Hoss Goes Back to Work

The Dubai (Emirates) people are serious about wanting to run a bunch of U.S. ports. And to make sure all the ships get to where they're goin', they have asked to hire Ol' Hoss. I am givin' it some thought, on accounta I need to Make My Pile.

What the Dubais want is for me to paint the longitude lines on the Earth. You can see 'em on the globe you buy at the stationery store, but they don't seem to be imprinted on the Earth itself. And the Dubais are afraid some sappy ship captain (see Exxon Valdez) will get lost at sea because he can't see the lines, so they want me to paint 'em. I think I am going to do it, because one of them runs right through New Orleans, and I have never been there.

Where the longitude lines run through an ocean, I won't be usin' paint. I will just drop in some radiated marshmallows, so they'll glow at night.

The reason I need this job is I don't have long to live and I want to be sure to be remembered in your will, and.... No, that's not it.... I want to be sure to be remembered for my self-sacrifice, so I will need a lot of money for that. The plan is to dig a hole about 12,000 miles deep and throw my body in it and see if the natural processes turn me into oil, or gold.

I have always wanted to be useful.

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The little old lady is in church, and she leans over to the little old man and says, "Honey, I just let a silent fart. What should I do?" And he says, "Get a new battery for your hearing aid."

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My favorite word today is dexterity. N., the ability to be capable. Def.: The lost art of getting the shower water temperature just right.

My Contribution to Epic TV

"Desperate Housewives," huh? Bunch a fornicatin' and no baby-makin'. This is not real world stuff. It is left, then, to Ol' Hoss to straighten out the viewing public with what goes down in the real world. Which I am happy to do, bein' so multi-talented.

The title of my TV show will be (ta da!) "Ordinary Housewives." Now then, as I am not a housewive, I might need some coachin'. So you ladies with the stretch marks can feel free to jump right in anytime I stray from truthdom.

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Act 1, Scene 1

Berniece Hardscrabble has barely gotten to sleep when "Wah wah wah waaaaaa!" is heard from the next room. Gamely she trudges to the baby's side, feels his diaper (dry), and gives him a stiff uppercut. "Night night," she says, "you bastard."

Act 1, Scene 2

Berniece's eyes flutter open as her ears hear the raucous snore of her helpmate, Bubba. She stabs him in the chest.

Act 2, Scene 1

After the coroner has left ("accidental drowning" is the verdict), Berniece cooks breakfast for her three booger-laden kids. None of them eats. "We'll catch a donut and a Coke at the convenience store," says Bubba Jr., who cops a tenner from Mom's purse.

Act 2, Scene 2

Berniece wakes the baby and puts him on the layette to change his diaper. Naturally, he has a woody and sprays her in the face. Finished with that, she looks at the list of her chores for the day (reading her list out loud for the benefit of the visually impaired):

DothedishesDothelaundryMakethebedsVacuum7rooms-
BlogGrabthebabyandgotothegrocerystore.

Act 3, Scene 1

Berniece takes call from the school. Bubba is acting up. Go get Bubba, lecture him and get smart-mouthed. Stabs Bubba in the chest. After the coroner leaves (cause of death: "O.D.ed on whole grains"), Berniece begins to pay the bills. Bills total $3,545. Income totals $3,015. Bills go unpaid because Berniece cannot afford to buy stamps.

Berniece goes in mid-afternoon to the school to take No. 1 daughter to soccer practice and No. 2 son to curling practice. Another six-pack of Mountain Dew goes down the tube. Back home, Berniece PicksupthetoysWaterstheplantsMowsthegrassWaterstheyard
WeedsthegardenPicksupthekidsMakesdinnerDoesthedishes
ArrangesforababysitterGetskidsstartedontheirhomework
GoestoParentsClubmeetingGetselectedchairwomanforcookie
salesGoeshomefindsthebabysitterwithherboy
friendandthekidssurfingporn.

Berniece stabs herself. Cause of death: "ordinariness."

Next Week! Another thrilling episode of "Ordinary Housewives," brought to you by the makers of Prozac and Ritalin.

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My favorite word today is sidestep. Vb., avoiding a banana peel. Def.: Taking evasive action against the sidewalk crazy who wants you to take one of his handbills.

Short Shrift Sunday #16

Cinderella is now 95 years old. After a fulfilling life with the now-dead prince, she happily sits upon her rocking chair, watching the world go by, with a cat named Bob for companionship. One sunny afternoon, the Fairy Godmother appeared.

Cinderella said, "What are you doing here after all these years?"

The Godmother replied, "Cinderella, you have lived an exemplary life since I last saw you. Is there anything for which your heart still yearns?"

Cinderella looked down at her frail body and said, "I wish I were young and full of the beauty I once had." At once her wish became reality. Cinderella felt stirrings inside of her that had been dormant for years.

"Is there anything else?" asked the Godmother.

She said, "I wish for you to transform Bob, my old cat, into a kind and handsome young man."

