March 12, 2013
February 15, 2013
This morning I don’t know how it came about, but I found myself reading the wordpress.com “adulthood” section. This came by way of Fresh Pressed, that mythical area of posted non-sense that continues to baffle me. This morning for instance, I found a webpage that was barely sixty days old, had five posts all total, and in this period of time, just a paltry 47 views. Nothing earth shattering there for sure.
WordPress.com Fresh Pressed is so lame.
So anyway, I click on this one title that intrigued me, whetted my appetite and it took me to “adulthood.” I was surprised to find it was populated mainly by kids, and by this I mean young people. I was expecting to find older folks there, but only one post, was written by someone I would consider older. There were a few posts sprinkled here and there, written by the just turned twenty-five crowd, and a handful of grateful newlywed’s and new mothers, but most of them were under 30.
Which in my world is considered young.
In the United States we have this social phenomenon entitled labeling, we find it necessary to group each generation that comes down the pike into some form we can readily recognize. So we dutifully, like ducks in a row, label each and every one.
People born before 1946 are called - The Greatest Generation. People born between 1946 and 1964 are called - The Baby Boomers. People born between 1965 and 1979 are called - Generation X. And people born between 1980 and 2010 are called - Generation Y.
Why do we call the last group -Generation Y?
It could be the attitude of the youngsters that are associated with this generation … Y should I get a job? Y should I leave home and find my own place? Y should I get a car when I can borrow yours? Y should I clean my room? Y should I wash and iron my own clothes? Y should I buy any food? Y should I do anything when I can get it all for FREE? But perhaps a cartoonist explained it most eloquently below …
The thing I found about this that was so intriguing was the outlook, the hope, all the optimism the youngsters had for life. The attitude that they displayed, as if they had magically, figured it all out (life itself). At one time in my life, I suppose that I too “had it all figured out” and it was more or less cut and dried for me too. But life doesn’t work that way. Doesn’t work that way at all.
You see, man hopes, dreams and schemes, and then God smiles.
That is the way it works. If you want a nice slice of life, read “The Worry Tree” (linked here and below) it kind of sums it up for me.
Have a Great Weekend … We will see all of you on Monday.
The long and short of it this week at Creative Endeavors (what folks are reading):
|Home page / Archives|
|TIME IS RUNNING OUT|
|Bikinis (The reason men are pigs)|
|Eagle Bus Project Files|
|You Don’t Smell Like Flowers (audio)|
|It’s Not Easy Being A Hero|
|Take Your Pick|
|Clear Blue Sky|
|The Worry Tree|
February 5, 2013
Yesterday was a splendid sort of day, temp’s were forgiving and it was a nice day to get outside. I had to do the wheel thing (Friday post) with my truck and there close by is a small park, so I kind of gravitated over there, to sit for awhile and soak it all in. The only pressing concern for the entire day was the wheel installation and three letters with windows on them (bills) to stuff in the box at the post office.
It’s a tough job … but someone has to do it.
One of those rare Oklahoma days where you do not have to concern yourself with the ugliness of the political climate in our country. That special time of the day, when you just know that the telephone isn’t going to ring, why people who send you all these stupid insipid emails are not going to bother you. Folks who when you return the courtesy of a reply, you never hear from them again.
Stuff like that.
I would almost swear I heard a Robin singing, the first one of spring, but I am not sure, my hearing having disappeared a long, long time ago, to rattling freight trains and screeching tight curves and steel on steel. Age will do that, take a little from you a little bit at a time.
Several small children there, a couple of girls and a few boys. The girls are such a treasure, so sweet, so kind, quiet, soft giggles and nice laughs. The boys on the other hand, are loud and raucous, they are suspended almost as if they are Apes swinging from some make believe jungle canopy, diving from the top of anything they can find and they are competing with each other to see who can garner the most injuries or stop just short of killing themselves.
As I watched them intently and studied their every move I heard the words to a quote I had heard a long time, resonate inside my head. I think it was Margaret Mead that said: “It is cruelly arbitrary to put all the play and learning into childhood, all the work into middle age, and all the regrets into old age.” More and more each day that I live, these words seem to carry even more meaning to me.
I thought of my Dad, now long gone, who said to me one day in frustration, “Son, these are the best days of your life, only you don’t know it. Try and get your head out of your ____ and enjoy some of it, before it is gone.” And sadly, how those words were for the most part, wasted on me.
