Take Courtney to Lunch; the Book's on Hold

Hey! You owe me, so I'm calling in your marker. Promise me you will go visit a 17-year-old writer named Courtney, who is an artist, a computer wizard, writer and movie-maker. Recently she went to South Korea with a school group to videotape the kids' chorus and she's got an interesting report and a batch of pictures about it. Show her some encouragement. She's the daughter of Jamie Dawn, one of my Internet buddies. Visit Jamie, too. Get with it, you weasels, or I'll be all over you like a tall dog.

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It has taken Ol' Hoss all day to get a push from George W., so as a result the death throes of my book, "Weeny Whodunits and Other Yoda Yoga," will not be in evidence until tomorrow. Be forewarned: It is a two-hanky tear-jerker.

I was reading some position papers by George W. this morning hoping for some enlightenment about the direction the country is taking. Hoo boy and boy howdy, the direction is splungth, an Old Serbian word meaning "up in the air."

"It's in our country's interests to find those who would do harm to us and get them out of harm's way." --Washington, D.C., April 28, 2005.

"We're looking forward to analyzing and working with legislation that will make it --it would hope -- put a free press's mind at ease that you're not being denied information you shouldn't see." --Washington, D.C., Aapril 14, 2005.

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There is a reason why Chapter Six will be the finale for "Weeny Whodunits." I have been advised by my publisher to wrap it up while it still has legs. (For you non-book writers, a book "has legs" if it has "a long run" with the public. I just made this up, probably.) See, the publisher is anxious for me to write some other books I've been briefing him on ever since the Nagasaki H-bomb created so many construction jobs. Here are some of the titles:

"War and Peas," a thinly disguised biography of the monk, Gregor Mendel, whose sugar snaps fueled the American Revolution.

"That Sucks," co-authored with Bill Clinton about the allure of Revlon Red on beefy lips.

"Vanity Hair," an expose' of how the one-eyed look made Veronica Lake a star.

"Vanity Shelf," a novella about woodworking in the 17th Century.

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My favorite word today is a-twitter. Vb., naked anxiety. Def.: Shifting from one foot to the other in a desperate attempt to forestall disaster because the boss is telling a joke that has interrupted your trip to the bathroom.

Das Book: My Cup Continue to Runneth

(Synopsis: Chapter 1 might have detailed the early friendship between Teddy Roosevelt and Frank Buck. Chapter 2 explained why it is preferable to take deep breaths rather than being stepped on by an elephant. Chapter 3 was made up entirely of clefs, codas, and 16th notes that peppered the music of John Phillip Sousa. Chapter 4 detailed the life of a boy whose middle name did not lend itself to chicken jokes.)

CHAPTER FIVE

This is the life story of a tree: It grew up, the logger logged it, the bucker* bucked it, the choker setter** choked it, the whistle punk*** whistled, the skidder**** skidded it to the landing and the loader loaded it. The trucker took it to a lumber mill. The mill cut it into pieces called wood. A builder made it into a house. The house was destroyed by termites.*****

The story did not fit well with Hector McBuck Buck, only child of Fifty and Two-Dolla Buck, the twins born to Buck Leroy Buck. Twins ordinarily don't marry, except in West Virginia. Fifty Buck herself performed the rites since she had been ordained by the Universal Life Church, as has everybody else.

It was on a calm and stormy night that Hector McBuck Buck had a vision. "I have been called upon to save trees from termites and other bestiality....Oh, my! What I just said! It is so portentous: 'called upon.'"

Thus was born "Called Up Pond." An idyllic retreat once occupied by a gentleman named Thorough, it was from there that Hector wrote epistles against the savaging of trees by termites, gypsy moths, West Nile virus and gonorrhea. Here is the content of one of Hector's pieces on "The Blog From Called Up Pond":

"When I awoke this morning I didn't know whether to shit or go blind, so I closed one eye and farted. Breakfast was Pop Tarts and cold coffee. The electricity is not out; we never had any.

"I slept well. Nothing much to write about again today, but I sure appreciate your comments, so keep 'em coming, kids. Oh, I did kill two carpenter ants yesterday.

"I guess this is a pretty good piece today after all. Yoda said I should up the flagpole run it and salute if anybody sees."

* Cutting limbs off the tree, and cutting the tree into segments.
** Setting a cable around one end of the tree.
*** The "punk" whistles to warn workers that a tree is about to be moved.
**** A tractor that drags the tree to the landing.
***** A bug smaller than a bread box.

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My favorite word today is downleg. N., law of gravity. Def.: A guy's pee that doesn't get into the urinal.

Das Book, the Continuing Saga

(Synopsis: In earlier chapters we found Frank Buck heavily ensconced in the elephant parts business. Would-be doctors were shoving ice cubes up their patients butts, and Tarzan invented the zebra. Frank Buck died in 1950 after helping out John Phillip Sousa with some march tunes. Pearl Buck died a few minutes after 1950.)


CHAPTER FOUR

The lone progeny of Frank and Pearl Buck was a boy named Buck. Buck Buck, actually. Childhood friends nicknamed him "Chicken" because they found if they said "Buck Buck" in falsetto it would sound like a Rhode Island Red on the peck. His middle name was Leroy, but since that didn't lend itself to sounding like a chicken, or even a mongoose, it fell into disuse.

Since Frank Buck had seen to the creation of the Dallas Zoo, it was only natural that Buck Buck became a barbed wire salesman. He only did it because it lent itself so well to a Texas accent: "bobbed w'ahr," he would say to Bostonians, who hardly ever ordered any.

Buck became the leading exponent of double twisted yin-yang bobbed w'ahr, and soon had thrown it up all along the Rio Grande to deter Canadian wetbacks. He was designated a Texas Ranger after proving, according to Yoda, "that no Canadians the U.S. border from Mexico illegally crossed."

He worked hard to replace string with bobbed w'ahr, but came up empty when string was replaced by Scotch tape and Sticky Notes. He did manage to get some of his yin-yang w'ahr used as the tape at the finish line for the 100-meter dash at the 1992 Olympics. He took full responsibility for the ensuing carnage by cancelling his bill.

"Crackerjack salesman," admirers would call Buck Buck. So, in his retirement, Buck Leroy Buck sold Crackerjacks at the Houston Astros baseball stadium, after first removing the prize. He liked to see small children hit on their daddies when they found no prize in their Crackerjacks, and no joy in Mudville.

Buck Buck was married in 1947 to Ten Broek, who then became Ten Buck. She bore twins, naming them Fifty and Two-Dolla.

The twins entered the elephant parts business in 1988 after successfully developing the world's first elephant feedlot in Omaha. They also managed free-range elephants on Ted Turner's property in Montana. Parts from there were more expensive but this mattered not to environmentalists, who will pay any price to give elephants and windmills a home on the range, which was Roy Rogers's favorite song but not as popular as Gene Autry's "Back in the Saddle Again."

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Courtesy of OzGuru my favorite word today is suburbia. N., New York City slang. Def.: Where they tear out the trees and name streets after them.

Das Book: The Bucks Stop Here

WEENY WHODUNITS AND OTHER YODA YOGA

(Synopsis: In Chapter 1 we found Frank "Bring 'Em Back Dead or Alive" Buck involved in the elephant parts business in a big way. Frank is being helped by his wife, Pearl Buck, who is the other Pearl Buck, as you shall see, not the one you're thinking of. In Chapter 2, we found ourselves doing deep breathing exercises for no particular reason.)

CHAPTER THREE

Frank "Bring 'Em, etc." Buck was responsible for bringing to the United States thousands of animals from places like Calcutta, India, and Jungle Jim, Brazil. Some of his work included bringing here for the first time such oddities as the elephant pouch (left), the nutria and the banana slug, for which he is rightfully over-appreciated.

In 1935, some 150 rhesus monkeys he had taken to the Chicago World's Fair escaped. This frightened Mrs. O'Leary's replacement cow, causing Lake Michigan.

Frank's wife, Pearl, was not THAT Pearl Buck. THAT Pearl Buck was a lot younger than Frank Buck and besides that she lived most of the time in China and Frank didn't go there much as he had no interest in Giant Pandas. The "famous" Pearl Buck wrote The Good Earth about her time in China. Most of the good earth she wrote about is now under water behind the Three Gorges Dam.

Frank "Bring 'Em Back etc." Buck's most famous trips were the result of assignments to bring back rare animals from Africa. The Chicago Zoo asked him to go to Africa to bring back a rare hornless rhinoceros. Frank hacked his way through the jungle and finally found a guy named Tarzan who was hybridizing, or swinging from, grape vines (this was never made clear). This Tarzan was painting on a strange horse. He seemed to be painting white stripes on a black horse, or black stripes on a white horse, or black and white stripes on a clear horse. Frank said to Tarzan, "You see-'um any hornless rhino anywhere, Chief?"

Tarzan said, "You don't need to talk pidgin to me, buster. I be vanilla, just like you. Anyway, there yonder is the animal you seek-'um."

So Frank collected the rhino, collected his commission, and was promptly hired again and again. He was asked to bring back a short-neck giraffe and a trunkless elephant. Both times he sought help from Tarzan, who, though busy painting stripes on horses, was glad to assist.

Frank Buck died in 1950, not long after writing the famous march music, "Tarzan Stripes Forever."

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My favorite word today is loser. N., of femininity. Def.: The girl who married the guy you dumped.

