Hoss Bitches, Then Bows

I'm back in the Old Folks' Home where I sent myself to die. I'm beginning to get the hang of it.

Spent 3 days in the hospital with Brain Dead Disease. You get that when they tell you to quit smoking, and you don't. So now I've had lung disease, heart attack, prostate cancer, ruptured appendix. I'm probably due for hangnail.

I wish I could get one of them Hollywood diseases. Lou Gerhig's, paralysis, alcoholism, idiot savant -- all good movies. Maybe a slow motion tour of the colon?

I'd sure like to make a pile before I pass.

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I want you to know that during my stay in the lungery I didn't once appeal to Big Ernie for help. I suppose there's room for a God in the world; has to be, since there's so many of 'em -- like, Lord, Allah, Ra, Yaweh, Homey.

And He/She did a pretty good job on some stuff, like the Ten Commandments. Coulda been more, I suppose, like "Don't mess with Texas." But I think Moses hisself chiseled out those do's and don'ts. See, he was a scrawny little guy and didn't think the followers would take to commandments from a wimp. So he made up this God fig newton.

One of the commandments says there oughta be no killing. As you know, that was a loser right from the start. In Ireland, Protestants and Catholics killing each other In.The.Name.Of.Religion. Mideast, Arabs killing In.The.Name.Of.Religion. Nothing new there.

What kind of career choice is "suicide bomber?" "Well, Bob, you don't have to work much." They ought to get 'em an Ebola franchise for all the good they're doing.

HOWEVER, there just might be a God thing, so I'm willing to play along in hopes of finally making my pile. What I'm proposing to God is to develop his "Ignore List." I would tell him the kinds of people whose prayers He can safely ignore. This would be people like The Newly Rejected Lover, The Guy Who's Going to Die Tomorrow Anyway, Greedy Old Bastards Who Don't Tithe -- you get the picture. Then God would get a lot of time off to work on his nine-iron.

I wouldn't ask for much. Maybe a couple of streets paved with gold.

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This is Ol' Hoss's swan song as a blogger, sad to say. I'm too sick to continue, but not in immediate danger of having to cash in my gold streets. I'm going to continue to read your stuff, so you might be hearing from me.

You who have been reading the sometimes-true stories of Hoss have been very kind. Thank you.