First thing you know, as if it has snuck up on you un-noticed, you find yourself down the road a piece, lost as a goose. You reach that point where the American Dream starts to unravel a little, and the door gets kicked in, and you get a glimpse of what is inside.
Marriage, family, bills, obligations and look out, you are over thirty-five and reaching for the sky.
Mid life catches you chasing the ball, reaching for that impossible goal of to “just get a little bit ahead” but it never seems within reach. Turning and burning, to impress all those folks you think seem to matter, when in reality, they aren’t even thinking about you at all.
Then on to what the call “The Golden Years” that time when all the low hanging fruit on the limb has been picked, and everything that is left, is going to take some energy to reach. That time of life … When at best you will need a ladder to reach what is left on the tree, but you are too tired to walk to the shed to fetch it.
Yesterday, now long gone, was one of those special times in life, when you can finally afford to find time to sit back on a park bench and think about the all “good times” which were always a lot better as you remembered them and not all that tough to endure.
But we all know, it isn’t like that at all.
Super Bowl commercials are popular this week, so here is my pick for the best commercial of the Super Bowl 2013 … It really moved my spirit and I hope it does for you.
Paul Harvey and Dodge.
Thank’s so much for dropping by today, leave us a comment and let us know what YOU are thinking about.
January 29, 2013
Most mornings, I will sit at the table, cup of coffee, blinds open, watching the birds hustle to pick up the food I set out for them the night before. How hard life must be for them and how easy it seems to be for me. I think about a hot shower and how the water stings the back of my neck, long before the sun comes up. Slowly I crank up to meet the new day in my own ritual.
Beside’s the shower, this (sitting at the table) is usually the best place for me, early in the morning, to gather up my thoughts, and think about what it is that I am going to post for the day. On most days, I do not have a clue, as to what it is that I am going to share with you, I have not the faintest hint as to what I might have to freely give you. At times I often find myself, totally lost in the moment and find no chart, no clear concise course to follow.
On some mornings, I share a bowl of oatmeal with a friend and work out my day.
I will think about the first time my granddaughter took her little hand, placed it in mine and together, we walked across the parking lot of the truck-stop to the store. How good it feels to be needed and wanted. What was it that they used to call that feeling … oh yeah … a warm fuzzy. How a four year old will exclaim to anyone within earshot … “This is the bestest day of my life” and mean every word of it.
Other times, I will think about a 12 year old boy I know, who has no friends his age, cannot throw a football, is home schooled, and cannot tell you what 4X8 might be. “57? Uh 64? … 41″ … all good guesses, but not one is even close. Deep inside it bothers me, because I know that not knowing how to spell a simple word like “cookie” at this age, will eventually lead to an emotionally crippled, ignorant teenager, in a very cold unfeeling world later on. I think about his limited options, all the time painfully knowing, I have to be quiet about it, because it is a “family thing.”
Even farther back in the cavities of my mind, I will think of walking to the back of a locomotive, on a chilly winter morning, slowly chugging thru the yard for another cut of cars. Reaching the back of the engine and finding my 47 year old friend Jack, sitting in the stairs, softly crying, because his kid is strung out on methamphetamine, and he doesn’t know what to do about it and I don’t know how to ease his pain. I think of all the times in my own life where I feel so inadequate and used up.
This kind of thinking, often will make me happy and sometimes, it will make me sad. Sometimes I will write about it and most often, I usually pass. You see, most of my choices are limited, some will work out and some will wither up and die on the vine.
My thoughts such as they are, have one common denominator.
This would be that I really don’t have a choice in the matter, I have to work with what it is that I have discovered (within myself) this day. My only options might be a set of headphones to drown out the noise or something like that.
You on the other hand, you have a choice.
You can flip off the page and go somewhere else. You can hit a delete button or escape and you are done. You can report it to wordpress.com moderators as untasteful or profane, objectionable to your good adult standards or morale code. You can ignore it completely.
The clock on the wall clicks off fractions of a day. Often early in the morning, when we sit down to write it and then put it up, another slice of life, a moment in time laid out on the page. Another offering is there for you to savor, relish and enjoy or to shut it down and walk away. Some of it good and some of it not all that great. It is all here, absolutely free. No baggage to take with you, no promises to make or break. And it only cost you a small portion of your time.