The Unga Clan + More Weeny Whodunits

This is in keeping with my promise to expand the Word Whiz's "Summer of Compliments" and tell you about some of the people in my Geriatric Ward. See, what happened is I stepped into a whole nest of the little buggers. I got about 60 people on my b**groll, and four of them are from one family. Go visit these people.

The matriarch is young Unga Chunga, who got roped into writin' Internet pieces by a daughter. And what she does is open up her heart and let scintillating words fall out. Unga was once in a convent, but I think she gave it up for Lent. She "gave voice" to the clan -- all three of her daughters are excellent singers. And she herself will be appearing with the Alexandria, Va., Singers July 9-10, singing Broadway show tunes.

The first to become an Internet princess was niece Meredith, who is in Pennsylvania but is moving to Okinawa on accounta her husband is a U.S. Marine. This lady is an excellent writer, amusing and sincere. She gave birth to Eli five months ago and is looking for advice on how to raise him. (Oh God, she'll kill me!! No she isn't!!!)

One of my best pals is MommaK, the first of three daughters of Unga Chunga. Momma is a fine writer with a fine mind and a Mary Martin voice box (she was Maria in "Sound of Music" in the 8th grade). She lives close enough to Mom in Virginia to swim in her pool now and then. MommaK is a Household CEO with four kids, a mutt named Kasey and a Great Dane named Lillian. (Odd, I know the names of the dogs but not the names of the children. Pay attention, Hoss.)

The other writer in the family is the newest, CowgirlUP, who also has golden pipes, good enough to sing professionally if she wanted. She's the No. 3 daughter of Unga Chunga. She lives in Maryland but is moving to Nashville to go to school in hopes of becoming (as I understand it) a music producer. She loves country music, which means Hoss is in love with the Cowgirl because that's also his favorite. She bleeds enthusiasm; you'll love her too.

Unga Chunga's second daughter, AM, is no devotee of the Internet b**gworld. Get cracking, AM.

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WEENY WHODUNITS AND OTHER YODA YOGA

(Synopsis: In Chapter 1, the estimable Frank Buck is on the verge of a great financial triumph via the buying and selling of elephant parts. We were introduced to his wife Pearl, who has big parts in this book that are not quite worth calling "cameo" appearances.)

CHAPTER TWO

In medical school, one of the first things medicos-in-training are taught is how to get people to take a deep breath. All too often, they are told, patients have to be bitch-slapped because they breathe so shallowly. Bitch-slapping is not good for doctor-patient relations, however, so other methods of obtaining the deep breath are often employed.

For instance, males can be encouraged to take a deep breath if you shove something up their ass, like a poker or an ice cube. Women will gasp inwardly at the sight of a manly wang, so most doctors-in-training today are buying appendage enhancement tools on eBay. Another way to get patients to gasp inwardly is to have an elephant step on their toes.*

Some patients can be coaxed into taking a deep breath by being told how good they will feel when they exhale. Those who do this well are given one of those gowns that tie in the back but that no male in history has ever been able to tie in back. If a guy isn't told early in life how to tie aprons he will be lost when it comes to hospital gowns.

This is about all the instruction on deep breathing that would-be doctors get, because they have to spend a lot of time learning how to take out gall bladders. There is big money in taking out gall bladders. And from there it is only a short trip to taking out spleens, appendixes and half the kidneys. There is big money in taking excess parts out of humans, just like there is in taking parts out of elephants.*

(* This is an author's device to protect against the possibility that the entire book will be about elephants.)

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My favorite word today is enigma. Vb., to confound the masses. Def.: Division of the restaurant check into unmanageable segments when one person in the party of five announces she did not have dessert.

Das Book

Well, Ol' Hoss does not make empty threats. When he says he can write a book, he will. But he has bowed to popular demand, and has amended the title.

WEENY WHODUNITS AND OTHER YODA YOGA

-- A Book by Mr. Horsetail Snake

CHAPTER ONE

It was a dark and stormy night when Frank "Bring 'Em Back Dead or Alive" Buck had his epiphany. "Elephants," he mused, pawing the air where his beard used to be, "have two tusks, but they have FOUR legs. All these years we have been throwing out the baby with the sauna water."

What Frank realized was that elephants were good for something other than growing tusks for the Asian aphrodisiac bodega and the Nigerian piano keys Saturday market. Elephant ears could be made into giant fans to keep the Saudi harems cool as a burpless cucumber, or sold as confections at county fairs. Elephant tails could be made into dusters for use in Old Folks' Homes where people are allergic to feathers. Elephant skin would come in handy for covering furniture, according to Buck's friend Yoda, given that "almost all of the world's naugas their hydes have given up already."

But the meat of the Imogene Coca nut lay in the elephant stem-bones. Elephant legs can be made into chairs and umbrella stands. Instead of using the nation's oak forests for making chairs, the oaks could be used in construction of croquet sets, for which is there is unusually heavy demand. Women owning an elephant leg umbrella stand would delight in coloring the toenails, and Revlon stock would hit a new high. Elephant legs could be bronzed and set outside Frank Lloyd Wright Houses as sort of an afterthought.

Pearl Schmuck Buck, Frank's wife, interrupted his thought of train. "I know what you're thinking. But you have a raw materials problem. See, the elephants are using their bodies for other purposes, none of which involve being made into umbrella stands."

Imperturbable, Frank replied, "They shoot horses, don't they?"

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My favorite word today is parthenogenesis. N., sex-related. Def.: The only long word you know, but which you have been unable to work into a conversation.

Hoss Gears Up to Write His Book

My buddy Whizzer has started something very nice: She has begun a "Summer of Compliments," in which she extolls the virtues of various Internet writers she visits. That is such a whale of an idea I am going to be stealing it. (And "Whizzer" is NOT short for bathroom humor. The name is because she is such a whiz, as in ex-Supreme Court Justice Whizzer White, who was an All-American football player.)

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I have decided the way to get rich is to write a best-selling book. I know quite a few people (1) who write pieces on the Internet who have made it big. As you are well aware, I need to raise lots of money in a huge stack to be able to finance my lavish funeral and my comeback reincarnatin'-wise. Writing of a book is called The Means Whereby Hoss Will Make My Pile.

Several friends have discouraged me from writing a book, noting that the last book I wrote was swiped right off the Internet by some Chinese robber barons. I think I'll chance it, though, because the number of hits this site has been getting from China has dropped considerably ever since I started using bigger words, like lachrymose.

The Chinese don't know jack shit about humor, anyway. If they did they'd be stealing right and left from my buddy Esther over at Topic Drift. The Chinese ARE funny, though. The last do-it-yourself kit I got from there advised "connect Part A to Part B unless in Ascuncion, in which case counter-clockwise."

The key to selling books is to have a snappy title. Now, you take a book like "Tropic of Cancer." It wasn't about cancer at all, but it sold well because people are always interested in Reader's Digest-type stories about "My Most Unforgettable Tumor." Or, you take "Forever Amber." This sold to zoology doctoral candidates because they thought it was that kind of amber that solidifies around ancient insects. It also sold to voyeurs.

So, the title to my book is Weenie Whodunits and Other Yoga. See, right there I got all three elements required for a best-seller these days: Sex, Crime and Exercise. I don't know much about any of those things, but I expect to learn as I go along, although I doubt the book will have much sex, crime or exercise tips. I ain't interested in content, I am interested in sales.

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My favorite word today is spackle. N., a la carte. Def.: The bits of food caught in a mustache that hangs over the upper lip, to the annoyance of one's dining companions.

My Life in Imagery

I see some other Internet writers are playing with this concept. It's where you tell a little about yourself through the use of pictures from Google Images. What you do is ask yourself a series of personal questions, then type in the answers on the page for Google Images. There you will get a selection of pictures to steal. Let's see if it works.

My name is







Where I grew up







Where I live now




My favorite color



My favorite animal












My favorite smell









My candidate for President, Maxine Knowsall

















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My favorite word today is mystery. N., howcome? Def.: Where the door marked "in" pulls "out."

The Newsletter Is Bad News

Here at the Home for the Halt and the Lame we get a monthly newsletter. It is driving me nuts. See, as a former journalist I know something about spelling and shit. This newsletter is trying to dumb me down. It reports, for instance, that "the book mobil" will be here soon. It offers "congradulations" to the bingo contest winner.

Do you know what this is: '? That's one of those things alerting you that an "s" is coming up at the end of a word. The newsletter advises us that "...X say's she loves her home here..." and that "What we love most about X is how she alway's goes out of her way..."

Boy howdy. That kind of stuff hack's me off. I get really cros's.

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Lately I have stumbled across some writing that deserves your attention because it is so visual, visceral, vital or otherwise mind-bending.

Word Shadows writes: "The considerate yardworker digs even the most ordinary holes after nightfall, so that on those occasions when he isn't burying a body his neighbors will have something to talk about."

Ozguru provides:
"Don't lose your head
To gain a minute.
You need your head,
Your brains are in it." --Burma Shave.

My buddy Shane, reporting the worried words of a friend of his who is in Africa: "I wouldn't want to end up in some brief encounter situation Congolese jail style with me desperately flicking through my phrase book lookin' for 'Please no, prettier men will be along soon.'"

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So this guy and his wife are working in the garden, and the guy says, "Geez, your ass has gotten really big. I bet it's bigger than the barbecue." He measures and says, "Yep, your ass is two inches wider than the Weber."

That night, feeling frisky, the gardener tries to jump his wife. She says, "No way am I firing up this big ass barbecue to heat a little weeny like that."

