In 'The Good Old Days'

In 1967 when I was city editor of a local newspaper, I was sent to New York to learn at an American Press Institute seminar how to produce a better news report. While there, the registrants stayed at an old place named the King's Crown Hotel. Service at the hotel was unbelievably slow.

A few days after we checked out, we learned that a maintenance worker had been slain at the hotel. A city editor from Connecticut took the philosophical view: "My theory," he wrote, "is that the guy was too slow bringing up the ice."

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Only a half-block from the King's Crown Hotel is Morningside Park. Press Institute officials warned us not to go there, day or night. "Like most big cities," one said, "New York has serious social problems."

One institute staff member told of the time that the Ford Foundation put up something like $10 million for playground equipment in parks throughout the country.

Two foundation representatives went to Morningside Park one day at 10 a.m. to see if that would be a likely place to put some of the equipment. Both were mugged.

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A religious order, the Oblate Fathers of Tewksbury, Mass. had at this time the bars and taverns of the world as its assignment. One of the fathers stood on the stage at the Gaslight Club in New York and announced that his sister is a go-go girl for the club.

Then he spoke for a few minutes about one of the evils of the world -- that people let themselves hate other people too much. I don't think we have learned a lot in the 38 years since then.

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My favorite word today is IHOP. N., same place as before. Def.: Where Long John Silver and Hopalong Cassidy worked as bus boys.

Raining Kitties and Doggies

A firefighter at his station notices a little girl next door in a little red wagon with little ladders hung off the sides and a garden hose tightly coiled in the middle. The girl is wearing a firefighter's helmet and the wagon is being pulled by her dog and cat.

"That sure is a nice fire wagon," the firefighter says. Then, as he looks closer, he sees the girl has tied the wagon to her dog's collar -- and to the cat's testicles. "Little partner," the fireman says, "I don't want to tell you how to run your rig, but if you were to tie that rope around the cat's collar too, I bet it would go faster."

"You're probably right," the little girl says, "but then I wouldn't have a siren."

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An elderly lady phoned the telephone company to report that the ringer on her phone was fouled up, and when it did ring, her pet dog always moaned first for some reason.

The repairman climbed a pole outside her house, hooked up his test set, and phoned the old lady's house. The phone didn't ring right away, but then the dog moaned and the phone did indeed ring. Here is his finding:

1. The dog was tied to the system's ground wire via a steel chain and collar.
2. The wire connection to the ground rod was loose.
3. The dog was receiving 9 volts of current when the phone number was called.
4. After a couple of such jolts, the dog would start moaning and then urinate on himself and the ground.
5. The wet ground would complete the circuit, causing the phone to ring.

Moral: Some problems can be fixed by pissing and moaning.

(With a tip of the Ol' Hoss hat to Kenju.)

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My favorite word today is retribution. Adj., bigger than a bread box. Def.: When the fat lady shoves you out of the way to get the last of the goodies on Aisle 5, you offer to guess her weight.

I Never Know What's What

There I was on hall patrol here in the home for Old and Older People when I passed by the open door of Mr. and Mrs. Sinkwich. Mr. Sinkwich is saying to his wife, “Whatever happened to our sexual relations?” And Mrs. Sinkwich said, “I don’t really know. I don’t even think we got a Christmas card from them this year.”

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I been thinking about Honore’ de Balzac. I guess everybody does every day or so. Balzac, as you know, wrote something called “The Human Comedy,” which wasn’t funny, but authors in the old days had a lot of poetic license. Like, you take “The House of Seven Gables.” There were actually just five of them, and only Clark ever amounted to anything.

Balzac died of what they called “dropsy.” If he had lived in our time he would have died of caffeinitis. His doctor was always on him about drinking too much coffee, which is what gave Starbuck’s the idea of not putting any coffee in their coffee. So we can thank Balzac for that.

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When I wrote about that easy test for college athletes the other day, somebody said that George W. believes we need to make the Citizenship Test harder. He said questions like these are too easy:

1. Name the original 13 states. (Okay, citizens, go ahead. I’ll wait right here.)
2. What is the name of the Governor of your state? (Ummm.... Loser? Arnold? One of ‘em is named Arnold. Windbag. And Kennedy. Isn’t there always a Kennedy getting elected to something? Embezzler? Has-been. Lots of those.)
3. What are the colors of the U.S. flag? (Well, let’s see: Michigan is blue and gold. Tennessee is orange and white. Texas is red and something. So: Plaid?)

Here’s my offer to make the test harder:

1. Where is the best place to cross the Rio Grande at night?
2. If you are a “boat person,” go to “Sign Here.”
3. Why is the United States thought of as a foreign country in Greece?
4. Of the two U.S. Senators serving your state, how many are there?
5. How many tickets to the Super Bowl do you expect to scalp?
6. How long do you have to pick grapes before you own the winery?
7. On a scale of 1 to 10, what is a Mad Cow?

You don’t need to thank me. A simple Medal of Freedom, like the one the FEMA guy got, will be sufficient.

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My favorite word today is Titanic. N., it was worth a try. Def.: A name Dunkin Donuts decided not to use to describe its new sinker.

Good Thing I Got Buddies

This piece is sponsored by Just Ask Judy, Oz and Old Horse... never mind, you know that one.

Here is something I failed to invent: Today's Scooter for the Today Senior Citizen. However, DO NOT RUN OUT A BUY ONE! I have improvements coming which will bear directly on my mission to Make My Pile.

Look at this picture. What is missing? Of course! -- A toilet paper holder (with the roll in the "over the top" mode, naturally). And what else? (You missed this one, didn't you, you bozos?) A magazine rack! Okay, soon's I get these installed, you will be good to go. (I love double awntawndries.)

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If big-breasted women work at Hooters, where do one-legged women work? (Hoo boy, this is bad:) IHOP.

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"Wanted: Meaningful overnight relationship."

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A jumper cable walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Okay, I'll serve you. Just don't start anything."

Two peanuts walk into a bar. One was a salted.

A man walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under his arm and says, "A beer, please, and one for the road."

A dyslexic man walks into a bra.

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I woulda made a good Communist. Wasn't it Karl Marx who said, "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need"? I can write b**gs all day long. That will be my "from each" contribution. What I need is a flat-panel TV, a wireless computer and a new set of lungs (but not the Hooters kind).

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My favorite word today is Jack. N., usually found tumbling down a hill. Def.: What's the name of the guy with no arms and no legs who is propping up the left rear side of your car while you go get a tire changed?

They Neuter Horses, Don't They?*

I reported earlier that I had a sitdown with another Internet writer, Frank, a.k.a. The Pirate. Like me, The Pirate lives in Salem, Oregon. Unlike me, he is healthy as a horse. And as interesting as Thomas Jefferson (and if you knew of my admiration for Thos. Jefferson, that's a lot, folks).