Magically, Bob underwent so fundamental a change in his biological makeuup that, when he stood before her, he was a man so beautiful the likes of him neither she nor the world had ever seen.

"Congratulations, Cinderella," the Godmother said. "Enjoy your new life." And then she was gone.

Cinderella sat, breathless, gazing at the most beautiful, stunningly perfect man she had ever seen. Bob walked over to Cinderella and held her close in his young, musuclar arms. He leaned in close, and whispered: "Bet you're sorry you neutered me."

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My favorite word today is tantrum. Adj., on a high horse. Def.: A b**g piece that expresses anger with everybody and everything. These are not in great demand.

Short Shrift Saturday #16

More money is being spent today on breast implants and Viagra than on Alzheimer's research. Thus, by 2040, we will have a great population of oldsters with perky boobs and huge erections but no recollection of what to do with them.

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Jack and Jill went up the hill
To have a little fun.
Stupid Jill forgot the pill,
And now they have a son.

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My favorite word today is color blind.> Adj., It's gotta be the hair. Def.: Mistaking Albert Einstein for Don King. My second favorite word is catacomb N., it's a-mazing. Def.: Something useful to Don King, as in "Give that cat a comb."

I've Been Working on the Railroad

I had planned to make a big to-do out of it when my Sitemeter said I got to 50,000 visits. I have got there in less than a year because I have so many satisfied customers, such as Ms. Nun here. (What's that? She is surfing porn? Well if that just don't burn your brownies. Dang!)

But then I decided it ain't worth carryin' on about. What the hell difference does it make? You know what really busted my buttons? When I got my very first comment. And then when I got my first oxoxoxoxo's. It has been all downhill since then.

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Okay, about the railroad. As you know, I am very needful of Making My Pile. Most of you have heard of this but newcomers might not know of my grand plan to reincarnate as a goat, which will take a lot of money. (People say, "Why a goat, Ol' Hoss?" And I say, "Don't you remember that old saying, 'Happier than a two-peckered goat'?")

Okay, about the railroad. I have got me a visa, a passport, and certification as a gen-u-ine travel agent. Meaning I can lead tours all over the globe. And the niche I plan to fill (niches is where the big money is) is in Asia, specifically on the TransSiberian Express. Before it broke all to hell, the Soviet Socialist Republic covered 9 time zones. So what I plan to do is get my customers on the TS Express and point out the various time zones. You know, when we roll from Irkutsk to Earwig, I will say, "Just passed another one. Oh, you missed it, Missy? Well, hold on, there's more."

But, of course, after you have seen one time zone I suppose you have seen 'em all, so then I plan to take my customers down to Italy. I am pretty sure we can get there in time to see the Leaning Tower finally eat the weenie.

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My favorite (stolen) word today is cover-up. Adj., also known as demure. Def.: The little movement of modesty by which a girl with visible cleavage pulls her skirt down over her knees.

Well, Let's See....

Speaking of fat (yes we were!), I want to know if you can name all 21,579 "low-fat" products that have been pushed upon us in the last 10 years.

Well, let's see, there's cottage cheese, and free-range chicken, and I guess that's it. Is that 21,579?

Oh, wait: Beer, and then probably pretzels. Yeah, that's the way to do it: Look for "companion" foods. Peanut butter and jelly. Cheese and crackers. Milk and cookies. Tripe and sheep stomach.

Anyway, irregardless of the fact that low-fat is a hokey-pokey advertising scheme, the "food giants" are going to keep on peddling it until we quit buying it. That will probably be awhile yet. Just last year, the foodists produced another 1,877 "low or no-fat" products. I am not going to cry "foul" until they come up with "low-fat eyeliner."

Now then, going back to our 10-year number of 21,579 new foods, how many products do you think the average supermarket has on display? Well, I will tell you: There is bread, mayonnaise, baloney, Velveeta, chocolate milk, and fudgesicles. And some TV dinners. Why would anybody need anything more?

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(Oh, by the by, the story from which I culled these facts also said: "There is no beneficial link between low-fat diets and lower incidence of cancer or heart disease." Bon appetit.')

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My favorite word today is namedropper. N., "I knew him when." Def.: The person who pretends to know someone famous, like my buddy Bill Gates.

How Not To B**g

A friend of mine, Kristy, is promoting a sort of Bulwer-Lytton writing contest on her site. Only this is for bad writing, b**g-wise. She has banned me from participating, just because I left this in her comments section the other day:

"And if that wasn't enough I started my period and I didn't have any tampons so I had to send hubby to the store. LOL. And then they always embarrass him by saying 'Price Check Tampons on Aisle 5.' ROFLMAO. My periods are really messy. Are yours?LOL."

Sometimes you can rescue a badly written piece on your b**g with a clever cartoon stolen off the Internet, like this one. You know what the sign says? It says, "Is the Pope Catholic?"