At times I think, believe it or not, you have the better part of the deal.
Thanks for stoppin by, as usual the comments section is open, take a shot at it if you wish. Ameliorate the content of the post or just say hello, either one will work.
January 7, 2013
The sun beats down and it is hot, unbearably hot, I swing around and check the mirror. The dust is rising from the roadbed and about half way back the side of the train it sort of just disappears into a brown cloud. The warning bell on the back wall of the cab of the locomotive goes off, and I assume it is the oldest locomotive in the consist, about three back, most likely overheating.
It is going to be a long, hot day on the Oklahoma prairie today, that is for sure. Running thru the small farm town of Crescent, the sign on the bank reads 106* and the sweat runs down the back of my neck into the small of my back and all I can think of is, “hellava way to make a living, I should have went to school.” There is no wind, no relief and the rail in front of me stretches out like a long snake to the horizon and a little beyond. Dust and dirt so thick you could cut it with a knife, and heat that often made you want to lie down and die.
A great many days of my career (such as it was) were spent just like that.
Times such as this are now just a faded memory in my mind, they often still serve to remind me of how hard it was to make a living on some days. I fondly think of walking into the house, the cool air hitting me like a sweet song at the front door. Walking down the hallway and into the kitchen to fetch me a cool beer for the freezer, a soak in a tub full of tepid water and sweet release, after toweling off, a half-frozen beer and some quiet. My reward for making it thru another long day.
This sounds like a plan to me, but it is to no avail.
The wife looks at me and says, “the boy has gotten some more money, he wants to go to the comic book store.” So I say, “Listen, I am tired, it was a long hot trip and I don’t need any comic book store.” She then says, “I have to fix dinner, I was counting on you to do this for me.” Most of the time, it was Mom and the boy, occassionally I would do the duties and drive him around.
At the age of eight or ten, I don’t exactly remember when, the kid started collecting comic books. I don’t mean he started reading them, he started collecting them. We would go to one of many comic book stores and there he would work his magic. He would go thru the stacks of comic books, gather up a handful, walk up to the owner, and at a young age, work the art of the deal.
Sometimes he did well and other times, not so good, but it was interesting watching this youngster doing his thing.
Having done his research beforehand, he would make his decisions. He would make his purchase, and then we would drive home. He would explain to me in great detail the positive aspects of ownership and what each publication had to offer, what made it unique, why it was that it caught his fancy. At home, he would not read them, they were far “too precious and valuable to do that Dad, that would spoil them!” He would gingerly take the books and place them inside a plastic bag and store them away in a box.
This went on for several years, numerous boxes were filled and summarily filed away to the obscurity of a closet or a shelf in the garage. Over the years, he continued to sporadically add to the collection. But after high school, came college, and after college came romance and love, then first thing you know … A family.
Over the years we (his mother and I) sat on the old books and boxes like a mother hen on her brood. We became the caretakers and administrators of the forgotten hobby of youth. One day I finally said, “Load all of ‘em up and take them down to HIS house, I am sick of storing them and moving it all.” So we loaded it all up and took them to HIS house and HE became the caretaker of the project or hobby. Which is only right, he was the creator of it all it to begin with.
Let us fast-forward to the present, the boy, the proverbial baby of the family, the last one outta the chute … will be forty years old on May 18th. Time has a way of slipping by and the years rack up and give new meaning to us all. Coincidentally, that is quite a long time on a comic book collection too.
After delivering the numerous boxes to him down in Houston … I never gave it much thought after that, until recently I had not even considered their existence at all.
Over the holidays they came up for the annual pilgrimage home and during the conversation he looked at his mother and said, “Hey Mom, y’know all those old comic books you saved for me in the boxes?” And his mother replied, “Oh yeah, I remember them, why?”
He smiled real big, and telegraphed the answer almost before he said it, “We put one on E-Bay in an auction and sold it this week.”
She said, “You sold them all on E-Bay?” and he replied, “Naw, just one. We only sold the one comic book, guess what it brought?”
She said, “I dunno, whadya get for it?”
And he said “Five thousand dollars Mom.”
Incredible, one book, I never dreamed of that amount of money for a comic book. Some times life just slaps you upside the head just to get your attention. When I came home from Viet Nam, I asked my mother “Where are all my comic books?” and she answered without so much as looking up by saying …. “They all went to the landfill a long time ago.”