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How smart you? Go to IQ Test to find out.

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My favorite word today is insanity. Vb., fruitless. Def.: Looking for the remote in all the places you have already looked.

Celebrating 27,302 Days on Earth

From the minutes of The Old Folks' Home Resident Council meeting:

"Residents want a flag to be outside the building, and also one in the dinning (sic) room."

So here is the flag we are flying at The Old Depends Home.

Sadie Loveseat to Administrator: "What the hell is that?"

Administrator: "That is a flag. You requested we fly a flag, so we followed up."

Sadie: "That's a goddam flag of Cuba."

Administrator: "You didn't say you wanted an American flag. Cuban flags were on sale. So shut up."

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Yesterday I mentioned something about my birthday, and somebody said when is it. Well here's the tragic tale:

86 (the number, so far, of the 15,878 things I am telling you about myself). I was born at 2 a.m. Oct. 2, 1930. My birthday is Oct. 1. See, all my life my Mom told me I was born on Oct. 2, so that's what I always used, and the date I got on my Social Security records. Howsomeever, the delivery doctor had been up all night deliverin' kids and he was still on October 1, mentally. So that's what he put on my birth certificate. I only found this out about 14 years ago, when I inherited the certificate. But it doesn't matter, because I can celebrate my birthday any day I want. Nobody said I couldn't.

It turns out that I am now 27,302 days old. I found this out not by doing the math but by asking at This Place. This is an interesting little site, which I got from Chris Cope. It tells you how many days, weeks or months of age you are, the day of the week on which you were born, your astrological sign and your "Life Path" number. It turns out that my Life Path number is 6, and all this time I thought it was 5. So I am requesting a life do-over.

87. In my junior and senior years of high school I had the male lead in our class plays. This is because I only weighed 129 pounds and couldn't make the football team. Since I was the only boy who couldn't make the football team I was drafted as an actor. This has worked out pretty good. Ever since then I have been pretending to know what I'm doing.

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My favorite word today is shit! N., do-overs. Def.: After lengthy handshakes, hugs, kisses and goodbyes with all at the party, you leave the house only to discover you have left your purse behind.

Having Dinner With Abe Lincoln

My buddy Cheryl "Mags" has played tag on me. This is a pretty good meme, inasmuch as I didn't get bored with it nearly as fast as usual. Here are the things Maggie asked, and my insipid responses:

What were three of the stupidest things you have done in your life?

1. Marriage No. 1. It was okay to legalize the sex, but there ARE some other things, like compatability on finances, recreational interests, and education. I was too young for this shit.
2. Marriage No. 2. Do not buy into a two-for-one marriage. If your mate comes accompanied by a Mother Who Rules in All Things Important, do your Claude Rains invisible man trick.
3. I have never done anything stupid.

At the current moment, who has the most influence in your life?

I disrespect George W. Bush just as much as you do.

If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were allowed to only pick up to five people to dine with, whom would you pick?

Here are my five, and the questions I would have:
Jesus: "You were a carpenter. Do you prefer mortise and tenon, or nails?"
Abraham Lincoln: "Is it true Mary was nuts?"
Clark Gable: "Did you use Wrigley's Spearmint or Topps Bubble Gum to pin back your ears?"
Leonard Da Vinci: "You invented a helicopter but missed out on the Frisbee. Does this make you sad?"
Christopher Columbus: "How much truth is there to this popular song?
.....Columbo had a cabin boy, this boy's name was Ripper.
.....He filled his ass
.....With broken glass
.....And circumcised the skipper."

If you had 3 wishes that were not supernatural, what would they be?

1. A cure for my wife's disease. You do that one, and you can have the other two.

Someone is visiting your hometown. Name two things you regret your city not having, and two things people should avoid.

Regrets: 1. I regret we don't have any glaciers. 2. I regret that somebody killed all of our oreodonts.
Avoid: 1. Avoid hotels that don't launder the wet spots. 2. Avoid hard luck stories by our local Nigerians.

Name one event that changed your life.

That would have to be my becoming buddies with Bill Gates. I have often written about this. So far, Bill has not been good about remembering my birthday.

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My favorite word today is escapism. Vb., nobody's home. Def.: Hiding in the kitchen when the Jehovah's Witnesses come to the door.

It's Always All About Me

Well, I guess I lied. I told you I looked a lot like Marilyn Monroe, but I forgot she had long hair. I also told you I looked a lot like Nefertiti, but I forgot I don't look good in profile. I also told you I am really pretty. I guess you now know that that was the biggest lie of all. Instead, I am really handsome, sort of a cross between Robert Redford and Pierce Brosnan.

My grandson saw this picture and he said, "Hey, Mom, look. It's Elephant Man." I don't know what he meant, but I guess the Elephant Man was some pretty good looker. So, ladies, I hope you didn't fall on anything sharp when you swooned.

By the way, if I should ever say something like, "Come see me if you're ever in Salem," this is not an invitation. I would just say that to make you feel wanted.

In the interest of making this post entirely one-sided, here are some more of the 11,878 things about why I am so wonderful:

82. I have a miniature bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey that was given to me in 1974 by a friend. He wrote on the label: "Save this for the good times ahead." 1974 was my last good year, so I still have it. Maybe there will be some good times next year.

83. In 1942 I had a newspaper route delivering to Camp Abbott, south of Bend, Oregon, which was training grounds for soldiers fixin' to go to war. I sold papers to the dogfaces for .05 cents each. One day on leaving camp I took the wrong road, and walked two miles looking for my ride. I got picked up by some strangers and delivered home, in tears. They didn't mug me for my nickels.

84. Oregon has some geothermal sites. A lot of people in Klamath Falls heat their homes with hot water from underground. At Lakeview there is a place called Hunter's Lodge, which has a perpetual, small, geyser. I once stayed at Hunter's Lodge so I could watch the geyser. It gets pretty boring after about 10 minutes. Fortunately they also had a bar.

85. In the 1960's I would take my chain saw and pickup truck out into the woods to cut firewood. A friend had 50 acres of oak and fir; he let me cut oak, not fir. One day in the rain my pickup slid backward into a fir tree and I couldn't get unstuck. So I cut the offending fir tree at ground level, bucked it up, loaded up all the wood and branches, covered the stump with dirt and went home. I doubt my friend reads this stuff. I burned the evidence, anyway.

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My favorite phrase today is hard cheese. N., from Wisconsin cows. Def.: What unemployed dentists slip into your Velveeta.

An Adventure in Fine Dying and Dining

As you know, I spend a lot of time writin' about dyin' and shit. Now then, I ain't fixated on dying. I like breathing just as much as the next horse's ass. What I mean to emphasize is my fixation on What Comes Next. And here's where it gets sticky. See, there's all kinds of guessworks about What Comes Next:

1. Heaven
2. Hell
3. Hang around on earth as a ghost
4. Merge into somebody else's body (this one is tricky, on account of some bodies are better than others; see Lindsay Lohan, Rosie O'Donnell)
5. Reincarnate
6. Dust to dust in a coffin
7. Ashes to ashes in an urn
8. Medical School cadaver
9. Organs donator
10. The Slow Rot (where you die and nobody finds you for a couple of years)
11. Go into a "disease fixit shop" after 40-50 years in a cryogenics lab

Anyway, if you're going to keep breathing you need to eat well, and this is where my latest invention comes in. (I need to keep inventing stuff so I can Make My Pile. My Last Will and Testimony specifies that I have opted for No. 5, above, in case No. 1 is closed off, which it will be.)


This invention is so inventive that I'm suprised my buddy Bill Gates didn't think of it. It is based on the "eat your vegetables" principle. Some people just don't like turnips or broccoli or rutabagas or pureed carrots or salsify or squash or spinach or collard greens or okra or black-eyed peas, which make up the 10 basic food groups, I think. Some people can't eat bread because of the gluten. And some people are allergic to bovine milk.

The solution: Ol' Hoss's One Food Fits All.

My scientists have developed a formula where all vegetables, all bread, all milk, all rice, all kumquats and mangoes will look the same but be made out of, and taste just like, Tenderloin Steak. (For people who don't like beeve, these things will be made out of abalone.) You won't ever have to threaten the kids again. They'll be rooting for vegetables in their lunch boxes. They'll want okra snacks after school, and cookies and tenderloin milk at bedtime.

I'll take my time getting this off the ground so's you have time to invest in a feedlot.

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My favorite word today is peeve. Vb., Ode to a Grecian Urn. Def.: Bitching about the loss of the word "gay" as a synonym for frolicsome, even though you never used it anyway.

Lookee What Hoss Finded

Pretty As a Welsh Town

On many occasions (8? 30? 300?) I have told you how pretty I am. It is quite a feat for a guy in an Old Folks' Home who is 74 270/365ths years of age to continue to be pretty. But there ain't much I can't do once I set my mind to it. So, the other day I compared my likeness to that of Nefertiti. Here is a picture of what somebody thinks she must have looked like. I may have made a mistake in the comparison. Actually, I look more like Marilyn Monroe (the live version, not the dead one; screw you).

I am hoping to be able to publish my picture here one of these days. Maybe I'll warn you in advance so if you're one of those people who easily swoon at the sight of superior pulchritudininity you will not want to visit me that day. Folks usually faint right and left when I do my Frank Sinatra impressions.