So, anyway, here are some other Bulwer-Lytton type b**gs that I am hoping not to see:

FEELIN' THE BLUES

"I feel so crappy today. Yesterday both the kids vomited in the front room, and then the dog heaved on my grandmother's cross-stitch. I am probably going to be late to work because SOMEBODY has to clean all this up, and you know who THAT is! LOL. I guess I don't have a lot to say today, but thanks for dropping in. I'll try to visit your site on a non-vomit day."

THOSE KIDS!

"You just can't believe what my 5-year-old, Percival, dropped on me today! LOL. We were at Wally World, just ambling along. We came to the sports section, and there was a man putting a couple of basketballs in his cart. And Percival (he just cracks me up) said, 'Look, Mom, at the guy with the big balls.' And I was all ROFLMAO."


ASKING FOR HITS

"I DO appreciate you who comment on a regular basis, all eight of you. But I know there are lots more lurkers who are reading my pieces regularly and don't let me know who you are. So, to get to know you better, I am posing a question: Would you comment if you knew I am just as horny as you?"

THE WEATHER REPORT (No. 2 Device-for-Getting-Hits)

"It is so cold here today. I thought we were getting some 'global warming,' but it hasn't happened here yet. Our temperature is 5 degrees F. What is yours?"

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My favorite word today is scenic vista. N., I see you! Def.: The best room in your house from which you can see the neighbor lady undressing.

The Best Defense

Do you realize it takes $20 million just to get a ride in a Russian spaceship? So what do you think it would cost to get my body shipped for reincarnation to Cassopeia, which is that neat set of stars that form a letter W? It don't matter much which constellation I go to, I guess, just as long as it has an earth-like planet with plenty of water and grass and chocolate milk and nubile 19-year-olds.

Well, anyway, I obviously will need more than $20 million -- and here's how I'm gonna Make My Pile. I am going into the nuclear bomb sales business. As you can see, anyone can do it, although so many of you are befuddled by chemistry you might want to turn this over to your 12-year-old.

The reason I thought of this is because in the old days people could defend their homes with a shotgun and a mean dog. And at school, kids would defend themselves against bum teachers if they had a pea shooter or some giant spitwads. But then it went to plastic explosives and UZIs. And who the hell could defend themselves against lobbyists, who buy all the Congresspersons they want?

So I will be making and selling the ultimate defense mechanism -- the Nuke. I have Googled this and it's pretty easy to make nuclear bombs. And once you have one, you post a sign outside saying: "Protected by Ol' Hoss's Nuke." You might lose some neighbors, but, what the hell, you didn't like 'em anyway.

(I just thought of something: Those nubile 19-year-olds will be pretty long in the tooth by the time I get there. I maybe gotta rethink this.)

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My favorite word today is prayer. N., What hath God wrought? Def.: Words of hope that the dinner cooked by your 12-year-old chemistry student will be digestible.

The Principle of the Thing

Our friend Freud observed: "The pleasure principle drives one to seek pleasure and to avoid pain." Now then, here we have a sky diver obtaining pleasure from a giddy drop through the clouds. It appears, however, that he is in for some pain. So I guess this is not a very good example of the principle.

Let's try another, the "Peter Principle": "In a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence." Now this is pretty meaty, but also not foolproof. See, lots of times, the employee at the bottom of the food chain is incompetent to begin with; there is no "rising" to it. (For examples, see "Help Desk.")

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Let's face it. I have gotten terribly lazy; I would say "indolent" if I had any thought you wouldn't have to look it up.

Recently a lady suggested I sign up with www.cafepress.com and market a bunch of T-shirts, magnets, cups and pins under the "Ol' Hoss" franchise so I could Make My Pile. I could figure out some nifty slogans and put 'em on these merchandises: "Ol' Hoss Stepped in It Here"; "Ol' Hoss's Dehydrated Phlegm"; "Ol' Hoss's Demagnetized Magnets," and "Ol' Hoss and I Have Piles" and the like. But that would require me to work. I am currently opposed to working.

I need to do my taxes. I will do them tomorrow.

I need to do my dishes. I will do them tomorrow.

I need to change my sheets. I will do it tomorrow.

I have some bills to pay. Screw that.

Every month the government sends me a Social Security check in return for not working. It's too bad you fools who work haven't tumbled to this.

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My favorite word today is wishy-washy. Adj., and tumble dry. Def.: Descriptive of you attending a ho-hum movie you are too lazy to abandon and not tired enough to sleep through.

Short Shrift Sunday #15

I have no theme today. This could be Themeless Thursday, except it's Sunday.

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A guy goes into the dentist's office, trailed by his wife. He says, "Listen, I'm in a hurry. A tooth has to be pulled so don't mess around with ether, or novocaine. Just get in there and yank it out."

Dentist: "Which tooth is it?"

The Guy: "Open your mouth and show him, honey."

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Christ is on the cross when he says, "John, John." John tries to get closer so he can see what Jesus wants. But the Roman soldiers grab him and throw him down the hill.

John makes his way back up the hill, behind the cross, and finally gets close enough to ask: "Yes, my Lord, what is it?"

Jesus: "John, John, I can see your house from here."