We met at a local watering hole known as The Alibi Tavern, which has got this good chicken and beer and wine. Frank is extreme busy with kids, athletics and lots of traveling, but says he and I can do this again sometime. I don't know if I want to, since it will be my turn to buy.

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Remember in the old days when somebody on TV comedy shows would hire a housekeeper? The last line after the housekeeper was hired to keep house was always, "I don't do windows." Then Jack Benny would turn to his audience with that baleful look, and we'd all crack up.

Well, hell, I CAN do windows. I got a software program right here that says "CC Cleaner, cleans Windows XP files of unwanted gizzies, virii, poopdecks and noogies." I plan a door-to-door campaign at first, then will probably start crankin' out franchises.

While I'm out there, I might as well take in washin'. I am a whiz at doin' women's laundry. ("What can Brown do for you?" If there's enough of it, I can get rich.) I don't do diapers.

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Patient: "Doc, I can't stop singing 'The Green, Green Grass of Home.'"
Doc: "That sounds like the Tom Jones Syndrome."
Patient: "Is it common?"
Doc: "Well, It's Not Unusual."

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I went to a seafood disco the other night, and pulled a mussel.

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My favorite word today is orthodontist. N., of COURSE it's going to be expensive. Def.: The guy who puts the screws to your kids.


(*Somebody made a rule that you have to have a headline. They didn't say it had to have anything to do with the subject matter of your post.)

Short Shrift Sunday #6

So, Maxine was driving down the highway about 80 miles an hour when she noticed a motorcycle cop following her. Instead of slowing down, Maxine puts the pedal to the metal.

She looks back again, and now there are two cops on her tail. She boosts speed to 95, and now there are three bulls trailing her. Suddenly she spots a gas station looming ahead. She screeches to a stop, and runs into the ladies'.

The three cops circle her as she emerges. Maxine says coyly, "I'll bet none of you thought I would make it."

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I don't fly often at all anymore. But it was always a hoot when I did. For instance, here is a copy of a note received by my captain on my last trip to Singapore Des Moines.

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Oz reports on the newest weight-loss regimen: "I get enough exercise pushing my luck."

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My favorite word today is overhead. Adj., what was that you said? Def.: A person is talking to you but looking for someone more interesting.

Short Shrift Saturday #6

I'm beginning to get into the Christmas spirit.

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My favorite word today is unfortunate. N., scientists say this is 'too bad.' Def.: You, who never finds the $1 million finger in his food at McDonald's.

The Exit Strategy to End All Wars

Feelgood Haines, the chief historian/worry wart of our Home of the Last Gasp, sidles up to me and says, “Since us Democrats are responsible for that war over in Iraq, I guess it’s up to us to figure out the ‘Exit Strategy,’ don’t ya think?”

Hoss: “What you smoking, you nit? That war was caused by our Commander in Thief, George W., and his phony claim the Iraqis had weapons of mass destructability.”

Feelgood: “See, you swallowed that left-wing, pinko liberal press line, hook and sinker. What Dubya actual said was, ‘The Iroquois have got weapons of laugh destruction.’ And that rankled him mightily because everybody knows the Republicans are such fun-lovers. Why, just the other day Jeb was telling this story about a family down in Florida where Bubba Billy got in a terrible accident. The doc comes out of the emergency room and tells the family, ‘Well, he’s breathing, but his brain is dead.’ And his Momma says, ‘Oh, my, we ain’t ever had a Republican in the family before.’”

Hoss: “How does this make the Democrats responsible for the war in Iraq?”

Feelgood: “Well, it just figures, don’t it? The Democrats in Congress have no idea what they’re doing, and as far as they know, it really is their fault. But it’s apparently going to be left to us guys in the trenches to figure out the Exit Strategy.”

Hoss: “Which consists of what?”

Feelgood: "Our initial thought was that we would go around the country yelling "Olly, olly ox in free," like we did when we played 'Kick the Can.' We'd tell the bombers we won't kill them if they won't kill us. But I guess they already know that. I wonder if the Nobel Prize people are still proud of what he invented."

Hoss: "So that won't work. What else you got?"

Feelgood: “Well, we thought we might leave via Turkey, if we could get the Kurds out of the Whey. Hee hee. Get it? Kurds and Whey. I crack myself up.”

Hoss: “You sure you’re not a Republican?”

Feelgood: “So, anyway, here’s our current thinking. We’re going to move all our soldiers out, all at once, in the dead of night. And we’re taking all the Iraqi women with us. When the men wake up, they’ll have nobody to slap around and nobody to bomb. They won’t have much of anything: No beer, no Playboy, no football, no dancing, no music, no nude beaches, no barbecued pork, no ham, no hot-dogs, no burgers, no lobster, no Christmas. They will still have dish towels for hats. They’ll be beating their swords into dust pans, so badly will they miss their women. So we tell ‘em we’ll send the women back, one or two at a time, as long as they make nice like the Germans and the Japanese did.”

Hoss: “You think this will work?”

Feelgood: “Well, Hoss, think back: What’s the longest you ever went without a woman?”

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My favorite word today is conundrum. Adj., a real poser. Def.: When unloading the dishwasher, a teaspoon drops on the floor and you have to decide whether to wash it again.

This Is Called 'Stuff'

It is "Be Nice to Somebody Today" today. So all of you (lurkers included) take 15 seconds and vote for my pal Sugarfused for "Best Photo B**g". The last 3 desktop pictures I got all came from her, which shows what good taste I got. To vote, go to 2005 Web Log Awards and click on Sugarfused. Maybe will take only 10 seconds. Git, y'all.

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Among the leaders in the International Pun Contest:

--Some chess enthusiasts were standing in the hotel lobby discussing their latest triumphs. The manager came out of his office and told them to disperse. "Why?," one asked. "Because," said the manager, "I can't stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer."

--Mahatma Ghandi walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of callouses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail, and with his bad diet, he suffered from bad breath. The result: He became a super- calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

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Does anyone know whether the Postal Service is doing this yet? Letting you put your own picture on the 37-cent stamp? Or, maybe, the picture of somebody you would be willing to go to bed with? Or a picture of the kind of polish sausages you like best? Or, possibly, your favorite slogan of all time?: "Lucky Strike Greens have gone to war."

I better get down to the Patent Leather office right quick, get me a CopyWilburWright on this idear.

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Here in the Old Folks' Home there are a lot of folks with the dreaded furniture disease: Their chest has fallen into their drawers.

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I wish I could remember who told me this: "There comes a time in every man's life, and this is one of them."