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My buddy TanLucyPez probably thinks that because I have been dumped in an Old Folks' Place that I am the dumping ground for arcane information. She is probably right. So she told me the name of a town in Wales, which is LLANFAIRWLLGWYNGLLGOGERYYCHWYRNDROBWILLLLANTYHSILIOGOGOGOCH. She said, "Maybe you can do something with it."

Well, unbeknownst to all of you, I happen to be an expert on things Wales. I know right where it is, which is somewhere west of London. Several kilometers, maybe. Possibly more than several. I am an expert by osmosis from my pal Chris Cope, over in Minniehaha, Minnesota. Chris can speak Welsh and HAS A WELSH BLOG, for cripe's sake.

Chris has been to this place, and says the name usually is shortened to Llanfairpwll (Thaahn-vair-puth). He adds, "The name was created in the 1850s part as a tourism gimmick and part as something to deliberately annoy the English -- who can't pronounce Welsh words to save their lives. The meaning of the name is 'The church of St. Mary's in the white hazel hollow near a rapid whirlpool and the red cave church of St. Tysilio.'"

I am glad I asked. When I read it, I wasn't sure whether it was "white hazel" or "grey hazel."

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My favorite word today is cope. vb., welsh corgie. Def.: To set out for the scene of an auto accident with a picnic basket.

Hoss Is Warming to the Task

If this works, this will be the first picture Ol' Hoss has ever put on his site from The Old Folks in the Way Home. Google/Blogger has made it so simple to steal pictures off'n the Internet that even a really smart guy like me should have no trouble. (If the picture doesn't show on your computer, that means this whole thing is a stupid plot to try to make smart people look stupid.)

The picture is of Mirror Pond in my hometown of Bend, Oregon. This is about 3,000 miles from Walden Pond (which is apropos of zilch). The "pond" is actually a small reservoir behind a little dam on the Deschutes River, one of the best fly-fishing rivers in the whole Newnited States and Canada.

The figure in the picture is standing on what we called "The Point," a sort-of isthmus. One day I sat there fishing with night crawlers and caught nada. The boy next to me caught two 14-inch rainbow trout using "dough babies." Dough babies is bread mixed with egg. If you try that on your next fishing trip and it works, remember I probably got a patent on it.

The mountain in the distance is the North Sister. There are several peaks visible from Bend that are over 10,000 feet high. One of the finest skiing sites in the world is at Mount Bachelor, about 20 miles west of Bend. The real name of the peak is Bachelor Butte, a volcanic cone less than 10,000 feet high. The ski place developers wanted a snazzier name, so the thing is now referred to as Mount Bachelor, even if it is too tiny to merit a big title. Of course, if it were in Florida it would look like Mt. Everest. And knowing how weird Florida is, it probably would have its own fleet of Yetis.

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I really didn't intend to post anything today, because I feel like I am spoiling you. But since I had nothing to say, I thought I would get it off my chest. And since I fished a bit there, I think I will call this No. 81 in my list of 8,000 things about me.

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My favorite word today is PMS. n., ladies-only. Def.: A synonym for road rage.

Names Were Made to Be Sold

I'm not exactly sure how I'll go about this, but somehow I'm going to gather up the Naming Rights to a whole bunch of things. I hope I won't need a lawyer, because lawyers are so shifty and personally bottom-line oriented. Squinty, too. Lawyers is like porcupines, they....Well, hold on, this ain't about lawyers; this is about Naming Rights. I'll get to lawyers some day, and I bet they ain't gonna like it much. Lawyers is like beached whales, see, because they....Okay, okay, Naming Rights.

The importance of gathering up Rights to Naming Rights is, of course, part of my Grand Plan to Make My Pile. I probably haven't told you this before, but I need to make a lot of money real soon on accounta my days is numbered (706 and counting down; my doctor says you can bet your sweet bippy on this). The money will be used to create a Doctoral Chair at the University of Oregon that is dedicated to making up jokes about lawyers.

Hah! I'm just kidding. Lawyers is natural born jokes. They don't need no help. Lawyers is like blowflies, see, because they....Naming Rights! Yessiree, I got it.

I NEED A LOT OF MONEY TO PAY FOR A GOLD-LINED CASKET! OKAY? Then in 2000 years when the archaeologists dig me up they'll say, "Hoo boy, we got us another King Tut." Bein' famous when you're dead ain't like bein' famous when you're alive, but not all of us can be Osama bin Laden. Maybe not all of us want to.

Here are just a few of the Naming Rights I think I can put together:

OLD NAME.....................NEW NAME
St. Louis Arch..................Dr. Scholls Arch Supports
Jennifer Wilbanks............Wells Fargo Wilbanks
Halfway, Oregon..............Ellen Degeneres
Carnival Lines..................Tom Cruise
Peewee Herman................Palm Sunday*
Jackson, Mississippi.........Michael Jackson, Mississippi
Intercourse, PA...............Heidi Fleiss
Grand Forks, NE..............Rogers Silverplate
Florida Keys....................Yale Locks
Grand Banks...................Jennifer Wilbanks

Doubling up on the name of the Runaway Bride is probably pretty smart cookies, since the only other news of late is about W's shrinking poll numbers. Strike while the Greyhound to Albuquerque is hot, I always say.

(Boy howdy, I just can't wait to see what other suggestions appear in the comments. I might make millions.)

* I'm just hoping somebody has to ask what this is all about. I've long wanted to exercise my knowledge of what goes on in Triple X-rated movie houses.

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My favorite word today is flupth. n., thedogdidit. Def.: The kind of fart you hope will go unnoticed.

Interesting Experiences You Can Buy

Not everybody is rich like you. Some of us have to scrape for every penny to make meat ends.

You're probably sick of hearing it, but Ol' Hoss desperate needs to Make My Pile if I'm going to be able to afford one of them Jack Kennedy-style horsetrot funeral processions down Pennsylvania Avenue. Or maybe a Gambino crime family 40 Cadillacs-style slow tour of downtown New York on the way to the St. John's Cemetery, where Lucky Luciano and Vito Genovese are buried. Anything that suits my exalted but penniless station in life.

So here's my current thinking on How to Get Rich. I will soon be selling Mail Order Near Death and Other Bad Experiences. (Once again, I have beat my buddy Bill Gates to the finish line. Turn the other cheek, Bill.)

You might wonder why you would want to buy a Bad Experience. Well, let's face it. You have about run out of things to tell people like my buddy Susie, who is a therapist. So to brighten her day you need some weird stuff that has got you in turmoil, even if it's somebody else's turmoil. You do not want to disappoint a therapist; she is counting on you to have bad things to report.

Here is a description of a For Instance that you can buy and call your own:

"I was walking down a long hallway when, in the distance, I saw someone I vaguely knew. We pretended we didn't know each other, in a vain effort to avoid recognition over the whole length of the corridor. The distance between us didn't slacken fast enough, so the half-smiles on our faces took on a glacier-like quality. To break the tension, we each examine the ceiling and walls of the hallway. A sign on the wall says 'Fallout Shelter.' I break out my Blackberry and make a note. Then I randomly punch in other codes hoping this might transport me to a friendlier place where there is beer instead of a long hallway containing two semi-acquaintances who, somehow, must get over the queer feeling that we both should be embarrassed. The other person, a woman, suddenly recognizes me and calls out, 'Oh, it's you! Good grief!' The worst is over. We pass each other, doffing sick grins."

Now then, chances are that two or more of you are going to be visiting my Susie, so you will need different stories. Here are some other titles:

"While near death, I hovered over my doctor's shoulder as he removed my uterus and slyly implanted a tracking device as required under the Patriot Act."

"I awoke to find myself in a strange bedroom where the gay lifeguard was giving me lip service."

"I dreamed I was in Thailand ministering to conjoined felines, the first Siamese twin cats."

These are strictly cash and carry. If you cannot find a Pay Pal button on my site, it means I am sold out.

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My favorite word today is invisible. adj., from Claude Rains. Def.: How the best piece you have ever written appears on Blogger when you click "Publish."

Hoss May Have a Girlish Figure

I been thinking about all the female talents I got, and wondering if I wouldn't have been a damn good woman (a.k.a. person without package). Just check out my feminine side:

I am really pretty. I don't know how to put pictures on here, so you'll just have to take my word for it. It would be safe to say I look a lot like Nefertiti, because nobody knows what she looked like, and that's good enough for me.

I am artsy-craftsy. I have braided a 4x6-foot rug, needlepointed a 9x13-inch picture, and hooked a 3x5-foot wool rug. Some crazed ex-wives got away with the braided rug and the needlepoint, but I still have the fruits from my experience as a hooker. More mundanely, I have ironed clothes, darned socks, scrapbooked, and coveted spike heels.

I wrote a cookbook. I am an excellent cook. Everybody says I am the only one they know who can make horsemeat taste like tuna, beef, pork or chicken.

I am not afraid to be pregnant. To prove it, on a cousin's dare I swallowed a watermelon seed when I was 11.

I am not too proud to say that nobody would be envious of me, despite my prettiness, because my breasts are pretty small. I don't want your husband anyway, even if he is too good for you.

I can only think of two disadvantages to being a woman. One, you spend most of the time on the bottom, and, two, you are perpetually underpaid.

Oh, I suppose there are other disadvantages. Serious disadvantages. I mean, if you can believe it, somebody has to be Mrs. Donald Trump.

I think this should count as No. 78 in my list of 2,000-5,000 things I plan to tell you about myself. Yes, let's do that.

