and Medicare.” It is a complete current compendium of everything that an old geezer like myself needs to know about medical procedures and treatments available to me.
Leafing thru this 140 page document (which is most likely thinner than ANY U.S. Government document thank heavens), I see or note several items that I am sure I have. So dutifully I turn to page #127 where they say information can be found.
Right there I spot my answer … “Please dial 1-800-344-7788 and order your box.”
For instance: Did you know the five worst mass killings in this country have a common thread. (Hint #1: they don’t belong to the NRA)
- Ft Hood … Registered Democrat ~ Muslim
- Columbine …Too young to vote; both families were registered Democrats and progressive liberals
- Virginia Tech … Wrote hate mail to President Bush and to his staff ~ Registered Democrat
- Colorado Theater … Registered Democrat; staff worker on the Obama campaign; Occupy Wall Street participant; progressive liberal
- Connecticut School Shooter … Registered Democrat; hated Christians.
This would lead a person to believe that the common thread is that all of these shooters were progressive liberal Democrats. Which is “labeling a particular group of people” and should be by all means avoided. This will get the American Civil Liberties people involved, and we all know where it will go then, don’t we?
It would be better to say that “all of them shopped at WalMart” or something like that.
Also, of the worst killings in the last several decades, only one was a female, all the rest were boys, barely men, and none of them had a strong male father or role model in the household. Their role models most likely were rappers, action movies, comics and violent video games. Our problem isn’t weapons, it’s boys without boundaries. Who live in ‘progressive’ households.
So our options are clearly defined here today.
First we should stop all of this non-sense about the color of the eyes of a Transoraus-Rex, because no one ever saw one, and if you did, that is the least of your worries. Second, we must remove all Progressive Liberal Democrats from our society along with teenage boys … Then I suppose, we will all be in much better shape, unless you happen to live in Louisiana?
Tomorrow our subject matter will be sperm. Is it good for you? Will it help put some shine in your hair, does it really have protein? This is on the heels of our last far reaching expose on “Pubic Hair … Where did it go?” And of course a adventure to our favorite porn site which can be found at http://www.youporn.com/watch/Wife shows hubby a good time in the ….. hey wait a minute, this is the wrong place for that information, that is our other site we run under a fictitious name out of Bosnia …. sorry. What could I possibly been thinking?
Just remember this …
Now I am off to check and see who has been Fresh Pressed here lately and I just somehow know it will not have been me. *
* Cartoons courtesy of American Progress Online. If you are a Progressive Liberal anything, Muslim, teenager, or a card carrying member of the ACLU who shops at WalMart, don’t send me any emails, the box is full.
January 19, 2013
December 8, 2012
November 29, 2012
“In the spirit of Judy Garland we could all collectively wish upon a star and try and change our destinies. When you wish upon a star, it makes no difference who you are, that kind of deal. “
Perhaps it is time for us, to just think about moving to another planet altogether. We cannot seem to live in peace and harmony on this one, we have done so much ecological damage to it now, it most likely cannot survive. Might be time to colonize Mars.
SpaceX founder and billionaire Elon Musk is laying out his plans for a colony on Mars, and they are specific. Musk has already mapped out an approximate number of people he imagines living in the Mars colony (80,000), as well as how much a ticket to Mars might cost–$500,000. This is where you should insert the folks on Jupiter and Saturn are most likely saying … Uh oh, there goes the neighborhood.
It could very well be time for us as a race of people to make decisions and forget about the politicians. In the spirit of Judy Garland we could all collectively wish upon a star and try and change our destinies. When you wish upon a star, it makes no difference who you are, that kind of deal. I remember as a young lad my father told me a fable such as that one night when I was but a small tyke, I still remember lying there in wonder and bewilderment..
It went something like this … He said …. YOUR mother told me that I was to come in here and tell you a fable or a bedtime story.
So pay attention: Once upon a time, a Prince asked a beautiful Princess, “Will you marry me?”
The Princess said, “NO!”
And the Prince lived happily ever after and rode motorcycles and banged skinny long-legged, big breasted broads and hunted and fished and raced cars and went to naked bars and dated women half his age and drank whiskey, beer and Captain Morgan and never heard bitching and never paid child support or alimony and nailed cheerleaders and kept his house and guns and ate Spam and potato chips and beans and blew enormous farts and never got cheated on while he was at work and all his friends and family thought he was cool as hell and he had tons of money in the bank and left the toilet seat up. The End
Then he went into the kitchen for another beer and I was told to go to sleep.