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My favorite word today is 2005. N., nobody ever remembers. Def.: What you will write on your checks all during the month of January, 2006.

Athletes in (In)Action

Did you read recently about this "diploma mill," down there in Florida, I think, that churns out passing grades to college athletes who otherwise couldn't play ball? This mill had about four employees, a president and three paper pushers to send out the A's and B's the athletes were getting.

Oh, these athletes had to apply themselves. That is, they had to apply to get in; after that they got good grades for intending to get good grades. Good Ol' Hoss has found one of this school's examination papers:

The Little School That Could

Sociology/History Test; Open Book. Time Limit: 3 Weeks

1. What language is spoken in Russia?

2. Present a dissertation on the ancient Babylonian Empire, with particular reference to architecture, literature, law and social conditions; -OR- provide the first/last name of God.

3. Would you ask William Shakespeare to (a) sail the ocean (b) lead an army, or (c) WRITE A PLAY?

4. What religion is the Pope: (a) Pakistani (b) Japanese (c) Agnostic (d) Is the Pope Catholic?

5. Metric conversion: How many feet are in 0.0 meters?

6. How many commandments was Moses given (approximately)?

7. What are people in America's far north called? (a) Southerners (b) Not Southerners.

8. Six kings of England have been called George, the last one being George the Sixth. Name the previous five.

9. Can you explain Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity? (a) yes (b) no.

10. What are coat hangers used for, other than unlocking car doors?

11. Which part of America produces the most oranges? (a) New York (b) Canada (c) Belgium (d) FLORIDA.

12. Where is the basement in a three-story building located?

13. Advanced math: If you have three apples, how many apples do you have?

14. Where does the rain come from? (a) The sky.

15. Essay: In 20 words or less, list all of the words you know. (HINT: These are words.)

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My favorite word today is gleeful. Adj., oh what fun it is, to ride in a one-horse sleigh. Def.: Winning a $5 bet you can pee in another guy's pocket without smiling.

Finders' Keepers

I am cleaning my apartment, preparatory to moving into a smaller place here in the Old and Wrinkly Folks' Home. And lo the behold, I found some stuff I thought had been lost. To wit:

Satchel's Secrets

Leroy "Satchel" Paige was one of the greatest baseball players who ever lived. He played in the "Colored Leagues" for about 80 years before being called up to the St. Louis Browns at the approximate age of 90, or thereabouts. I found a clipping, tucked away in the back of a photo album, that gave Satchel's advice for staying young:

"Avoid fried meats, which angry up the blood. If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts. Keep the juices flowing by jangling around gently as you move. Go light on the vices, such as carrying on in society. The social ramble isn't restful. Avoid running at all times. Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you."
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Business as Usual

I once had a "business card" printed up:

Treasure Maps - Fine Wines - White Women - Guns and Butter
Fertilizers and Contraceptives - Stag Parties and Box Socials

GENE MAUDLIN
Free-Booter

Raconteur - Bon Vivant - Gourmand - Connoisseur - Hedonist - Privateer
Savant - Iconoclast - Swashes Buckled - Wars Fought - Masses Inflamed
Kings Dethroned - Shipping Disrupted - Devils Advocated - Camps Raided

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Checking Out the Birds

I found a card that put me in good standing as a member of the "International Society of Imbibing Physiognomists"*, which qualified me to use the title of "Indoor Bird Watcher." Membership was granted to those who identifed the following birds through the bottom of a martini glass while seated:

Emerald-Throated Dowager - Extra Marital Lark - Whiteheaded Crotchgobbler - Great American Regret - Red-Eyed Vertigo - Morning Grouse - Gimlet-Eyed Bushtit - Rosy-Breasted Pushover - Midnight Bed Thrasher - Swift Running Peewee - Ruffled Spouse - Hairychested Nut Scratcher - Red-Peckered Woodhead.

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My favorite word today is non-existent. N., where did it go? Def.: The spare roll of toilet paper you were sure you had in the other bathroom.

*(A stupe who studies the outer appearance of a person - primarily the face - to gain knowledge of the inner personality. Only you can prevent forest fires.)

Wacko Dream #3

Ol' Hoss was out and about yesterday, meeting with my new Salem, OR, buddy, the Pirate. To read his meet and greet piece about the event, go here.

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In this dream, I am standing in the foyer of the main Philadelphia post office, arguing with a passel of lawyers. I am holding my own, according to my lone supporter. They bring in their champion orator.

This gentleman begins his rhetoric, and quickly gets into theatrical adventures -- eyes rolling, his voice rising then falling, up and down the melodic and volume scale, hand gestures sweeping from the floor toward the ceiling, deep knee bends followed by dancing on his toes.

When he finishes, Ol' Hoss says, "Spellbinding, counselor; stentorian. It is too bad -- this is what scientists frequently say -- it is too bad your remarks lack pith."

He looks at me. "Do you have any money?"
Hoss: "No."
Spellbinder: "Not even for cab fare?"
Hoss: "Oh, sure, I got that."
Spellbinder: "Excellent. You will make a worthy adversary. Come to WFL-TV at 7 p.m. for an hour-long debate."
Hoss: "Sure."

Spellbinder and his passel depart. I turn to my lone supporter and say: "You got any idea what this debate is about?"

(I do not know if there is a "main" Philadelphia post office, or whether it has a foyer. I doubt there is a station WFL-TV in Philadelphia. I usually could not debate my way out of a wet banana popsicle sack. But this one I think I can win: I'll hit him with my "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water," and my "Like Solomon, I am willing to cut the baby in half." This will be easy: audiences are suckers for baby stories. Now, if I just knew what we were arguing over. I am damn good at remembering dreams that make a point. This is not one of them.)

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Here is what my buddy Oz of Australia told me:

"It may be that your sole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others."

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There is entirely too much political correctedness going on. Among the latest is to avoid the "Christ" word, as in "Merry Christmas."

They don't bother me, of course. My cards always say "Season's Greetings," because I am a big fan of frankincense, myrrh and cajun.

But when I put something in the Salvation Army pot I don't wanna hear no "Happy Yuletide." A simple "Big Ernie bless you, everyone," will suffice.

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My favorite word today is overqualified. Adj., ringy, dingy, dingy. Def.: When Lionel Hampton plays the triangle for the Boston Pops Orchestra.

Short Shrift Sunday #5

A guy walks into a bar and orders a drink. The bar has a robot bartender. The robot serves the perfect drink, then says to this guy, "What's your IQ?" The guy, not all offended, of course, says, "About 150."

The robot proceeds to make conversation about global warming factors, quantum physics, biomimicry, environmental interconnectedness, string theory and nano-technology.