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My favorite word today is bored. Adj., super doldrums. Def.: Descriptive of the guy whose wife has been taken in hand by the lady selling perfume.

Short Shrift Saturday #15

In my latest weird dream I am an officer on a Liberty Ship in World War II. My 9-year-old daughter is with me. I will let you know if either of us gets killed.

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Speaking of which, did you see the report on how to figure out how soon old people are going to die? Researchers have this Q & A with 12 risk factors to try to answer that for people over 50. Here are the questions in the "Mortality Test", with the scoring table below:

1. Age. 60-64, 1 point; 65-69, 2 points; 70-74, 3 points; 75-79, 4 points; 80-84, 5 points; 85 and older, 7 points.
2. Male, 2 points; female, 0 points.
3. Body-mass index, less than 25(normal weight or less), 1 point. (It is more dangerous to be thin than slightly fat. Go figure.)
4. Diabetes, 2 points.
5. Cancer (excluding minor skin cancers), 2 points.
6. Chronic lung disease that limits activities or requires oxygen use at home, 2 points.
7. Congestive heart failure, 2 points.
8. Cigarette smoking in the past week, 2 points.
9. Difficulty bathing/showering because of a health or memory problem, 2 points.
10. Difficulty managing money/expenses because of a health or memory problem, 2 points.
11. Difficulty walking several blocks because of a health problem, 2 points.
12. Difficulty pushing or pulling large objects like a living-room chair because of a health problem, 1 point.

Scoring: Zero to 5 points, less than a 4 percent risk of dying in the next four years; 6-9 points, 15 percent risk; 10-13 points, 42 percent risk; 14 or more, 64 percent risk.

Ol' Hoss got 14 points. Scientists always say this is "too bad." Naturally I have put in for a recount.

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My favorite word today is interruptus. Adj., blowing you away. Def.: A guy explodes with flatulence right as you reach the punchline in your joke.

On Being a Hobo

I guess it was in the 1920's and 1930's when the economy was sour and when the Dust Bowl came along that some of us first got wind of people we called hobos. One study claimed there were five categories of these guys:

1. Seasonal workers
2. Casual migratory workers, the true hobo
3. The migratory non-worker, the tramp
4. The non-migratory casual worker, the "home guard"
5. The non-migratory, non-worker, the bum
A present-day example of No. 5 is the gentleman on Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles, holding up his sign: "Homeless, hungry, please help. Or see my website at www.hobo.com."

One of the best-known hobos was Woody Guthrie, who wrote a zillion songs, including "This Land is My Land." One of the best known tramps was Charlie Chaplin, who starred in a movie by that name -- and it was not generally known that Charlie was indeed a hobo at an early age, having to fend for himself in London streets after his mother went berserk.

Some hobos would hitchhike but the "glamour" was in riding the freight trains -- and trying to avoid being assaulted by the railroad "bulls." The 'bos got loosely organized, and developed a system of symbols to advise their brethren what to look for in any given community. They would scratch these symbols on fences and telephone poles to advise followers what to expect -- for instance, how to go "lordy lordy" to get a free meal.

Today, hobos are big business. Every August in Britt, Iowa, there is a National Hobo Association Convention. They chow down on "Mulligan Stew", sleep under the stars, get drunk, and elect a King and Queen of the Hobos (whose crowns are made of Folger's coffee cans).

How do you know if you're a hobo at heart? If, when you see someone walking along, you wonder how they would taste raw.

Why am I telling you all this? Because my Mom and Dad fed some of them. Because I had an uncle who was one. And because I got such a slick "Word of the Day."

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My favorite word today is hobosexual. N., precursor of metrosexual. Def.: A bum lay.

A Different World

"Sir Francis Drake circumcised the world with a 100-foot clipper."

This is just one facet of World History to be found at Strange Places. Here are a few more:

"Benjamin Franklin died in 1790 and is still dead."

"John Milton wrote 'Paradise Lost'. Then his wife dies and he wrote 'Paradise Regained'."

"Queen Victoria was the longest queen. She sat on the thorn for 63 years.... Her death was the final event which ended her reign."

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One of these guys looks familiar. I know, it's the guy on the left, currently known as "The Shootist."

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Georgy Porgy, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
And when the boys came out to play,
He kissed them, too, 'cause he was gay.

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Wally, 85, married the girl of his dreams, a chick only 25 years old. On the wedding night the chick decided they should have separate rooms, fearing Wally might get rambunctious and have a heart attack.

Shortly after going to bed, Wally arose and went into the chick's room and "made hay." A couple of hours later, Wally again arose and went into his bride's room and "did what came naturally." Three hours later, Wally was back. The bride says, "My, how can you do it so often?"

And Wally says, "You mean I have been here before?"

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My favorite word of the day is Krispy Kreme. N., what's a few more calories? Def.: A mid-morning snack to reward yourself for only having fat-free cottage cheese for breakfast.

