Paying for the Milky Way Trip

Yesterday I reported how the world was going to end in 5 billion years (give or take a year). Which reminded me I still haven't Made My Pile. For anybody who hasn't been here before, you need to know that Ol' Hoss is mighty innerested in money. I want lots of it. Money is worth its weight in money.

As I have previously penned, I need a bunch of money to pay to have my carcass shipped to the outer fringes when I pass on, which could be any time now, as I am pushing 75. I might maybe aim myself somewhere around Orion or Deneb. See, there might be people there who are really advanced and who could grab hold of me and revive my sorry ass. That would save a lot of reincarnatin' on my part. I think you're only allowed to reincarnate 9 times. (Maybe that's the rule for cats. I don't know, but I don't want to risk it.)

This shipping thing is contingent, of course, on my dying, which -- now that I think of it -- may never happen. Is it so impossible to think that maybe I got the secret of internal life? That I might be the blood and flesh equivalent of the Energizer Bunny?

Well, anyway, on the off-chance that I might actually die and need some dough to pay for carcass shipment, I convened the Inventions Committee of the Old Folks in the Way Home. As usual, we are met to think up some world-beater idea to finance Hoss's trip into the Wild Blue Yonder and Beyonder.

We are discussing a concept thrown my way by my buddy over at Judy's Brag, who suggested I might package and sell "the sweet scent of a new baby." I like the idea, maybe some plug-in gizzy you could foist off on the grandparents so's they'd be so kind as to remember Junior in their will. So the committee convened:

Carolina Sister: "Anybody here remember how new babies smell?"

Fortitude Footloose: "That's an engineering problem. What I wanna know is why baby shit stinks. How do you get rid of athlete's foot? If you cut a corn off, will it grow back? Have you seen these spots on my back? Do you know that Hazel Nutt is sleeping around? Why are all of you sitting around with your mouths open? Flies just love that. And another thing..."

Safely back in my room, I began to curse that damn Judy. Her ears can burn off, for all I care.

How did I get mixed up in this? Hoo boy. I have always voted against baby shit.

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My favorite word today is Damnitall. N., Adj. Biblical. Def.: The disturbing discovery, on awakening, that you are George W. Bush.

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Matey says:

"Even moderation ought not to be practiced to excess."