The impressed customer thinks to himself: "This is cool." But he can't help but put the robot to a test. So he walks out the door, returns, and orders a drink. Again, it is perfect. And, again, the robot says, "What's your IQ?" The guy says, "About 100, I guess."

The robot starts talking immediately, but this time it's about football, NASCAR, baseball, supermodels, favorite fast foods, guns, and buttcracks.

Truly impressed, the guy decides on one more test. He leaves the bar, returns, orders a drink, and, again, is impeccably served. The robot says, "What's your IQ?" The guy says, "Er, about 50, I guess."

The robot says, "So...ya gonna vote for Bush again?"

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My favorite word today is uglification. Adj., Lady Bird Johnson would have had you by the cojones. Def.: Just because the restaurant provides you with a toothpick doesn't mean you have to use it in public.

Short Shrift Saturday #5

Back when I used to play golf, every day when my friend also named Gene and I would come to the 15th tee, we couldn't help but break into song:

"Oh, when it's hot and dusty,
"And you can't get ice cream cones,
"It ain't no sin
"To take off your skin
"And dance around in your bones."

Kids have more fun than anybody. We were both over 60.

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My downstairs (Alzheimer's) buddy named Bob was telling me about this memory clinic he's been going to. I said, "What's its name?"

Bob: "What is that thing with the long stem and thorns?"
Hoss: "Rose?"
Bob: "Yeah," he says, turning to his wife. "Rose, what was the name of that memory clinic?"

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My buddy Theresa quotes Robin Williams:

"See, the problem is that God gave man a brain and a penis, but only enough blood to run one at a time."

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My favorite word today is busted. Adj., all to smithereens. Def.: Everything below the top layer of a cheap bag of potato chips.

The Lady of the Street Walk

I have thought long and hard about this, but I guess you all can be trusted not to spread this around: I am going to tell you about me and my experiences with prostitution. No need to tell your children to avert their eyes; they have to learn this stuff somewhere, and where better than from Mr. Circumspect hisself, Ol' Hoss.

My first experience was when my brother, who worked in a men's clothing store, pointed out to me a woman, named "Helen," and her boyfriend, named "Pimp." My Bro said they came into the store about once a month, and she would buy him a suit, or a sweater, or something. My brother said, "She works on Greenwood Street."

Everybody in town knew what that meant. We had three houses of prostitution in Bend, Ore., in the 1940's, and they were side-by-jowl on Greenwood Street.

"As he was walking down Greenwood Street, oh damn, oh damn.
"As he was walking down Greenwood Street,
"Two little 'ho's he chanced to meet, oh damn, oh, damn."

The second experience was the next year, when my high school classmate, Sam B., said, "Let's go down to Greenwood Street and see if Helen will let us in." She not only let us in, but Sam borrowed $5 from me so he could get farther in. I finally got bored waiting for him to get out, so I went outside and practiced my specialty, which was throwing raisins way up in the air and catching them with my mouth.

"Then to the hospital he did go, oh damn, oh damn.
"Then to the hospital he did go,
"They cut off his wang and let his nuts show, oh damn, oh damn."

My third and last experience was when I was in Walla Walla for a college track meet, and one of the weisenheimers said he was going to the local house where they had a beautiful girl named Ming Toy, available at $3 a pop. I said, "You go ahead. I spent all my money on raisins."

"In came a nurse with with an ass like a tub, oh damn, oh damn.
"In came a nurse with an ass like a tub,
"And all he could do was wiggle his stub, oh damn, oh damn."

(I hope you let your kids read this. Not every b**gger sermonizes about problems resulting from the syphillis.)

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My favorite word today is unpopular. Adj., no way am I trying that. Def.: Steak tartare made from pork.

In Praise of Lois Lane

Ha! Ho ho har de har har! I've got a Northern Illinois sweatshirt, and you don't!

Hoss 1, All the Rest of You Bozos Except Lois Lane 0.

Lois Lane, my good buddy, sent me this shirt for my birthday, and I only now got my grandson to take my picture so's I could put it on here. (And now that it's here, I suppose thousands of you will copy it and put it on your b**g so you can say "If I had a Northern Illinois sweatshirt I would put it on somebody a lot prettier than this.")

Anyway, that Lois Lane is one of the best of the 12 million b**ggers that exist, and I am going to prove it. Here are some edited snippets from pieces she did. Very small snippets, but enough to let you taste something even better than chocolate:

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What Goes Around

Lois's daughter, Lane 2, was given her Mom's older computer and managed to get it hit by bugs and gremlins. Lane 2 worked hard to raise the money for repairs, then ended up donating most of her earnings toward the school fundraiser for Hurricane Katrina victims. Lois decided to pay to get it fixed for Lane 2's birthday, so she called a computer repair guy (who makes house calls!!).

"He was at my house 35 minutes after we hung up....It took three hours for him to wipe out the bad and put in some new software...

"When he was done, I asked him what I owed him, and he said, 'Nothing.'

"I couldn't believe my ears. Three hours of work, and he drove out to my house and was charging me nothing? It just was too good to be true. I must have had a perplexed look on my face because he said, 'Your daughter did a good thing. You were doing a good thing by getting it fixed for her. I just wanted to do something good, too. Tell the kid I said Happy birthday, will ya?'"

Guido

Guido, Lois's 17-year-old cat once owned by Lois's mother, had to be "put down." Later, Lois is on the phone with her Mom:

"After the initial sad stuff was said, Mom thought she would cheer me up by calling me 'C.K.,' short for cat killer.*

"'Um, Mom? That won't be funny for at least a week.'

"'Oh, honey. I'm sorry. I was just trying to get a laugh out of you. I'll mark it down in the calendar to try again next week.'...

"As we were talking, I was cleaning litter boxes, removing all of Guido's things and washing food and water dishes. As I poured the fresh food in, my Mom heard all the noise and said, 'My goodness, what are you doing?'

"'I'm feeding the other cats.' After a long pause, I said, 'No sense in taking them all out in one day.'

"'Hahaha! That's my girl!'

"Laughter really is the best medicine."

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My favorite phrase today is Not exactly Lassie. Adj., fakes left, goes right. Def.: The dog who barks at nothing to see if you will pay attention in case it's ever required.

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*(Also my granddaughter's sobriquet, until her recent promotion in the ranks of the Humane Society of the Willamette Valley.)

Another 'Can't Miss' Book

I have alluded once or twice (30 or 40?) to a need to Make My Pile before I cash in my chips on account of I want my ashes hauled (heh!) here and there in the Universe. You know, to Andromeda, or the Southern Cross, depending on where it's summer. So, I need to make some Big Bucks.