I could have been a millionaire.
December 13, 2012
Joshua one of our grandchildren is seven now. I still remember the day I met him, he was a “preemie” came out of the chute weighing less than a five pound bag of sugar. Real small, I had never saw a baby that small before. But he turned out just fine. He is a handful, great little kid.
The other day I walked into the kitchen, and there he sat, little red head facing down towards the table, feet just off the floor, and I thought to myself, “They grow up so fast. Soon he will be a teenager and we will not have this time with him.”
Oblivious to just about everything in the room, he was deep into his ritual. He was intently hovering over his piece of yellow paper, the kind with the “big lines” on it and I asked him “Josh, what he are you doing?” and he said, “writing a letter to Santa Claus.”
Carefully, unknown to him, I studied him intently. I watched him labor with “his letters” as he refers to them, working diligently with each stroke, with care, with his big #2 pencil, he put his thoughts down on the paper.
Who knows? Possibly for the very first time.
So I slowly walked over to the table and I peered down on the sheet of paper, curious to see what it is that he was so diligently working on and I saw: “Dear Santa, I can save you some time this year, please skip my sister.” So I asked him about that, did he think it was right, did he think it was the “proper thing to do?”
And he didn’t quite have an answer for me.
“Josh, you know about the naughty and nice rule, right?” and he shook his little head and said, “Yes.” Do you think this fits in that area? Naughty or nice? He thought about it for a minute and then said, “I dunno.” So then I said to him, “I can get you off the naughty list, but it costs a buck? You got a buck?” and like a rocket, he shot out of the chair, ran into the TV Room and said to his dad, “Dad, can I have a dollar?”
Lord help us.
And yes, there isn’t anything better in the world than being a registered Grandfather.
Good Decorations Christmas Parody
November 5, 2012
An 8-year-old girl went to her grandfather, who was working in the yard and asked him, “Grampa, what is a couple sex?”
The grandfather was surprised that she would ask such a question, but decided that if she’s old enough to know to ask the question then she’s old enough to get a straight answer.
Steeling himself to leave nothing out, he proceeded to tell her all about human reproduction and the joys and responsibilities that go along with it. When he finished explaining, the little girl was looking at him with her mouth hanging open, eyes wide in amazement.
Seeing the look on her face, the grandfather asked her, “Why did you ask this question, honey?”
The little girl replied, “Well, Grandma says to tell you that dinner will be ready in just a couple secs.”
Of all the hats I wear, I have to admit, the one that says Grandpa is the best. If you didn’t catch the post below this one, scroll down a little ways and find it. Cookie Monster. There is nothing like a kid to make you smile. Here is a link if you should want to view it.
September 11, 2012
Connie is standing there in the aisle of the supermarket, she looks a little frazzled and tired. “How you doin’ neighbor?” I say to her, and she half-way smiles. Noticing that something is visibly wrong, I say to her … “What is up, you look a little bit down in the mount.”
“Oh, I am sorry.” It is Chuck and the kids. ”Y’know sometimes they just run me a little bit ragged.” It all started on Saturday, the six year old, Shellie, she wanted to play “dress up.” So she got her three year old brother Brad to join her, and they were having a high old time together.
Every now and then, she would pull him into the kitchen to show him off and beg another box of juice. It was all quite innocent, and so charming. She had him put on several dresses, and she was adding makeup to him and all, it was all harmless fun. Just two little kids doing their thing on a Saturday afternoon.
So I asked her, “So, what is the problem?”
“Well, Shellie dressed her little brother up in a small tu-tu and some frilly little shoes” and then he prances into the living-room where Chuck was watching the NFL and announced to his Daddy that he was a ballerina!” And then the trouble began.
Which begs the question, “How was your weekend?”
Here is something from all those wonderful people who had their science projects done and turned in on time. Having never watched any sci-fi or horror movies while growing up, scientists are about to drill deep down below a frozen Antarctic lake looking for forgotten life forms. Which is kind of dumb, you want to find “forgotten life forms” just head on over to your local FaceBook page or MyFamily.com
After 16 years of meticulous planning, a team of British scientists is finally ready to journey to a remote, windswept plain in Antarctica, where they will drill deep into the ice to take the first-ever samples from a lake cut off from the sunlit world for up to 1 million years. When they get done with that, maybe they could hop a flight over to China where a river recently turned the color red. No word on the frogs, flies, leeches or why it is Campbell Tomato Soup color.