November 27, 2012
It was bound to happen, just a matter of time. My bride walked into the room and unceremoniously announced to no one in particular, “Take me shopping.” So we loaded up in the old truck and drove the six miles to town. She wanted to go to Kohl’s a department store in Yukon, Oklahoma. After parking the truck we walked a short distance to the store, upon entering the store, immediately, she spots a garment (a blouse) hanging on a garment rack.
She walks over to it, feels of it, strokes it, appraises it from every angle, and then looks at me and says, “Whadya think. Its 50% off.” I look at it, it is nice, sheer, almost transparent the tag reads, $17.99 marked down from $36.00. It is kind of blue and green in color, and as I said you can see right thru it, very much MY kind of blouse.
I say to her, “I dunno?” and kind of shrug my shoulders.
We move on, you see I know that I am here to drive the truck, my appraisal or value placed on any item in that store, means nothing. I am now taken to the pots and pans, the stainless steel items that shine in the artificial sunshine of the store, with their clear lexan tops and bright polish. We look at several, again, picking up a cookie pan that will produce almost magically 24 cup cakes, she says to me, “What do you think?” as if my input or opinion really mattered.
I again, “shrug my shoulders and silently wish that I had begged off back at the house when asked to volunteer for this mission.”
Things go well for the next ten minutes or so, and I make it all the way thru housewares without incident. I am now in bath towels and fluffy stuff. Then I see them. Flashlights!
All manner of flashlights, on a rack, silver ones, red ones, blue Flashlights. They are everywhere, so somewhat like a drunken sailor I saunter over to them and I feel them. I admire them. They have little buttons on them and the sign says …. “Try me.”
I look up and all of a sudden, she is nowhere to be seen, I am alone, just me and the Flashlights.
The Christmas muzak blares from the overhead speakers and I am magically transported to another time and another place. Having left my cellphone home on the counter, there is no way I can locate her, and I am certainly not going to go on a search and rescue mission in a department store.
Slowly I gravitate towards the front of the store, the main entrance, and assume a position at the perfume counter. Shifting one side of my body weight to the left shoe, I assume my position, by leaning back slowly into the counter and I check my watch.
The edge of the counter top starts to dig into my back, I shift my weight but another time, and I wonder how long it will be before I hook up with my little parsimonious shopper.
My mind slowly wanders off … Little beads of sweat form on my forehead and they roll down my cheeks and drop onto the Army Green container on the floor. I take my trusty pocket tool, the red one, with the toothpick inside, and gingerly start to loosen one screw on the case, it breaks loose slowly and I feel it give way. The red LED clock slowly clicks downward a second at a time. I must get the access door off, and find a way to the inner core, to the explosive element that ignites the nuclear mass of the bomb itself or the weapon will explode, and all of mankind for five square miles will be toast. The door slowly prys open with final screw and the main access panel is there, with all the wiring intact, which I by-pass and instead, go for the igniter of the weapon itself. The Red LED clock is now getting insanely close to running out, and I am frantic.
I silently wish that I had a flashlight and curse under my breath ….
Then her voices breaks the silence, “Here you are. Are you ready?” I nod my head and she says, “I didn’t find nuthin’ you want to go get some Mexican food?” Like a blind man, she takes my arm and starts to lead me toward the exit of the store. “You didn’t find anything you liked either?”
Again, “I nod my head” and we start out for the front doors.
She again stops at the garment rack, and fingers the blouse, I can tell she really wants the blouse. She pauses a little bit and then says. “Let’s go.” I say “Wait here and I will go get the truck, you won’t have to walk in the cold.” On the way out to the parking lot the north wind takes a sharp bite out of the corner of my eye, and sends a shiver up my spine. I get in the truck and I think to myself, “She never gets it?”
You see I might be sixty-five years old, but my LIbido is still very much in place. I am a man, very much so, and thus, I am stimulated not by emotional things, but by visual items. All she had to do was look at me with those big brown eyes, eyes a guy could get lost in, smile and say, “If you buy me this, I will model it for you without my bra.”
I would have bought it in a Hong Kong second …. Fifty-percent off or not.