Naturally, I have already made up mind to reincarnate, first as a cat. Then I'll have 8 more lives coming, which will give me time to Make My Pile Over and Over. I may use one of these lives to become a woman so I can tell your damn husband how silly he sounds when you're in deepest pain and he says, "Just breathe, honey."

My latest scam plan:

Ol' Hoss's Coffee Table Cookbook

You all have seen a coffee table book. Lots of doctors' offices have 'em because at $75 a pop only doctors can afford one. It's one of those things about 11x14 inches, got a lot of beautiful pictures, with maybe some quotes stole out of Bartlett's ("The sand wafted in the air, ruining her Rolex." --Rudyard Kipling). Weighs about 8 pounds, so it's hard to steal.

You will want to reserve one of these beauties because this book will be useful! Just imagine these culinary delights:

Kidney and Appendix Pie

Baby Harp Seal Club Sandwich

Carp Sushi With Egg Roll

Giant Tortoise on the Half Shell (feeds 48)

Lesser Panda and Parsnips

Clam Flutters (in Monarch Butterfly Sauce)

Listen to the Mockingbird Sizzle

I Wish I Could Chimichanga Like My Sister Kate

And, the piece de' resistance:

Ivory Billed Woodpecker Pate

If your reaction to this plan is favorable, I'll be on my way up north to club some seals for the initial round of pix. Or, I don't know, maybe it's Lesser Panda season in China. Somebody will know.

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My favorite word today is debonair. N., a cut-up. Def.: The guy who bones out a chicken, a duck and a turkey so you can have turducken.

Football Is Not for Sissies

Second half of Ol' Hoss's strange dream. In Part 1, the School Budget Officer was questioning a bidder about items in the contract. They continue:

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Budget Guy: "Now, yesterday I told you I want to know what you mean by listing '6 Spastics @ $6.97 an hour.'"
Bidder: "Actually, this is probably newsworthy. There is this lady in New York Babs Geller, who is an epileptic who makes fun of herself. These people have trouble getting and keeping jobs, what with all their tics. So she said they would be good at shaking nails in the carpenters' aprons so the carpenters wouldn't have to be running back and forth to the nail buckets."
Budget Guy: "Indeed! Has she considered a job as school superintendent? Ours is, well... Heh. Just a little inside joke there."

Budget Guy: "Now then, on Page 1134 you list '12 gophers, @ $10 each, installed.' Kindly explain."

Bidder: "It is our job to not only build your school but to put in the football field. Every school being built these days has imported gophers to make holes in the football field. Golden Gophers from Minnesota make the best holes, but they're pretty expensive. Now then, you mow right over the gopher mounds, but the holes stay there. The home team knows where they are, so they can avoid them. Visitors don't know, so after the visitors get 3-4 broken ankles they are pretty demoralized. Twelves gophers give you a 9-10 point home-field advantage every time. Everybody does it."

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Brrrrriiiinnnnnng!
Bidder: "Yo. Bids R Us. 'S-up?"
Budget Guy: "About the school job? It seems we are very big on football, so the board wants the Golden Gophers. Uh, 24 of them."

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My favorite word today is apologist. N., Uncle Lester is such a boor. Def.: You have to invite to the party someone despicable, so you go around privately apologizing to all the other guests.

Dream On

Strange dream No. 2 Ol' Hoss has had recently:

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School Budget Officer, on phone to school construction bidder: "What is a phlegm catcher?"
Bidder: "Huh?"
Budget Guy: "Here on page 306 of your proposal, it says 'Phlegm Catchers, 6 @ $7.80 an hour.'"
Bidder: "You're actually reading 1304 pages of boiler plate about items that go into building of a school? We contractors pretty much list the same things all the time."
Budget Guy: "Kindly explain."
Bidder: "Well, now that so many people are quitting smoking they are going to smokeless tobacco, which produces a lot of spit -- scientists call it phlegm. Now, we got guys working on the second floor and above who need to hock an oyster now and then, but we don't want it raining down on the workers below. So we hire these kids to catch the spit in buckets and haul it off at the end of the day. I guess we could list them as sanitarians, but you might think we was trying to palm some damn mental health workers off on you. So we call 'em phlegm catchers. Kind of like dream catchers, only different."

Budget Guy: "Now then, where do you get 'phlegm catchers'? Is this a competitive occupation?"
Bidder: "Most of them come from Iceland. Over there, you understand, the country is all froze up, so there's no running water. So they get these guys going around catching icicles when they fall off buildings and melting them for fresh water. If they waited till the icicles hit the ground they'd have lava all over 'em, and that makes the water too gritty. Lava rock in your mouth would grind your teeth down to nubs in just a few weeks."
Budget Guy: "And this is a paying proposition?"
Bidder: Well, I hear it is. I am told of one guy who collects so many icicles every day that he gets enough water to run a coin-operated laundry. I hear coin-operated laundries is where the big money is in Iceland."

Budget Guy: "I suppose that's enough for today. This is slow going, but I will be back tomorrow to ask you several other things, such as 'Spastics, 8 @ $6.97 per hour.'"
Bidder: "Are you going to go through this, page by page, with every bidder?"
Budget Guy: "Why certainly. I have plenty of time, since I don't go to hockey games. Well, I guess nobody does, so perhaps that isn't a good analogy. I used to pride myself on analogies, but now I'm only good at verisimilitude."

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My favorite word today is verisimilitude. Adj., the nearly real McCoy. Def.: Typical of words used by a smart-ass who thinks you probably don't know what they mean, such as "ergo" and "billet-doux."

Short Shrift Sunday #4

As promised, there is nothing here today. But I got some really funny stuff scheduled for Monday and Tuesday. (Crap, now I gotta think up some topics.)

Listen, if you have seen this picture before, don't tell me. I've been away.

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My Aussie buddy Oz comes through again:

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

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My favorite word today is ump. Adj., sort of mushy and squishy. Def.: The sound the stunt man's body makes when he goes out the third-story window and misses all the mattresses.

Short Shrift Saturday #4

Every Saturday and Sunday, Hoss sort of rests --watches football, basketball, golf, gets in a tizzy, drinks too much. (Blames the Yankees, who do major suckage, making the world all right again.)

Anyway, here's a cartoon I don't get to use later on because I found a better one:

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Cynical Cyn, my new buddy, told me this:

A guy in the airport notices his luggage has not arrived. He goes to lost and found and sees an attendant who tells him, "Not to worry, sir. I am a trained professional, so you are in good hands. Now, tell me, has your plane arrived yet?"

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My favorite phrase today is of course. Adj., what did you expect? Def.: Having to iron the skirt that "needs no ironing."