The British are a fun lot aren’t they?
I understand now that they are considering increasing the excitement level of commercial air travel. Airbus wants to make future airline flights more exciting with catapult takeoffs and steep-dive landings. What is the absolute worst thing you can hear on a commercial air flight? “This is your captain speaking … we are currently flying at an altitude of 48,000 ft, over the Grand Canyon, the outside temperature is -25, and we expect to arrive in Seattle at …. That no good lousy woman, she never loved me! I will show her!”
Here is today’s final note.
A woman has taught her bird to “cuss out her neighbor” and is in hot water because of this. But please consider this at the same time, if you can teach a bird to cuss someone out on command, why can’t we teach these bird-brains in Congress how to budget and cut back on some of this unnecessary spending.
June 16, 2012
Three little words in the English language that can mean a great deal.
I Don’t Know.
I don’t know why girls that are incredibly good looking, get tattoo’s.
I don’t know why they put realistic doorbell sounds in commercials and wake me up.
I don’t know why I have to wait for a green arrow, when there is no traffic approaching.
I don’t know why it is that I bought a bus.
I don’t know how to fix a lot of items on that bus.
I don’t know how a black cow, can eat green grass, and give white milk.
I don’t know why my kids can never buy me a meal, I have fed them all my life.
I don’t know why Ramco wants two-grand for new chrome plated mirrors on my bus.
I don’t know why parts guys can’t give me a straight answer instead of made up stuff.
I don’t know why a kid would pierce his lips, eyes and face.
I don’t know where space starts.
I don’t know where space ends.
I don’t know why a Vegas blackjack dealer seems to always win.
I don’t know why diesel in the ground goes up in price over night.
I don’t know why Viagra works, but then again, who cares?
I don’t know why you can seldom find good information on bus conversion boards.
I don’t know why I make a bet with my wife, when she loses, she never pays up.
I don’t know why cellphones are all that great.
I don’t know why when you drop a tool, it rolls underneath to the exact center of the bus.
If you have ever wondered if your children have brain damage, there is a simple test. When you find them really messing up things and you ask them “Why did you do this?” If they answer “I don’t know.” They have brain damage (by the way, our kids were loaded with it).
I don’t know why I hate DiscoverCard commercials but I do.
I don’t know who invented rap music, but I would like to talk to them about it.
I don’t know who won the war on drugs, but it wasn’t us.
I don’t know why a kid would buy already worn out Levi’s for $150 each.
I don’t know why my wife loves me but she says she does.
I don’t know why it is always MY LANE that is shut down in 1,500 feet.
I don’t know why everyone else won’t let me over.
I don’t know why Dial soap works but I am glad it makes me smell better.
I don’t know why my dad would look at me when I was a young kid, shake his head, and then say to my mother …. I just don’t know about that kid. When I was small, I remember one thing about my Dad. I would ask him a question, something simple like, “Where do Butterflies sleep at night.”
And bless his heart … He would always say … “I don’t know, go ask your Mother.”
Happy Fathers’ Day.
Here is a really good take on it, check it out: Master Of The Dance.
February 21, 2012
Six year old Lucy Magnum emerged from a terrible shark attack with a message of grace. The little girl was boogie-boarding in shallow water off the North Carolina coast when a shark sank its teeth in her leg. Her parents quickly applied pressure to the wound until emergency workers arrived, saving her leg.
After the incident she said “I hate sharks. I like dolphins way better.”
But once her parents explained to her that the shark didn’t know that she was a human and had made a mistake, she changed her mind. “I don’t care that the shark bit me” Lucy said to her mother, “I forgive him.” We can always learn something new from a kid.
Ah the joys of youth. I remember when I used to swim before wet suits, across frozen water, I had to wrap or cover myself with bacon grease, which was really scary, because I never knew if when I did reach the other shore, if there would be wolves waiting there for me.
By the way, “Do you know why a shark will not bite a Lawyer or Politician?”
A new gold standard, after a Taiwanese city offered dog owners who clean up after their pets a new incentive … a ticket to a lottery drawing for every bag of dog poop they turned in. The top three prizes are gold ingots worth up to $2,100.
Which got me to thinking. How about a National Debt Free Lottery?