Some of This, Some of That

Does this qualify as a "buttcrack" photo? See, what I am trying to do is gather all the buttcrack photos in one place AND THEN DELETE THIS B**G! Then you won't have to put up with them anymore.

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Why do women have smaller feet than men? Why, it's an evolutionary thing. It allows them to stand closer to the sink.

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How many men does it take to open a beer? None. It should be open when she brings it to you.

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Billy Joe, who is working in a grocery store, is asked by his boss: "Why did you leave Texas?"

"Aw," says Billy Joe, "there's nothing in Texas but football players and prostitutes."

Boss: "My wife is from Texas."

Billy Joe: "No shit? What position did she play?"

(I stole this from my buddy Miss Cellania.)

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Mary had a little lamb.
Her father shot it dead.
And now it goes to school with her
Between two hunks of bread.

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My favorite word today is buttcrack. N., nut job. Def.: The smart-ass who tells you the answers to a crossword puzzle you are working.

Feb. 14 -- A Most Auspicious Day

I thought I could slink into my room without him seeing me, but no. Feelgood Haines, the Old Folks' Home historian, saw me and said, "Hold on, Hoss. You know what day this is?"

Hoss: "I don't care what day it is. It is time for my nap. See you later."

Feelgood: "Now hold on, this is important. This is Feb. 14, which is Oregon's birthday. Oregon was voted into statehood on Feb. 14, 1859, making us 'The Sweetheart State.'"

Hoss: "Oregon is the Beaver State."

Feelgood: "See, in 1843 the settlers gathered together for what they called the 'Wolf Meetings,' to see if they couldn't get a handle on the wild animals that was threatenin' their livelihood -- wolves, grizzlies, cougars, bears and dung beetles. So they decided instead to become a State, and then segued right into racial discrimination and snake oil."

Hoss: "Do tell."

Feelgood: "When Oregon adopted its constitution, it said blacks and Chinese need not apply. After the Civil War, in 1865, the feds said you can't exclude nobody on accounta their race, and Oregon said 'up yours.'* Later on the blacks excluded most whites from the National Basketball Association. Funny how things even out."

Hoss: "About the snake oil.....?"

Feelgood: "Made out of pure rattlesnake oil. Cured everything, including deafness. You heard of Snake Oil salesmen haven't you, Hoss? They got a bad rep now, but back then they was in the business of savin' lives just like the preachers was."

Feelgood: "You know, just today I was pawin' through some old letters my Dad got from my grandfather about how times was in the old Oregon days, and I come across this one that struck me kinda funny. He wrote and said, 'Matilda has had a baby, but I don't know if it's a boy or a girl. So I don't know whether you're an Uncle or an Aunt.'"

(*The exclusion act was repealed 60 years after the Federal government said it was unconstitutional.)

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My favorite word today is garden. N., where moles live. Def.: A place to which rocks and weeds migrate.

Today, I Am Over With the Dude

I have mentioned previously that I have a "girlie" side -- I have needlepointed, braided a rug, hooked a rug, did all the cooking. But this picture over to the left is not me.

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I am here only briefly today. I am guest posting for the MuzikDude. My post over there will arrive at 1 p.m. Pacific Time today (2/13). If you want to see it, click here after that time. Or, type www.muzikdude.com in your browser window.

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What do you know about a 150-pound man who has 75-pound testicles? That he's half nuts.

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My favorite word today is psychoanalyst. N., Dr. Psycho, to you. Def.: A person who lets you convince yourself that you are, indeed, totally uninteresting.

Short Shrift Sunday #14

Several days ago I was talking to my buddy Tisha, a physical therapist who was injured in the line of duty. I asked if her husband and daughter were now doing the cooking.

"No," she said. "They did volunteer to phone to have the pizza brought in."

But Tisha had to look up the number.

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The bride-to-be and her best friend are discussing the wedding. The friend says, "If you want an unforgettable wedding night, get him to eat a dozen oysters after the ceremony."

A week later, the friend asked how things went. "Pretty good," said the bride, "but only eight of them worked."

(A thank-you to my new Aussie buddy, Peskie.)

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My favorite word today is desperation. Adj., help me, God. Def.: Descriptive of the stricken look on the face of a husband who has just been asked, "Do I look fat in this?"

Short Shrift Saturday #14

Lent is coming up. And that means "What are you GIVING UP?" Here are some candidates:

Smoking. Drinking. Carousing. Putting the move on your cousin. Krispy Kremes. Double caramel marshmallow lattes. Chocolate-dipped Dung Beetles.

Listen. Here is what I have already given up for Lent: One appendix, one prostate. One (two?) tonsils. But I am not done. If anybody needs 'em, here's what I got left to give up for Lent and it wouldn't hurt a bit:

1. Spleen
2. Gall bladder
3. Kidney
4. Eye (but don't take my good one)
5. Arm and/or leg (depends on price of gas)
6. Lincoln Logs

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My favorite phrase today is "oh, well." Adv., sigh of passiveness. Def.: What the person says who has just loaded 13 items on the "10-items-limit" conveyor.