Just About Broke

Listen up: I know you like to be amused or you wouldn't be here. So today, for a history of how Thanksgiving came about, go see Courtney. She's the 17-year-old daughter of Jamie Dawn, and in this piece she out-Feelgoods Feelgood Haines. (I love to see young people get into the b**g world. Go see her, darnit!)

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I've taken a big hit in the old monthly income whatzis, so I guess I'll have to go back to work. Ol' Hoss has always lived by his wits, and can do it again. Here's an idea I got in the percolator:

Family Trees Worth Hewin' and Havin'

Family tree forms you get in stationery stores are pretty standard, usually with a bunch of lines and places for dates, and with maybe a scraggly old tree in the background. This is the kind of non-thinkin' that gives Ol' Hoss a touch of the Midas Touch. Consider: Ol' Hoss's Family Trees to Fit the Family Right.

"Spinsters' Delight." This is THE tree book for families with lots of virgins in them. The centerpiece will be, of course, a Cherry tree, with blossoms honed to perfection by Japanese precision silk screen artists. I guess there will have to be some cherries on the ground, withered and/or sere. Nicely rounded off with biography of Queen Victoria.

"Groucho Special." Was the Patriarch a follower of the Rime of the Ancient Curmudgeon doctrine? You will want Ol' Hoss's Crabapple tree, the pages of which will be infused with lemon juice. The crabapples will be highlighted in 20-carat gold leaf from the Ebeneezer Scrooge School of Art. Includes biographies of Aaron Burr and Calvin Coolidge.

"Psychos and Maniacs." Gideons will want to get these in all the Bates Motels. There will be specialized versions, giving buyers the option of choosing various kinds of trees for nutzos, such as English walnut, black walnut, chestnut (open fire in background), oak, pine, cashew (bless you/gesundheit), macadamia (Hawaii only), filbert (from the farm of my friend, Hazel Nutt), Brazil, almond and pea (hand drawings by Jimmy Carter). Comes with complete biographies of Rasputin and Charles Manson.

"Normal Family Trees." There are so few normal families, we might not recover the silk screen costs. Economists would say this is "too bad."

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My favorite word today is woe. Adj., this is the pits. Def.; What you often are meted when you mistakenly let your "ex" know you are "seeing somebody."*

(* Does not apply to Aral Pez, who is best friends with her ex.)

Back in the Saddle Again

I never expected so many people to drop in to sympathize with me on the death of my wife. I read and appreciated all the comments. I accepted all the hugs and back pats I could get. I am not ashamed that I cried a lot.

Many times in the past when some of you were having a particularly bad time, Old Hoss has offered "counsel," which consisted largely of this: When you can't do something about something, let it go. Say to yourself, "So it goes," and get on with your life. So, so it goes. Thank you, all.

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Several days after my wife died, my chum Feelgood Haines, a veteran of the Old and Wizened People's Home where we live, came down to see how I'm getting along.

Hoss: "I'm okay now."
Feelgood: "Well, you're kinda lucky, you know."
Hoss: "How's that?"
Feelgood: "You and your wife could look back on some good times. When Lot's wife died, she was turned into a salt lick for camels. You wouldn't want that."

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Hoss: "Tell me, Feelgood. You think there's a Heaven?"
Feelgood: "Well, there either is, or there isn't."
Hoss: "You're pretty deep, philosophically."
Feelgood: "The hell. Don't you remember? It was you who told me that."

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Feelgood: "Well, anyway, Hoss, it could have been worse."
Hoss: "How's that?"
Feelgood: "What if God died?"

(Hoo boy. Feelgood 1, Holy Ghost 0.)

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My favorite word today is shirtsweat. Adj., kind of like a sweatshirt. Def.: Descriptive of men who like to prove anti-perspirants don't work.

My Wife, Betty Maudlin, 1937-2005

(I am sorry to sneak up on you like this; there was no other option.)

Obituary

BETTY J. MAUDLIN
06/06/1937-11/18/2005

Betty Jo Maudlin of Salem died today under the terms of Oregon’s Death With Dignity Act. She is grateful to the people of Oregon for giving her the opportunity to end a life that had become no life at all. Betty was a victim of Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, a little-known neurological disease for which there is no cure.

Before contracting this disease, Betty was extremely active. She loved to garden and to golf. She was a volunteer for the Salem Outreach Shelter, and Willamette Valley Hospice. She delivered Meals on Wheels. She was a volunteer and mentor at Highland School, and a mentor at Bush Elementary School.

Betty was a whiz at sewing. She made several prom dresses and once made the official Oregon State Fair flag.

She was much admired and appreciated everywhere she worked. Her jobs included office manager for Gov. Tom McCall’s first campaign for governor; administrative assistant for Attorney General Lee Johnson and for Johnson again when he became a Multnomah County Circuit Judge. She served eight years as administrative assistant for Gov. Victor Atiyeh, and later worked in the Community Relations Department of Salem Hospital.

Betty was born in Salem to Joseph and LaVaja Sexton. She is survived by her husband, Gene; daughters Shelley Heller, Salem, and Kathy Martin, Sheridan; and son Frank Smith, Salem; a sister, Evelyn Cole of Olympia, Wash.; three brothers, Cliff Sexton and Bill Sexton of Salem, and Vernon Sexton of Bend; and three grandchildren.

She was cremated and her ashes are interred at Restlawn Cemetery.

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(I will resume posting in about a week.)

Explaining Metrics

Feelgood Haines and I are driving down I-5 to go to the Oregon Historical Society meeting. I say to Feelgood, designated driver and full-blooded historian of the Old Folks' Home where we are both incarcerated, "You ain't driving very fast."

Feelgood: "I'm goin' 100."
Ol' Hoss: "You dope. That's 100 KILOMETERS per hour. You're only doing about 60 American."
Feelgood: "I have decided to live metric. 'One hundred centimeters, one meter, buckle my shoe; 1,000 meters, one kilometer, sheesh, who knew?'"

Hoss: "What's wrong with inches and feets and yards, and gills and rods and acres?"
Feelgood: "Metric is lots simpler. And don't start on thinking about how to convert things, like multiplying gallons by 3.8 to get liters. Which I guess, isn't true in Canada, where you have to multiply by 4.546. So see, that don't make it simple after all."

Hoss: "So how is it better?"
Feelgood: "Because the rest of the world says it is. We is the last bastion of the 1/4 inch. Don't that begin to make you feel lonely? Here's a memory crutch for you Hoss. You know how quaint everybody thinks the English people in England talk? That's because they got a metric system. Think of it this way:

"The math that comes from the quaint,
"Is much, much better than ain't."

Hoss: "So, summing up, what is the advantage of metric?"
Feelgood: "You drive 100, like me. It's a lot safer."

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My favorite word today is glue. N., nectar of the Gods. Def.: The sticky residue left on your coffee table when rose petals fall and overstay their leave.