79. My mother always claimed that the Maudlin family was related to Bill Mauldin, the famous Stars and Stripes cartoonist of World War II fame. She said his family changed their name from Maudlin to Mauldin because maudlin means "drunk, sentimentally silly." I can't prove this name change thing, so it doesn't mean anything. But if I COULD prove it, it still wouldn't mean anything.

80. In college, our fraternity borrowed some steel tables for our annual sweetheart dance. We moved them from the Capitol to the dance site on a flatbed truck. Three of us steadied the tables while Brother Bob drove the truck. Bob drove it over a curb, dumped me and one of the tables -- on top of me. I didn't tell my folks back in Bend that I spent time in the Emergency Room but they read about it in The Oregonian newspaper. Thereafter, I always voted for 'fessing up.

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My favorite word today is parse. vb., from long division. Def.: In any distribution of food equally among several people, to give yourself the extra slice.

My Kingdom for a Horsemeat

I suppose you know all about my plan to be reincarnated. Howsomeever, since I ain't done this before, I wonder if they is some trick to it. Do you have to know somebody? Any palms gotta be greased? Votes bought and sold?

If all it takes is money, that will be no problem. See, what I have done is I have bought me a horsemeat franchise. Lots of money in horsemeat. I hear that's what the dark chicken is in many Chinese restaurants. Rumor is that horsemeat is the tuna that's in a lot of Thai restaurants.

And the neat thing is, you can make horsemeat out of dogs. People who would eat horsemeat aren't very discriminating, so they don't care. The beef in lots of Vietnamese restaurants is dog, but the customers are happy because they think it's horsemeat.

When I return from my slow, painful death, I will have a major choice to make. Do I want to come back as a famous person (Ozzie Nelson)? A famous fish (Flipper)? Or a famous fish (Prince Charles)?

I have borrowed from the library a book with all named professions; maybe there's something in there I can use. These professions range from Aardvark Killer to Zorroing. Zorroing is where you go around slashing Z's on doors, walls and people's chests. This has some appeal.

Maybe I should come back as Mark Twain. I'll bet he could get a laugh out of a scientist joke.

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I hear the Amish have taken over a town in Eastern Oregon, and they plan to close the zipper factory. (Close the zipper factory!! Get it??!!) Scientists have put this in the category of "too bad."

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I must share this with you from Chris:

"You know you are addicted to blogging:

"--When you have consoled yourself after a horrible day by thinking, 'At least this will make a great blog post.'

"--When you have written posts to notify people you're going to sleep now."

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My favorite word today is despair. n., from starry spangled banners. Def.: When you come to the anthem part that says "rockets' red glare," the high note is beyond you, and you have to shift octaves.

Revising Ezekiel

Yesterday I got cornered by The Home's history buff, Feelgood Haines.

"Hoss," says Mr. Haines, "knowin' you're such an irreligious nut, I thought it my bounden duty to square you away on that Ezekiel fella who had such a big role in the Old Testimony." My eyes got gauze over 'em, which Feelgood took as a sign to continue. This is the story he told:

All this business about seeing stuff took place when Ezekiel was camped out in Tornado Alley, probably in Kansas. Kansas has been flattened so often by tornados that it is the only completely flat state in the world. Their corn is bigger than their highest mountain.

One day this powerful wind and lightning storm hit right above old Zeke, and lo the behold he saw these weirdos coming out of the sky. There were four of them and they looked sorta human but they had four faces -- the faces of a man, an eagle, an ox and a lion. Hoo boy, talk about eyes in the back of your head!

Zeke says to himself, well, this makes sense: you got the face of a man representing intelligence, the face of an eagle for vision, the face of an ox for strength, and the face of a lion for....well, hell....maybe you don't need that one. I don't know what it's for.

Zeke said he also saw a wheel within a wheel, and they was both turnin'. He described this to some Japanese later on and they made a fortune on toy gyroscopes.

What were those guys up to? Zeke asked one, whose name was Chester.

"Chester," Zeke said, "what in thunder and tarnation are you cats doin'?"

"Well," Chester replied, "somebody told us to get into the wheatfields and make some crop circles, but we're all squares. Maybe we'll just do a few swastikas, sacrifice some cows, and head on in to Wichita for breakfast."

"Well," Ezekiel said, "amen to that."

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Yesterday I wrote how some people would walk into Oxygen Holes and die for lack of air. Then I said, Scientists put this in the category of "too bad."

Nobody laughed. I guess I should have said: Scientists put this in the category of "unlucky."

I don't know if that's any funnier. Maybe you people need to get the knots outta your funny bone.

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My favorite word today is evidence. n., from Old Greek word for "play." Def.: The abrasions on knees and elbows formed from the compulsion to make love on cheap sheets.

Doing What Comes Naturally: Dying

The Administrator of this here Home for Old Soiled People was kind to point out a website that "predicts" when you're going to die. She knows how morbidly curious we are about gettin' on The Last Roundup.

According to this site, I am already dead, which is good news because I have avoided a lot of pain. I clicked on Death Clock, entered my birthdate, height, weight, etc., and The Clock said I will die March 26, 2001. If there was an obituary on me in the local rag, I missed it.

So I'm wonderin' if I died a natural death. Then I wondered, "What IS a natural death?" I'm pretty sure it's not the kind you get from cancer or heart attack or halitosis. It is probably more like:

Shutdown. This is where all your vitals go belly up all simultaneous-like. God or the Devil or somebody gets in there and turns off the key, and your mufflers quit rumbling. Of course, your hair will continue to grow for several days, but I don't know if hair is a vital. Maybe.

Heartbreak. This is when your left and right ventricles part ways. If they split up, you probably will not feel too good. Causes of Heartbreak can be getting dumped for the fourth time, finding out the Cubs lost the World Series, or discovering that Elvis really is dead. Most often this kind of death will occur in a Heartbreak Hotel.

Braindead. This occurs from trying to decipher Bushisms. To stay out of danger you might kinda want to avert your eyes when you read this example: "Natural gas is hemispheric. I like to call it hemispheric because it's a product that we can find in our neighborhoods."

Flensing. Flensing means, in part, cutting the skin off a carcass. Lots of people take off their skin every few years to check their back for moles. Unfortunately, not everybody is good with knives.

Oxygen Holes. These are kind of like the ozone hole over the Antarctic -- there's nothing there. Occasionally a human being will walk into an Oxygen Hole and not be able to catch his breath because there's no air there. Scientists put this in the category of "Too bad."

The Orlando Bloom Body to Die For. This death is reserved for women and gay men. It results from reading in People Magazine that Orlando Bloom (or a similarly well-endowed Hollywood hunk) "has a body to die for." These deaths are characterized by finding sex toys in the "On" position.

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Here's a succinct description of my new business plan:

"Home Repo. We can do it to you. You can yelp."

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My favorite word today is do-over. n., from assemblyrequired. Def.: The small, seemingly insignificant thing that remains after assembling anything, which means you have to undo everything and start over.

Orcas Will Do Their All for Hoss

I didn't make any money yesterday. Sybil Ungentine held on until 9:55 p.m. and Lester Jammies won the pool. There's always a silver lining though: Tonight we got a Death Watch on Lester.

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If I can Make My Pile real soon, I might be able to live in a ritzier joint than The Old Folks' Home where I am presently tucked. See, when the menu here says "steak," it is really ground round, which the low lifes around here call hamburger, which it is. When it says crab, it means the imitation variety known as "krab." When it says pecan pie, you know they will be fresh out.

I want to get in some place that serves abalone twice a week, and filet mignon or New York steak all the rest of the time. Except for breakfast, when we would have chicken fried steak or T-bones, basted brown eggs and some of Angie's grits.

So what I'm thinking of doing is settin' up a business that sells Orca testicles. I imagine, given the rarity of this item, that it would command a premium price, which is what I'm always after. It's easier to Make My Pile in a seller's market.

What brought this to mind is the popularity, in Wyoming, of "Rocky Mountain oysters," which are sheep nuts. The most succulent sheep nuts are the ones that have been removed from the sheep by the teeth of their Basque shepherds. I am recruiting for Orca nut chewers, but don't have much hope for success. So I put out an advertisement for nut cutters from my spinoff company, "Orca Nut Harvesters," and some of Seven's deep sea diver buddies seem interested.

Now before you get PETA on my ass, don't worry about the Killer Whales that we will be denutting. We will only take one nut per customer Orca. Everybody knows that while it takes two to tango it only takes one to bango.

My buddy Mags in San Francisco tells me there's some Killer Whales in the San Diego Zoo, so I will get my cutters to practice down there, whenever we get clearance from the Zoo people. That shouldn't be a problem.

One thing I didn't think about: Do you fry Orca testicles, or bake 'em? Or crack 'em open like coconuts? Hoo boy. There may be some holes in my plan.

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My favorite word today is lost. n., a form of defeatism. Def.: The place you put your keys so you would remember where they are.

Eclectic = Death, Inventions, Bigfoots

Carolina Sister and I have Death Watch duty in the Home of the Ancients. We are looking after Sybil Ungentine, who seems to be breathing her last. The reason we have a Death Watch is so we know the exact time Sybil passes, as 38 of us have guesses in the pool, at $5 a pop.

See, it doesn't matter what DAY a body expires; what matters is the time of day. Sometimes we have three or four pools going at once, and everybody gets really excited.

Having not much to do, Sister and I begin discussing various ways in which I might Make My Pile. She already has all the money she needs. She's planning to have her corpse barged up the Nile River and planted in the Valley of the Kings, just to piss off a bunch of Egyptian archaeologists.