Gifts From My Pals

My b**gosphere buddies just can't help themselves. They are all the time dousing me with funny stuff. Why, just the other day, my buddy Bill Gates said....oh, ok, Bill..wink wink......Why, just the other day, my buddy whose name will remain my secret*** was telling me:

"She married and had 13 children. Her husband died. She married again, and had 7 more children. And, again, her husband died. So she remarried, and had 5 more children. Alas, she finally died.

"At the service, the preacher thanked the Lord for this loving woman, saying, 'Lord, they're finally together.'

"A mourner quietly asked her friend: 'Do you think he means her first, second, or third husband?'

"The friend says: 'I think he means her legs.'

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A newlywed couple is in bed early in the morning, and both want coffee. The bridegroom says, "I guess you'll have to make it. The woman does the cooking." And she says, "No, in the Bible it says the man has to make the coffee."

He says, "No way."

She says: "Way. Look it up. The Bible says Hebrews."*

(*A nice little missive from my buddy Motor Home Lucy.)

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***Tan Lucy Pez (Sorry to blow your cover.)

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My favorite phrase today is It's a mystery. Adj., or an enigma. Def.: Why do they put those little dents in the top of a soda cracker?

It's Like a Refresher Course

Just when you thought I was running out of topics to write about, I didn't. No, see, our local newspaper has a special section for "Seniors," of which I am one at 75 131/365ths. This section is an excuse to get businesses serving old people to take out ads.

Anyway, there is this story, "Working Out the Brain," which says, essentially, you can help waylay Alzheimer's if you keep your noggin in shape. And if that doesn't work, right below this story is an ad for Virgil T. Golden Funeral Services.

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I stumbled across a site that promotes the 50 Most Loathsome People in the U.S. Know who's No. 4? "You" are, for your participation in destruction of the planet. (I don't think they meant me, though, just you.)

Dubya is NOT Number 1. No, he is a lowly No. 3, right behind Dick Cheney. Number 1? Good ol' Pat Robertson:

"If Pat Robertson's local Starbuck's caught fire, he would claim that God was punishing them for giving him a caramel latte when he ordered vanilla."

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I stumbled across a site that lets you know how popular you are in the B**gosphere. At Ego Surf you enter your b**g's name, and your URL and click a button. It tells you how many "ego points" you have, which seems based on links or mentions, or something. Word of warning: Some of you are going to get 0 because this site is perverse like that.

But not Ol' Hoss. Ol' Hoss racked up 10,641 points, which puts him as 8th best egotist. I just love me to pieces.

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I think this is from my pal Ozguru:

A man and his wife are sitting in the living room, watching television.

The man says, "You know, if it ever comes to it, I don't want to live in a vegetative state, depending on a machine and getting my liquids from a bottle."

The wife gets up, turns off the TV and throws out his beer.

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My favorite phrase today is washed up. Adj., put out to pasture. Def.: How you feel when you realize you won't get the laundry done today -- again.

A Sure-Fire Way to Get Rich

People who have visited me, Ol' Hoss, for awhile know how much I need money. Oh, I've got enough to pay for the thin gruel they serve here at the Old Wizened People's Home. And in fact, I got enough to buy me some Tennessee sippin' whiskey now and then, too. (I feel sorry for you bozos who can't afford sippin' whiskey. You'll never get to enjoy recovering from a hangover.)

Anyway, what I need is several bazillion dollars so I can:

A. Be cryogenicized, or
B. Be mummified and buried in the Valley of the Kings, or
C. Be cremated and have my ashes rocketed to Deneb or Polaris so's you can continue to look up to me, or
D. Be reincarnated.

I am somewhat leaning toward A., because then I would have plenty of ice to put in my sippin' whiskey. On the other hand, D. has good potential. I could come back as a dung beetle, for instance, and never go hungry. I could come back as a rabbit, and you don't have to guess why. I could come back as Humphrey Bogart because I have committed to memory his two most famous lines: "Play it, Sam," and "Here's looking at you, kid." I could get me a cigarette, get all squinty-eyed and go on a stage tour if I came back as Humphrey.

Now, as to the money. Well, I finally have it all figured out. I have just printed up some business cards identifying Ol' Hoss's Endorsements Company. Listen, there is millions in this, maybe bazillions. And I am going for it all right out of the box.

Here it is: What do you suppose the Trojan prophylactic people will pay me if I can get their rubbers endorsed by the Pope? Huh? Ain't that wild?

If anybody can get this done, it is Ol' Hoss. So I will be traveling to the Vatican tomorrow to make my case. I will tell Benedict I am willing to split 50/50.

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My favorite word today is satisfaction. Adj., let's get smug. Def.: Knowing that all those young people descending on Ft. Lauderdale will soon be in debt up to their ears.

I Knew the Guru

You may not have heard of the great times we had in Oregon back in the early 1980s. A guru from India and the American sheep he regularly sheared set up shop on a big ranch in Eastern Oregon and called it Rajneeshpuram. Oregonians were naturally suspicious of all the “oooing and ohming.” Especially when it turned out to be sort of a haven for free love, which was too much like San Francisco for our taste. (We were used to paying for it.)