What Would Freud Say?

I have some strange dreams. This is last night's.

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My wife and I and another couple are in a rubber boat in the Gulf of Mexico, survivors of a shipwreck. We are drifting north, and we get close enough to shore that I can get ahold of my New Orleans buddy, Se7en, who describes our plight to 911. The Coast Guard misses us and we wind up at Key West in the Florida Keys. There to greet us are representatives of FEMA.

FEMA #1: "Welcome to the United States of America. Any evacuee friend of Se7en's is a friend of ours."
Hoss: "We ain't no evacuees. We is shipwreckers."
FEMA #1: "Yes, well, but we have run out of evacuees and need test subjects so you will be suitable. We will send the other couple and your wife along, and keep you for examination and ransom. We want to see whether your wife will voluntarily move your residence from Salem to Portland, Oregon. You see, we have a lot of housing in Portland that is not being used."
Hoss: "I don't think Salem was hit by no hurricane."
FEMA #1: "We can't possibly think of a reason that would matter to us."

FEMA #2: "Now, then, Mr. Hoss, here is today's dinner. You will notice it is served on a cart with linen covering. We have found these are much more acceptable than Meals Ready to Eat."
Hoss: "With wine?"
FEMA #2: "Yes, the President feels supporting the California wine industry may turn the state from Blue to Red, which would show the Japanese we are serious about reducing the National Debt. And nothing is too good for our fellow would-be evacuees who just happen to be wealthy wine growers."
Hoss: "Silverware?"
FEMA #2: "Yes. We have found that plastic was demeaning, encouaging evacuees to think of themselves as Second Class. As a side benefit, this involves us in the mental health game, a program enhancement needed if our Director is going to justify his salary. Frankly, Mr. Hoss, as you can see, FEMA is all about You."

FEMA #3: "We will now take you to WalMart to test your salvaging capabilities.... All right, Mr. Hoss, see what you would salvage in the event of a hurricane."
Hoss: "I reckon I would pick up a pack of Sen-Sen, to keep me from smoking. That's about all I need."
FEMA #3: "Mr. Hoss! This is not suitable. At the very least you would need to liberate a laptop computer, if for nothing else than to help us keep track of the black people who are looting. Frankly, I don't think you have the interest of the government at heart."

FEMA #$4: "Now, then, Mr. Hoss, you have been floating around on the ocean for so long you turned exceedingly brown from all the sunshine, and we think you could pass as Cuban."
Hoss: "Why do I want to be a Cuban?"
FEMA #4: "We can get you free tuition at the University of Miami if you are a Cuban baseball player."
Hoss: "I am 75 and 49/365ths years old. I can't play baseball."
FEMA #4: "There you go! Now you can see why we need another hurricane right away. Some of our theories need fine-tuning, and a direct hit on Miami would be beyond our wildest dreams."

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My favorite word today is smug. Adj., with sneering. Def.: The look on the face of someone who knows which one of you is going to Hell.

I Did Too Finish My 50,000 Word Novel

I shoulda known that somebody would actually count up the two pieces that make up my 50,000-word novel and say, "That ain't even close to 50,000 words."

Well, I KNOW that, you bozos. What you failed to take into account is my plan to add 48 more pictures, each of which is worth a thousand words. So's there: 50,000 words EXACTLY, more or less, just like I said. It is always tough to put one over on Ol' Hoss.

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My buddy MuzikDude is awful close to 300,000 hits, he says, and he wants to get rounded off. So go give him some love. He's a good ol' Colorado boy with good friends and good philosophy (and a dandy wife). So please go hit him.

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The boy stood on the burning deck,
His feet were almost blistered.
A nail tore out his Sunday pants,
And now he wears his sister's.

Or,

At the bar, at the bar, where I smoked my first cigar,
And the burden of my heart rolled away,
It was there by chance that I tore my Sunday pants
And now I can wear them every day.

And,

"I see London, I see France, I see someone's dirty pants..."

(Boy howdy we had fun with pants in grade school....)

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Judy has told me we need some new rules for living, one of which should take care of this situation:

"I should NOT be the cashier. By the time I look up from sliding my card, entering my PIN, pressing 'Enter,' verifying the amount, deciding 'No, I don't want cash back,' and striking 'Enter' again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing up my groceries is standing there eating my Almond Joy. I'd say something, except I've been called to do some cleanup on Aisle 9."

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My favorite word today is leftovers. N., "I've done it again." Def.: The shredded Kleenex pieces you find in the washing machine because your forgot to search your child's pockets.

One for the Books

But no blood was shed, for Lucifero's shot went wild, thanks to his getting shot square in the .... Wait a minute. Do you know where you are?

You have come square into the book "Fear and Loathing Amongst the Pecans," Ol' Hoss's entry in the NaNoWriMo contest. What is going down is people have signed up to write a 50,000-word novel during November. It is not a real contest, of course, because Ol' Hoss will finish long before anybody else. I dropped 10,000 words on you yestiddy, and will do the other 40,000 today.

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Fear and Loathing Amongst the Pecans

(Chapters 78-95)

But no blood was shed, for Lucifero's shot went wild, thanks to his getting shot square in the chest by a blast from Sheriff Bearly Harms's .20-20 filled with pepper spray. The sheriff's main job these days was to enforce Tennessee's "No Shotgun Marriages Act" after a spate of butt-crack shootings in 2004. He broke up the proposed marriage of Clem Hackleberry the Noble to Emmy Demons the Rotund. This union had been proposed not by Clem but by Lucifero Demons the Burlap Bag Maker/Clovis Point Re-seller and father of Emmy on accounta Emmy was 10 months' fragrant.

This proposal was Feared and Loathed by Clem, who was reading "Sabu the Elephant Dung Beetle Boy" during the wedding ceremony.

The High Sheriff's other job was to enforce the "Anti-Cow Tipping Act" of 2003. This was passed because it was found that some farmers were paying a few of their cows more than the others if they gave more butterfat. Tips were ranging as high as 30 percent in some of the better restaurant hay barns. This, of course, offended The Green Party, which controls the Tennessee Legislature, because Americans are already too fat. (The Green Party's major bill in the current legislative session is to replace Jack Daniels with soybean creme soda as the official "State Drink." Krispy Kremes were outlawed in 2002.)

Clem Hackleberry got clean away, of course, and became a NASCAR driver because he found out the groupies knew about The Pill.

Emmy Demons, the would-be bride of Clem Hackleberry (a.k.a. Dr. No), when last seen was doing the "during" part in the MSN Windows Media story of "The Pregnancy of Britney Spears." (GP-13)

Lucifero Demons never got over spitting and hacking from the pepper spray, so he became a poster boy for the anti-smoking bunch, joining "The Marlboro Metrosexual" and "Joe Formerly Cool" on billboards.