I tell Carolina that I am about to get in the inventin' mood again. I am really good at this but building a better mousetrap has not got the world beating my door down -- I guess because I have not invented a better mousetrap lately. I could if I wanted to.

What I'm thinking is this: Somebody invented tubeless tires, right? What's the obvious corollary? Tireless boobs! With a no-sag guarantee, this could be a big seller. As usual, my buddy Bill Gates will want in on this.

Carolina Sister nodded, knowingly. "You're sharp, Hoss, but you still need some honing," she says. "What do you think about backward shoes?"

I don't have a clue what she's on about. But I have a reputation of being all-knowing, so I purse my lips, put the tips of my fingers together, pause to stroke my mullet and say, "Yes, you may have something there. Let's see where it leads under closer purview." (Make myself a note to grow a mullet.)

Sister says, "These would keep people safe from Bigfoots. Which is getting more and more important as there seems to be a population implosion out around Falls City." Falls City is where everybody is related to everybody else, so it doesn't surprise me to learn they are interbreeding with the Bigfoots.

"With your backward shoes, when you're out tracking Bigfoots, you'll be going one way and it will look like you're going the other way," Carolina says. "What it means is that the Bigfoots won't be able to track YOU. This is damn important. If a Bigfoot catches you in the woods it'll be like a Boss Con playin' footsy with his pansy cellmate. You'll get reamed out so bad you'll be able to hold a bowling ball in there, no hands."

(Intermission)

"Well, lookee there," I say to Carolina Sister. "It's 9:40 p.m. I have 9:47 p.m. in the pool. Let's go pull Sybil's tubes and I'll cut you in for half."

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My favorite word today is blooming. Adj., from rosy cheeks. Def.: The situation in which a lady has gone to the restroom, done her business, then tucked the hem of the back of her dress into her waistband and returned to the restaurant dining room, blissfully unaware.

To Keep On Keepin' On

I have to be down for computer maintain today. So a quick story that is making the rounds of The Oldsters' Home where I am incarcerated:

A guy walks into a hash house carrying a shotgun and bucket of cow plop. He orders coffee, drinks it down, raises the shotgun and shoots the bucket of manure, then disappears into thin air.

"What was that all about?" asks the cook.

A patron responds: "He's in training for senior management. He comes in, drinks coffee, shoots the shit, then disappears for the rest of the day."

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My favorite word today is henmark. n., from old eggbeaters. Def.: The dried yellow substance found between the tines of forks in restaurants.

Good Grief! Hoss Had a Childhood?

I just got "tagged" by one of my best buddies. (No, not Bill Gates, the other one, Judy.) She said I am instructed to tell "five things you miss from your childhood."

Hoo boy, I seldom get invited to write sappy stuff. Not that I am bad at it. I can rival anybody when it comes to sappiness. (I am also good at cliches. "Snatching jaws from the defeat of victory" is one of my best. So is, "Frankly, madam, I don't give a darn.")

Okay, prepare to get all cloyed up over these tear-jerkers:

I miss killing a swallow with my slingshot. This is really sad. When I was about 10 I spent several weeks at the home of my grandparents. He was pastor of the church next door. A lot of violet-green swallows hung around the church, and I would try to wing them with stones from my homemade slingshot. One day I got a church window. I never got a swallow. Don't cry for me yet; there's worse to come.

I miss two feet of snow. I remember wading through about two feet of snow in Drake Park in Bend when I was about 10. I hated it. Now I live in a much milder climate. What I really miss is not having any snow to hate.

I miss gun fights. The 1930's were really good for people who liked to blast away at bank tellers and the like. "Pretty Boy" Floyd, "Baby Face" Nelson, John Dillinger, and Bonnie and Clyde were all shot to death in 1934. None of these people worked the Bend area, but that doesn't mean they're not missable.

I miss Fudgesicles. Well, that's not exactly true. I actually DON'T miss Fudgesicles. You can still get some at the supermarket. I guess what I miss is the nickel Mom would give me once a week to buy a Fudgesicle. Nobody gives me nickels anymore, which often gives me cause to go all weepy-eyed.

I miss Curtis Tank. The "tank" is what was a privately owned swimming pool in Bend. Mr. Curtis put tarpaper around the edges and when you got out of the pool and laid yourself out on that sun-heated tarpaper it was like you had gone to Heaven that felt like Mild Hell. Every afternoon Mr. Curtis would throw pennies into the pool and we could dive for 'em and buy a Walnetto or some jelly beans. Actually, I guess I miss penny candy more than I miss Mr. Curtis.

If you think of anything else in my childhood that I should be missing, please let me know so you can be roundly ignored. ("Roundly ignored" is probably my favorite cliche of all time, and that's why you are being blessed with it today.)

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My favorite word today is adversity. n., old Rhode Island Red. Def.: The part of the chicken gizzard that cannot be chewed.

Here's Your Christmas Letter

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Go Meet an Artiste

Every day I visit over 70 websites to find your good writing. I generally comment, saying "That's good," or "That's gooder'n good." Occasionally I find something that is exemplary, and so it is today.

My friend Vicki has published a Rembrandt of words, and I'd like you to read it. So today Hoss will not be writing his piece so you can use the time to visit Vicki.

Click on Vicki Bennett, scroll to June 10 and read her scintillating piece, "The Long Goodbye." You'll be thanking me.

Hoss will have a piece tomorrow. Naturally I will be praising it highly.

Bury These Guys on the Lone Prairie

Hopalong Cassidy and Ward Bond didn't shoot near enough Indians. There's still a bunch over at Grand Ronde, in Oregon, that need shooting. These are the ones that got a casino that us white-eyes visited yesterday.

Damn! If'n I was John Wayne I'd burn down their teepees (except they're all living in four-bedroom condos with maid service). I'd lead 'em to Badwater in Death Valley (except they got sweet water from the Yamhill River). I'd force-feed 'em firewater (except they don't allow that on the reservation anymore on account of they always wind up on the 12-Step).

I'd bury 'em up to their necks in anthills and slather 'em with honey. I'd run a herd of buffalo through their Wounded Knee & Barbecue Observance Picnic. I would run off their horses -- especially their 500-horsepower Lamborghinis and Ferraris.

You probably have figured out why I am so tight-up. I lost $8 at the Spirit Mountain Casino yesterday. Now for the rest of the month I'll have to shine my own damn shoes.

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I guess I forgot to tell you that Carolina Sister was on the bus that took us to
Spirit Mountain. She also lost, but she didn't care. She bought Google at $85 and it's now $300.

"You know, Hoss," she said, "gambling is a gamble. I wouldn't recommend it for poor people like you."

Boy that pissed me off. Has anybody got revenge for the Custer thing yet?

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My barber is really hard of hearing. The other day, I'm in his shop and for conversation I say, "I see Willamette University has got a rowing crew. I wonder what the kids have to weigh to make the cut." Guess what kind of trim he gave me.

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My favorite word today is internutted. n., microsoftese. Def.: The blinking at the bottom of the screen that tells you the Internet is working very hard on your problem and is not intending to connect you, but wants you to know how difficult this is.

Time Waits for No Hoss

I don't have a lot of time for writing this weekend. The Older'n Dirt Folks' Home bus is takin' some of us to the Indian gambling joint. The chief Indian said he needs us because "I've got a family to feed."

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A Brit, an Aussie and a Scot are in a tavern drinking brew. The flies are thick, and three of them kamikaze these gentlemen's beer. The Brit and the Aussie flick the flies off their suds and drink it down. The Scot carefully picks the fly out of his beer, dries if gently with his breath, and says, "There now, laddie, all safe and sound. Now SPIT IT OOOT!"

This is from my buddy, Oz, who also opines: Economics is the only class in college where the professor can reuse the exam papers year after year. This is completely safe because the answers are different every year.

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When Nixon was running for his second term, he used Vice President Spiro Agnew as his hatchetman. Agnew was as nasty of tongue as they come, and was doing a great job of dividing the country. He gave one of his typical take-no-prisoners speeches at the Republican Governors' Conference in Idaho. After it was over, my boss, Oregon Gov. Tom McCall, was asked for comments.

He said: "That was a rotten, bigoted little speech."

The next day, at the conference, Agnew asked Tom, "Did you really say that I gave a 'rotten, bigoted little speech'?"

Tom said: "I don't remember saying 'little'."

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My favorite word today is quickstep. v., bus-terminalism. Def.: The frenzied movement from one restroom stall to another, trying to find one with a lock on the door and no Lincoln logs clogging the drain.

Movies of Which I'm Partial To

Awhile back I wrote about how I was the easy goin'-est person in this whole Old Folks Labor Camp, and I guess that's why Alli Deluxe of TofReknin thinks she can unload a meme on me.

Well, this time a "tagger" has tagged the right guy, because this meme is about films and I am the sharpest cheddar in the deli when it comes to motion pictures.

Total number of films I own on DVD/Video:

Three. These are videos I made of the three grandkids from birth to 4 years of age. These rival "M*A*S*H" for comedy, "Doctor Zhivago" for pathos and "Jurassic Park" for terror. The Smithsonian wants me to gift them the films, but I am holding out for an offer from Spielberg.

The last film I bought:

You gotta be kidding. People buy this stuff? Nuts to that. Everything will be on free TV eventually. I don't spend any of my hard-earned going to movies either. I can wait 'em out.