And then it turned out that the head cheese, “the Bhagwan,” was REALLY adept at shearing the flock. At the height of his rule he HAD BEEN GIVEN 32 Cadillacs, mostly by people with Hollywood connections who were smitten by his meditatiousness. And each day he would mount up and drive among the flock, smiling enigmatically and waving one bony arm. It was during the time he had a vow of silence going, which led to trouble right there in River City.

He had this moll, Sheela, a really good lookin’ guruite who first served as his hatchet-person and then slowly took over the whole shebang. Sheela and a bunch of her followers started dressing in red; she set off her costume with a pistol worn on her hip.

She got the tribe mixed up in politics, first taking over the nearest city, and then trying to elect some of their butt-cracks to the Board of County Commissioners. They put out the word that anybody in the U.S. who was homeless could move to Rajneeshpuram, and register to vote. And then to cut down on the number of “regular” voters, the clan spiked salad bars in the largest city with salmonella, sickening dozens of people.

(Sometime during this mish-mash I had a sit-down with the Bhagwan. I said, "How can life be improved?" And he said: "A fragrant leaf of the spreading chestnut will be dead meat in the fall." So I have lived my life according to this precept.)

When these shenanigans were investigated by the U.S. attorney for Oregon, the Rajneesh inner circle hatched a plot to kill him. Scientists said this was “too bad,” and somebody would have to go to jail. And rafts of the “sannysins” did, for assault, attempted murder, immigration conspiracy, arranging sham marriages, arson, burglary, electronic eavesdropping, perjury and harboring a fugitive.

The Bhagwan made a run for it but was caught in North Carolina. He eventually was deported to India, where he had a minor resurgence before dying. And it turned out he wasn’t really a bad guy; he seems responsible for what they call, in India, “meditation tourism.” In Oregon, we contemplate our navels. We haven’t found any tourists who want to watch us.

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My favorite word today is stall. V., after you; no, after you. Def.: The way into the hotel is blocked by two Alphonse-Gaston types waiting for the other to be first to enter the revolving door.

Joe Can Get It for You Wholesale

FOR SALE OR RENT: Congressman Joe Schneid. 8-term congressman with powerful committee slots (Appropriations, Agriculture, Defense). Log-rolling specialist. Adept at placing your needs well up on the Christmas tree. Past successes include $500,000 grant for study of porn’s effect on the porn industry; $6 million for takeover of unfunded pension liability of Bubba Bob’s Auto Wrecking; $1.1 billion to cover lawsuits against defense contractors who failed to armor armored vehicles; $400 million subsidy of tobacco farmers; $400 million for medical costs of smokers; $14 million for sponsorship of Iowa State Ear Wig Races. Available by the hour or by the project. No job too small because that’s The American Way. PH: 202-555-4444.

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A college teacher reminds her class of tomorrow’s final exam.

“Now, class, I won’t tolerate any excuses for you not being here tomorrow. I might consider a nuclear attack or a serious personal injury or illness, or a death in your immediate family. But that’s it: No other excuses whatsoever,” she says.

The smart ass in the back of the room asks, “What would you say if I said I was suffering from complete and utter sexual exhaustion?”

“Well, then,” says the teacher, “I guess you’d have to write the exam with your other hand.”

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A truck driver comes upon a sign saying “Low Bridge Ahead.” Well, it certainly was, and his trailer got stuck.

A police officer arrives and says, to belabor the obvious, “Got stuck, huh?”

“No,” said the trucker. “I was delivering this bridge and ran out of gas.”

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My favorite word today is oblivious. Adj., I know you’ll be fascinated.. Def.: Descriptive of the gentleman who thinks you need to know everything about his recently successful bowel movement.

Short Shrift Sunday #13

Shaun Alexander of the Seattle Seahawks lunges for the goal line! He scores! Will he spike the football???

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In case Mr. Anonymous is too embarrassed to ask, here's how you get rid of toe fungus: Apply Vicks Vaporub twice a day for a week. Honestly and truly. My nurse/pedicurist swears by it. Those pills you're swallowing take a year to work, and they only cure the fungi in 50 percent of the cases.

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Let's get rid of the rest of my Hillary stuff:

"In Hillary Clinton's new book, 'Living History,' Hillary details what it was like meeting Bill Clinton, falling in love with him, getting married, and living a passionate, wonderful life as husband and wife. Then, on Page 2, the trouble starts." --Jay Leno.

"Hillary Clinton, our junior senator from New York, announced that she has no intentions of ever, ever running for the office of President of the United States. Her husband, Bill Clinton, is bitterly disappointed. He is crushed. There go his dreams of becoming a two-impeachment family." --David Letterman.

"Last night, Senator Hillary Clinton hosted her first party in her new home in Washington. People said it was a lot like the parties she used to host at the White House. In fact, even the furniture was the same." --Jay Leno.