Here is the deal, you purchase a ticket for say, $5 with the “chance of living in America for one year TAX FREE.” If you win (monthly drawing, 12 winners per year or 24, 36, the possibilities are endless) you receive the right to NOT pay any type of tax” for one year. A game such as this would hold huge appeal to just about every other American and could retire the national debt in short order (perhaps in just a few short years providing we do not wish to enter the Where Is The Next War Sweepstakes our elected leader’s choose to join every now and then).
The return of the American Dream, remember you read it here first. This is do-able a distinct possibility.
Not like recent comments of our President who said, “”Soon the sun will break through the cloud of uncertainty that hangs over our economy.” This guy is so far out of it, they need to pump sunshine into him wherever it is that he is currently residing.
I just love these …. Bad Cop … No do-nut.
British police smashed the windows of a car to save a baby left alone inside. The baby was actually an extremely realistic doll. First time I ever heard about this sort of thing was at a family reunion in the mid sixties, when I was a small lad. My uncle Harvey had one of those, but I don’t think it is was baby model? Anyway my mother said to “not talk about it” that aunt Bernice would take care of it and not to hang around uncle Harvey … Period.
No good huh.
How about this? A fugitive Victor Burgos taunted police on his Facebook page, posting “catch me if you can. I’m in Brooklyn.” Cops quickly tracked down Burgos to an apartment in Brooklyn, where he was sitting a computer with his Facebook page wide open.
Might want to adjust your privacy settings first next time.
Now here is the other end of the gene-pool not so smart file. While at the beach, Daniel Jones, 21, dug an 8 foot hole for protection from the wind and had been sitting in a beach chair at the bottom, when it collapsed, burying him beneath 5 feet of sand. People on the beach used their hands and shovels trying to get him out but could not reach him. It took rescue workers using heavy equipment almost an hour to free him. Jones was pronounced dead at a hospital.
Santiago Alvarado, 24, was killed as he fell through the ceiling of a bicycle shop he was burglarizing. Death was caused when the long flashlight he had placed in his mouth to keep his hands free rammed into the base of his skull as he hit the floor.
We routinely report on folk working two jobs just to get by in these hard times. Recently in Rockaway N.J. A Dunkin’ Donuts sex sting was launched by local authorities. One “working girl” (nice tag huh) was arrested after she was caught selling sex along with Munchkins and coffee. The cops were tuned into it by an anon tip where a person said they could find her offering off the menu items on the night shift.
The cops even gave it a super secret code name operation, they called it “extra sugar.” No wait! Don’t give up, it gets even worse.
During the six week operation (taking their time to bust the offender eh?) police sat and watched “extra sugar” proposition customers via the drive thru feature, and then later on, meet the johns in the parking lot for some curb service. She was finally busted when she provided an undercover cop a with a list of discounted sexual services.”
No report on how many car jacking, robberies, home invasions, assaults, burglaries, or bank robberies in the SIX WEEKS it took to arrest the obviously dangerous felon.
I am going back to the plain do-nut or the Crueler, maybe a few sprinkles, but no more of the creme filled delights for me.
If you are in Germany, it might pay you to watch the words you use to insult someone. If you for instance call someone in traffic a dumb cow, you could face a fine of up to 300 Euros. A stupid pig will cost you up to 500 Euros. Now there are rules for this type of misbehavior.
You stupid pig … is for instance, not allowed when conversing with law enforcement.
You cannot say this or any other unorthodox non-polite thing to a cop, if you do, it could cost you up to 2,000 Euros. Unless you use the the more polite, formal form of “you,” in which case you only pay 200 Euros. There are more, “bull, the stink finger (middle finger, either hand this is still optional), and the use of standard curse words also apply.”
I know that sounds ridiculous, but it true.
Now here in America, we are more civilized and everyone knows we are broke, so things are a little different, well, they are a LOT different. You take my case for instance. I was siting in this little mom and pop joint deep in the heart of Texas and these two guys were talking about Washington D.C. and George Bush, in a most unfavorable way and even tho I have a Constitutional Right to remain silent I felt I had to say something… So I offered up …. “Bush is a horse’s ass!”
About that time, the more larger of the two cowboys got up, and slapped the crap out of me. I quickly apologized and said, “I am sorry. From the gist of the conversation I thought you were not too fond of Bush.”
He then looked at me and said, “Ah shucks. It isn’t that, but this here is horse country pard.”
Now … that … Is priceless.