The last film I watched:

"Soylent Green," 1973. I liked this movie because it has a Biblical theme, like, resurrection. See, what happens is that some people are put in this meat grinder gizzy and turned into something like Spam so that other people won't go hungry. Can't you just see "born again" written all over that? Sort of a pre-cursor to cloning.

Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me:

"King Kong," 1933. I didn't see this until about 1939, but it stirred me somethin' fierce. There's Fay Wray in a slinky dress and you JUST KNOW what Kong the Dong has in mind. I knew right then my education was on the right track because I found "stirring of the loins" in my Collier's Encyclopeedee.

"Gunga Din," 1939. While the Thugees are trying to decimate some British troops, Victor McLagen takes an on-screen whiz. This is why films are X-rated from time to time. Gunga was an Indian lad who took one for the team (read: shot to death). Cary Grant says, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din." But we all knew he was just sayin'. "Din" is pronounced "Dean," but James Dean was later.

"Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," 1939. This means a lot to me because Dopey proved not to be a loser. I also am a non-loser dope, as are such buddies of mine as Chris Cope, Lightning Bug's Butt, Legs Ho, and MuzikDude. Those people, though dopes, write some of the best pieces of anybody. So I guess Dopey means a lot to me. Snow White and the other dwarfs can fuck off.

"The Wizard of Oz," 1939. This is important because the owner of the Salem Golf Club has an autographed picture of Ray Bolger in his "Oz" costume, and I got to see it a lot when I played golf. Other than that, this picture sucks big gas.

"Long Gone With the Wind and the Rain," 2005. This is the almost motion picture based on my screenplay, which I wrote in February. It is best remembered for the gritty performance that would have been given by Vivien Sleigh of Tara, who had lost her legs in a Texas chainsaw massacre and was waiting for replacements from Legs 'R Us. This would have had 302 Academy Award nominations if I had been able to get it filmed.

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My favorite word today is park. n., from KickedQuarans. Def.: Where you will find trees, grass and dog turds.

The Things That I Could Tell You

Carolina Sister to Ol' Hoss: "Mr. Snake, what's the difference between centipedes and millipedes?"

Hoss: "Nothin'. They taste the same."

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If I am ever going to finish telling you the 500 or 2,000 most notable things about me, I better get it on.

72. When I was about 4 (I am now 74 252/365ths), I had wild monster pigs under my bed. I know, you think every child has this "dream" about monsters under the bed. Well, I will have you know my story is TRUE. If it weren't true, why did my Dad let me get in bed with him and Mom?

73. When I was about 35 I had female problems. So I decided to commit suicide. I waded into the ocean up to my thighs. I was going to see how far I could swim toward China before I drowned. It was painfully cold, so I gave up committing suicide by ocean drowning. Then I thought about shooting myself, but that also seemed to involve a lot of pain. So here I am. I have always voted against pain.

74. I am quite a sports nut. I have participated in or played football, baseball, softball, basketball, track and field, hunting, fishing, golf, horseshoe pitching, badminton, ping pong, archery, gymnastics, boating, ice skating, roller skating, skiing, darts, billiards, snooker, slingshot, tag, king of the mountain, dodge ball, kick the can and hide-and-go-seek. All of these games have rules. There are no rules in curling, so I don't play that.

75. I used a bow and arrow up in Yakima, Wash., to bring down a 5-lb. carp. Carp are those things you clean on a cedar board, then you throw away the fish and eat the board. Did you know that Oregon Grape is not a grape?

76. When I worked for the tourist promotion wing of state government, I performed as a "model" so our staff photographers would have a warm body to show in the scenic pictures they were taking. We would use these pictures in advertisements to lure Californians to visit Oregon. Then once they got here we'd tell 'em to go home. "Don't Californicate Oregon."

77. Once while working for the touristy board I caught an 8-lb. brown trout in the Deschutes River near my hometown of Bend, Ore., while we were making an "action scene" for my photographer. The fish was too heavy for the gear I was using so the photog waded into the river and hoisted the beast up on the bank. This activity was on company time. Since I was smart for my age, I converted the fish to personal use.

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My favorite word today is Minniehaha. n., Minnesotadumbspeak. Def. 1: A titter; a giggle; a chuckle; a minor laugh. Well short of a guffaw. Def. 2: A chortle by a female mouse when Mickey slips on a banana peel.

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Never let religion get in the way of what you believe.

Speaking Up to Make My Pile

Thanks to all for the kind words about my daughter's piece on this site yesterday. We are mightily buoyed.

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My good buddy Vicki thinks I might be able to Make My Pile by giving commencement speeches. For those of you who don't know about my all-consuming need to Get Rich, I need a lot of money to pay for my lavish funeral, which entails a trip to the Andromeda Galaxy for a Storied Restoration of a Misspent Youth.

Bein's how I am such a succulent speaker, I think I WILL INDEED make myself available to give commencement or matriculars, whichever comes first. Below is my boilerplate speech to high school students. I would ask you to suggest improvements but that would be like King Midas asking for more gold. I mean, what's the point?

STUDENTS OF MANY DUMBNESS, LEND ME YOUR HARKEN

Students, today is the last day of your life. If there are any cucumbers growing under your chair, it is to remind you that you are about to harvest the crispy goodness of the multiple choice.

You now no longer need to remember that it was true/false King Arthur who wenched Excalibur from the stone. Nobody gives a shit about King Arthur anymore.

In fact, nothing of what you have learned in high school will be useful anytime, anywhere. Your memories of these years will be about sex, booze and mirthless teachers. Please note that the ability to whistle while you work is no longer in demand.

Ventricles!! You should have studied ventricles! Ventricles and aortas will always be in demand. You should have well noted the utter advantage of opposable cloven hooves, of which ventricles are not a part.

Martha Stewart pleated pink plaid tampons. Vivisection. Study war no more. These are fairly important.

You strived for greatness!! No cigar.

Many of you will be going to college. You will not learn anything there except that the books are more expensive and arcane. The beer tastes the same in college as it did in high school.

Transmit sexual disease as much as you can, then study the transmission of sexual disease for your Master's thesis. You will need at least a Master's degree to put bread and water on the table.

Many of you will instead go to The School of Hard Knocks. Load up on credit cards and get your first bankruptcy out of the way early. It is The American Way.

Stop to sniff the Mexican Hairless. Great Danes are tall enough to hump your abs.

There is a large market for elephant growers.

Global warming will arrive stealthily, like panty creep.

There are only two things certain in life: Death and composting.

Let us pray:

People who write on shithouse walls
Should roll their shit in little balls.
People who read these words of wit
Should have to eat these balls of shit.

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My favorite word today is hippocampus. N., Ivyleagueism. Def. A series of buildings erected for the education of large animals.

Warning: A Change of Pace

Yesterday was my wife's 68th birthday. There wasn't a big celebration. Some of you will recall from an earlier piece I wrote that she has Progressive Supranuclear Palsy -- she can't walk, her words are slurred and her eyesight is going. Here is what our daughter the schoolteacher wrote:

THINGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME

My mother was one of those rare women who never doubted she could do it all, even though our culture put limits on women during her younger years. With this attitude she set about doing it all and I watched her succeed.

This is what she taught me: you can do or be whatever you decide. Set your own goals and trust in your abilities.

My mother had many hobbies and interests to occupy her free time. She was always learning and perfecting her skills. She became an excellent golfer. She was a seamstress with skilled hands that could produce magnificent wedding dresses, prom dresses, finer than any boutique.

This is what she taught me: pursue your interests, devote your life to things you can learn and love.

When she retired she turned her energies toward others, volunteering her time generously. She had a new fulltime job devoted to Hospice, Salem Outreach Shelter, Meals on Wheels, mentoring and working with disadvantaged children through Operation School Bell.

This is what she taught me: serve others. You can make a difference.

Then the unthinkable happened. This woman, whose energies were unstoppable, was stopped by a hideous, indiscriminate and cruel disease. My mind ranges "I can't stand it." But I smile and stifle my anger and frustration. I push her wheelchair down the hallway of the assisted living facility where she now lives and she greets fellow residents heading to dinner in their wheelchairs and walkers. She says to me, "I'm so lucky to have you push me in my wheelchair."

This is what she taught me: You can stand it and you can find something good in any situation. Be thankful for what you have. You can face what life deals you with grace and courage.

This Is Not About a 20-Mule Team

Because I am so old, I will tell you an old story. Old people love to reminisce. It reminds us of the days when we still had prostates and teeth.

Lane County, Oregon, stretches from the Cascade Mountains to the Pacific Coast. In this county is the small community of Noti. Here is how that name came about:

A trapper and an Indian needed to get to the coast from the hinterlands, and they only had one horse. So they agreed that the trapper would ride ahead for a few miles, tie up the horse, and take off on foot. The Indian would hike to where the horse was, ride a few miles past the trapper, tie up the horse and start hiking. This way they both would get to the coast a little faster than just walking.

So the trapper took the horse, went a few miles -- and kept on going. The Indian got to the place where he expected to find the horse, and said, "Trapper, him no tie." And right there today sits the village of Noti.

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I read a story where some Internet muck-de-mucks say they are providing a new domain for pornographers. Instead of using .net or .com like you and I do, the porno people would use .xxx. That is SO cute. You know, it would be, like, X-rated? They might be doing this so children will be better able to find Internet porn. I don't know if Al Gore invented this idea.

Anyway, when I was growing up, XXX stood for poison. You didn't want to drink nuthin' that had XXX on the bottle. (Likewise, you didn't wanna mess with anybody who had 666 on his forehead.)