"In the book she says when Bill told her he was having an affair, she said, 'I could hardly breathe; I was gulping for air.' No, I'm sorry, that's what Monica said." --David Letterman.

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My favorite word today is unique. Adj., get a load of this! Def.: Descriptive of the one person who knows how to correctly refold a road map.

Short Shrift Saturday #13

Okay, a couple things first:

1. Somebody named "Anonymous" says in comments on my site that he/she has a toe fungus problem. Whoever you are, email me and I will give you the cure.

2. I could not get into all the b**g sites I tried yesterday. Computer/Blogger problem? And in some cases I could not comment (blocked for some reason). But I did try to reach ALL 112 of you...

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Hillary Clinton and her driver were cruising along a country road one evening when an old cow loomed in front of the car. The driver tried to avoid it, but couldn't -- and the old cow was killed.

Hillary told her driver to go up to the farmhouse and explain to the owners what happened. She stayed in the car making phone calls to lobbyists. About an hour later, the driver staggered back to the car with his clothes in disarray. He was holding a half-empty bottle of expensive wine in one hand, an expensive Cuban cigar in the other. He was smiling happily and was smeared with lipstick.

"What happened?" Hillary asked.

"Well," the driver replied, "the farmer gave me the cigar, his wife gave me the wine, and their beautiful daughters made mad passionate love to me."

"My goodness," said Hillary. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them I'm Hillary's driver, and I just killed the old cow."*

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My favorite word today is lies. N., do as I say, not as I do. Def.: Books and magazines with titles such as "Lose Weight the Easy Way."

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(*This epistle courtesy of my Aussie bud, Oz.)

Life's Guilty Pleasures

My buddy Carolyn has laid a meme on Ol' Hoss. She couldn't a picked a better person, for I am death on memes. In this one, I am supposed to tell you of "five guilty pleasures." I can rattle off five of the orgiastics without slowin' for breath.

1. Athlete's Foot Medicine. Nothing spells relief better than Lamisil. But I don't waste time spreading it between my toes. I just slather my sheets with it, just in case I am getting athlete's foot of the buttcrack.

2. Freezing Rain. What you do is you check out the cars coming down the hill near my Old Folks' Home and watch 'em slide into each other. Some of those bozos are such bad drivers they'd not be safe in a Red Flyer. God it's funny watching these people get hauled off to the hospital.

3. Getting Rid of a Hangover. I don't feel guilty about drinkin'. I know I shouldn't drink. But I do it anyway because it feels so good when the hangover goes away and I can have a few more drinks.

4. Making My Pile. This is a borderline guilty pleasure, on grounds that I haven't yet Made My Pile. But when I do I probably will be somewhat ashamed that you bozos won't get any of it. And I will laugh and laugh.

5. Lying. I read and comment on more than 100 b**gs every day. And I tell you cheery things and hand out compliments. In fact, though, all your stuff is pretty lame.*

(*There I go again, lying. It's such a pleasure.)

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My favorite phrase today is ne'er do well. N., "the poor shall always be with us." Def.: The student who changes his major field of study from "accordion" to "mime."

I Went Back to Connecticut

I was reading some old Chinese Internet manuals, and this picture cropped up under a chapter titled "Confucious Says."

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I am not here again today, as I am subbing once again for my swell pal, Whizzer, who left the unpleasant climes of Connecticut for a cruise somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. She told me to tell you all I know about Zen*:

"Do not walk with me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me, either. Just pretty much leave me the hell alone."

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire."

"He who laughs last thinks slowest."

(*The Zenster really is my pal Dalene.)

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My favorite word today is SMV. N., we're going to be very late. Def.: The triangular sign on the back of a tractor which you are following and which can only operate on two-lane roads with plenty of curves.

What's With All the Rabbits?

The Internet Pez family (examples: Tan Lucy Pez, dddragon, Aral and Acton Bell Pez) on the first of every month write a b**g piece often headlined "Rabbit! Rabbit!". And often they will show a new picture of one or more rabbits. Through the device of having my own b**g I am going to pester them until they explain why this is. I think it's called "lagomania," which is Bugs Bunny-speak for "What's up, Doc?"

Now then, Tan Lucy Pez told me this action over to the left is how Easter eggs are made. But I think I'm entitled to confirmation from the rest of the Pez Gang, don't you? Lucy is the mother of this clan, and you know how us old people start forgetting...

And then she says that this monstrosity is one of the smaller rabbits in her Pennsylvania herd. Man, I bet when the coupling starts up you can hear it all the way to Intercourse.

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The world is supposed to end tomorrow. Thank God. I'll finally get off "Hold" with the tech help in India.

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"I believe my music is the healin' music....It regenerates the ears, makes the liver quiver, the bladder splatter and the knees freeze. I'm not conceited, either." -- Little Richard.

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My favorite phrase today is Hawaiian shirt. N., colors loud and louder. Def.: The thing you bought on vacation so you'd have something for Goodwill the next time they call.