What they seem to be doing here is combining the .xxx with the XXX, and then we all can get a Poison Porn Pal.

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I think I could stand to be gay if I could get some women involved. Maybe that defeats the purpose. I don't know.

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TanLucyPez had a piece about childhood in which she mentioned a "brouhaha and hullabaloo."

So, my favorite word today is brouhaha. n., from Pepys Diary. Def. There's something funny about this beer.

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Matey says:

"Of course there's no reason for it; it's just our policy."

You Won't Be Here Very Long

Ol' Hoss hasn't got a lot of time this morning, as I am Hall Monitor in The Way Too Old People's Home. The monitor goes up and down the halls shoving the inmates back into their rooms when they try to take off too early for breakfast. Naturally I am very good at this because I hate old people.

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Matey tells me:

Mr. Halfbright goes into a lumber yard and says, "Gimme some 4 by 2's."
The clerk says: "You mean 2 by 4's?"
Halfbright: "Let me check." He goes out and consults with a passenger in the pickup truck, comes back and says: "Yes, 2 by 4's."
Clerk: "How long you need them?"
Halfbright: "Let me check." He goes back outside, consults, and returns. "We need 'em a long time. We're building a house."

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I can just picture this, something written by Average Mom Tammy about her young son:

"Boy Terror will do that wonderful back arching thing when I try to strap him into the car seat."

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My favorite word today is defrock. n., pastoralism. Def.: The second lowest grade you can get when you frock. If you get an F, you are a frocking failure.

I Am So Relaxed

Of all the people in The Old Folks at Home where I live, I am probably the most easy goin'. In fact, I am probably the most easy goin' person in the whole City of Salem. I MIGHT be the most easy goin' person in Oregon, the Western United States, Kalamazoo, Oshkosh and Blue Ball, Pa.

I am loose. I kid you not: There has never been a bowel as loose as I am. I am so loose I would put a slip-knot to shame. Problems roll off my back like persimmons off a Pinto. This is because I am so easy-goin'. I am sure that I have put myself in a position to claim the title of "Easy Goin'-est of All Time."

I also am sure that if you say "easy goin'" real fast about 10 or 12 times you will wonder what the hell you're doing.

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Yesterday I wrote about Ol' Hoss's "Musical Manhole Cover," which converts farts into such tunes as "Classical Gas." I got criticized by some people for sayin' this item is for men, as if women don't ever "let one."

Look, if I had said the Manhole Cover would also be for Womenholes, there would have been hell to pay. About two-thirds of my readers are women, and I didn't wanna piss them off by insinuating that they occasionally fart. All of these women are really pretty and I am trying to get next to them. I may be dumb, but I am not stupid.

But, just in passing, I want it known that the "Manhole Cover" comes in a "One Size Fits All."

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Many of you may not have seen this. It's the description Darrel gives of himself on his "Other Brother" template:

"What a wise old Navajo Chief might say of me: 'Like the squirrel does store the fine pinion nuts, so does Other Brother hit softballs many many tree lengths, and then drink mightily and strong from the blood of grain.'"

Ernest Hemingway couldn't have said it purtier.

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My favorite word today is Uh-oh. n., Old English word meaning "uh-oh". Def.: The shame of being caught picking nose hairs.

Is This Idea Any Stinking Good?

Thinking is probably the most popular activity in The Old Folks' Home. You can only play dominoes, bingo and cards for so long, and then the fights break out. I do my best thinking at any time that I want, which is why I am so versatile. Not everybody can think all the time.

What I think about most is How to Get Rich, as I've explained past-wise. See, if I Make My Pile, when I go belly up in the fish tank I can have my body shot into space for preservation and enhancement. On the other hand, if I decide to go the reincarnation route, I will have a lot of money stashed away in Switzerland to make my comeback as a Internet writer.

I still haven't decided what to reincarnate as. Some people think it would be fun to get reborn as Bill Clinton. I don't know about that. I don't think I'd be good at giving blow jobs. But I haven't given it a lot of thought 'cause there ain't any money in it.

Whate I HAVE thought up is my latest money-making schemeroo, an invention I have named "Hoss's Musical Manhole Cover." Here's the description I gave to the Patent Leather Office:

A "Manhole Cover" is sort of a diaper that covers up a guy's shithole. Naturally, like any diaper it will keep little crumblets of crap from going into a guy's pants and then falling on the floor, so that's a plus. But this brand new item is much, much more. See, I am building in a little musical device that will come into play in case the wearer "lets one go."

The way farts are today, they just come out all seepily or noisily, with odor. Fart, though, into a Hoss Musical Manhole Cover and the fart gas is converted into music. So far I have successfully tested sounds of kazoo and music box (I imagine there will be a lot of variations, like maybe for trombone in D minor). The Manhole Cover will be lined with charcoal to assimilate the odor.

This will be of massive benefit to society. Men will be able to fart all they want. No more holding it in during church services. You could accompany the choir with your own personal flute music. Just let 'er fly, and some of the finest sounds this side of a Swiss yodel will come oozing out of your jeans.

Better sell your Beano and Pepcid stock. In the future Hoss envisions, gas will be a good thing.

Be the first on your block to own one. $9.95 at Target, $8.97 at Walmart.

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My favorite word today is screwed. n., old reo-ism. The wistful watching of your ride circling the block once again.

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I ask you:

If a ventriloquist throws his voice out, is he eligible for worker's comp?

That's Interesting, Hoss. Not.

Here in The Home for the Wizened and Otherwise Wrinkled, Harold Halfnuts is on oxygen. Like me. Harold Halfnuts, NOT like me, continues to smoke.

I wonder what the explosion is going to be like. Will it be a big one, or just a little "poof"? How far will the body parts fly? These are important questions. I think I'll get the Administrator to put up a closed circuit TV out in the smoking area. Might be a hit on "America's Funniest Home Videos" when Harold blows.

Maybe we can get one of them TV cops, sayin', "Keep moving people, nothing to see."

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I can't get enough of me:

68. The night I graduated from high school, I drank a half pint of whiskey en route to a senior class party at Suttle Lake, 30 miles west of Bend. The next thing I know, I am back in Bend, in Drake Park, propped up against a Ponderosa pine, wearing somebody else's shoes. Other than getting drunk about 1,000 other times, it was the second worse thing I ever did. But I am done voting for Jim Beam.

69. This is the worse thing I ever did as a child: One Halloween, in about 1939, the "gang" I ran around with went out and tipped over two outhouses. Not everybody had flush toidies. I guess it would have been okay if the owners of those things had been pedophiles. Hell, maybe they were. I feel better already.

70. Two Halloweens later, the "gang" stole a horse and let it loose in the high school for an overnight stay. It has just now dawned on me that I can add "rustler" to my resume.

71. In 1948, in the summer between finishing high school and going on to college, four of us found a 1916 Model T sitting in the front yard of a Bend, Or., residence. We bought it for $25. Our fathers refurbished the sucker. We drove it over a 4,800-foot pass from Bend to Salem, and gloried in our treasure all year. Then the father of one of us "owners" repossessed it because we never paid for the tires. So it goes.

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My favorite word today is insouciance. n. hossism. Def.: The glassy-eyed look of the owner of a dog who is shitting on your lawn.

Food for Thought & Explaining Hoss

Poor Fred Schmidlapp, guy on the second floor of The Home Where Our Roaming Days Are Over, gets teased a little. He's got a harelip, which means he talks funny. But Fred is a fun guy.

The other day Fred and I are at the neighborhood confectionery, where Fred asks the counterman, "How much are your cathews?" Counterman says, "$8.95 a pound." Fred says, "Whoa, thath pretty high. How much are your pitathios?" Counterman replies, "$9.95 a pound." Fred says, "Boy, thath really high. How much are your peanuth?" "They are $1.95 a pound," Counterman says. "Thath pretty high, but give me a pound of peanuth."

And then Fred says, "Thay, mithter, thankth for not makin' fun of my harelip." The counterman says, "I'm very sensitive to people making fun of handicaps. You see, I've got quite a large nose."

Fred: "Nose! NOSE! Your nuth are tho high I thought that wath your prick!"

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Your day would not be complete unless I told you some more things about Ol' Hoss the Mossback:

65. When I was growing up, I joined a kids' rifle club to learn how to shoot deer. I never got to shoot at any deer until about 50 years later. But one of the guys in the club did. He told me all about it: "I stalked that sucker for half a mile, then I got close. So I slipped a cartilage into my gun..." This is why I always vote for the close study of English as a first language.

66. I was about this age (66) when my brother-in-law talked me into going deer hunting over to Spanish Peak, about 180 miles to the east. On the second day there I shot a deer. On days 14-30 I ate deer. And then I had nothing to show for it. I guess it was a waste of time.

67. During World War II, it was a big thing for communities to organize scrap metal drives to get together stuff that could be melted down and used to make airplanes and guns and bullets and stuff. When I was 12, I scoured my neighborhood and collected 1,000 pounds of steel and iron. Got my name in the newspaper, the Bend Bulletin. Front page. I always vote for notoriety for Hoss.

The "worst" part of that drive was that the City of Bend donated a cannon that had been given to the city as a First World War memorial. I always wondered if it got made into another cannon.

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My favorite word today is augment. v., adj. beerspeak. The phrase you use to clarify the remarks of Augie Busch.

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Most panic attacks result from having to go to the bathroom and being unable to make up your mind what book or magazine to take with you.