Flesh Gordon bought the preacher's house and turned it into a tourist trap where people could pay $3 per each to see where six coon dogs lapped up a pan of brownies and a preacher's wife in one sitting.

(The author of this historical romance, when asked what muse he relied upon for this story, said, "As Yogi Berra always said, 'You can see a lot by observin'.'")

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(There! 50.000 words, exactly. I know you worried whether I could do it, but I had some words in reserve. I was going to have Lucifero say, "What the hey?" when he got shot by the pepper spray, but I didn't need the wordage.)

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My favorite word today is shin*. N., By the hair of my shinny, shinny shin. Def.: Device for finding furniture in the dark.

* From my buddy Oz.

Never Too Late for a Born Writer

This is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and some of my buddies is participating. What the deal is that you pledge to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. People I can think of who is doing this gig include Angie, who seems to be doing well, as is Raehan. Struggling but plugging are Born Fool, along with Vicki and Jona.

It is kind of late to start, but I think Ol' Hoss is also up to the challenge, since I don't got nothin' to do but read your lame stuff, which I can catch up on later. So, here goes:

Fear and Loathing Amongst the Pecans

Clem Hackleberry stood at the makeshift altar, lookin' a little peaked. It is no wonder, for he has had a hard life. He has rode the railroad and been railroaded. He has been cussed and discussed. Clem has been shot and shot back, shit shot and shot the shit. He has owned dogs, wore dog tags, got dog-tired, tired out his dogs, ate hot dogs, and bedded some dogs. He always says, "Bein' a 'bo ain't easy, so if it's all the same to you, I'd rather have a handout than work for food."

Emmy Demons stood at his side. She appears to have been rode hard and put away wet. She is visibly pregnant, volubly pregnant. "Hurry it up, preacher. I think my water just broke," she said, brokenly. Emmy is about 5'5" in all directions; sort of a crooked-toothed Tennessee girl, the kind that some people --- but not many -- like. She and her Pap raise pecans around Dyersburg, near ol' Poopsie (Janie S.), a smart, genteel lady who is somewhat fearful of the annual dropping of the pecans but has not yet lost her mind.

Hovering behind and slightly to the left of Clem is Lucifero Demons. Lucifero is a hard-bitten (note to self: pretty stale characterization; maybe hard biter, instead?) pecan merchant. Not exactly a pecan merchant; he sews burlap sacks to put the pecans in. He loathes pecans. (Publisher's note: "I like the way Ol' Hoss has worked in the 'Fear and Loathing' right away in this bodice ripper. Let's get that on the book jacket.")

"Yah, I urge you to get with it, preach," Lucifero says, urgently. He gestures with the shotgun, which is loaded with double 00 shot, which can make a serious mess of your buttcrack. (Publisher's note: "Mention that there is some comic relief from all the tension. People always liked Mark Twain, and this writer reminds me of Ol' Mark.")

The preacher obliges. "We are gathered here today to make a union in the old confederacy -- did you know I made that up? -- of Clem and Emmy..."

Clem bolts for the door. A blast of double 00 is heard. The preacher's wife drops a hot pan full of brownies, which are devoured by six coon dogs. It is bedlam, which was the name of insane asylums in years past.

(To be continued...)

(Note to self: Preacher's characterization needs some work. For instance, is he wearing spats? A Pepsi guy, or Dr Pepper?)

(As you can see, Hoss ain't no johnny-come-lately in the writin' game. This is 10,000 words, easy, so I'm a fifth of the way done. Writin' comes a lot easier than 'rithmetic. It is fortunate for us writers that computers can do math, but not "Beowulf." And even if a computer COULD do "Beowulf," why would it want to?)

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My favorite word today is clandestine. N., the appointed place. Def. Where the Tan Lucy Pez or Unga Chunga families go on vacation.

Back When Nobody Spelt Good

I am continually amused by people, like the ones in Kansas, who keep trying to get the Bible in the classroom. The latest ploy is to suggest that the world is so complex it must have been put together by "intelligent design" (i.e. God, or Big Ernie). They are holding onto this idea, by damn, tighter than stink on shit.

Yeah, remind me to thank the guy who gave us mosquitoes, cobras, crocodiles, West Nile virus, Avian flu, AIDS, cow manure, lutefisk and cramps. But, of course, it weren't no "guy." Those early writers, like Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, were all dyslexic. So what they meant, and we all know this is true, is that "The Dog did it." Probably a pit bull.

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The only difference between a beach party and a wedding is after the wedding only one fella is guaranteed to get lucky.

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My favorite word today is sin. N., go and do it no more. Def.: When those bozos up north take the New Year's Day swim, they come out bearing false witness about how wonderful it was.

Have You Had Your Silicone Today?

You know what they say: Diamonds Implants are forever.

(Thanks a tip of the hat to Tan Lucy Pez for this lovely (?) picture. I saw this at breakfast, so I'm taking the rest of the day off to hurl a few times.)

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My favorite word today is smarts. Adj., as in not smart. Def.: Descriptive of the pain felt by the guy who catches his whang in his zipper.

The History of Smoking

Between the two of us, I reckon me and our Old Folks' Home historian Feelgood Haines know everything there is to know about smoking. I was reminded of this by my cousin, Lois, who thinks I should tell you about her brother, Delton.

Delton was in the Air Force, and crashed and died up in a training mission. It was neat when these jet airplanes flew over the gravesite with one place in the formation empty to show their "missing comrade." But what was neater was when Delton and I learned to smoke.

We were about 12, and we had us some newspaper, some stick matches, and some juniper bark. We wrapped up some juniper and puffed away, hidden from sight from our folks. Juniper bark doesn't draw like cigarettes, so we had to put the burning end in our mouths to get any smoke. Boy that was swell. We both burned our tongues, got smoke in our eyes, coughed a lot, and said we'd do it again tomorrow, which we didn't. Boy we were stupid.

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Hoss: "Who said, 'What this country needs is a good 5-cent cigar?'"

Feelgood: "Thomas Marshall, ol' Woody Wilson's vice president. Feelgood 1, Hoss 0."

Hoss: "Who said, 'It is now proven, beyond a doubt, that smoking is a leading cause of statistics?'"

Feelgood: "Fletcher Knebel. Feelgood 2, Hoss 0."

Hoss: "Who said, 'You continue to keep score like that, I'm gonna kick your ass?'" Feelgood: "Sir Walter Raleigh, inventor of pipe tobacco, along with the Seminoles. Feelgood 3, uh, never mind."

Hoss: "Who invented the corncob pipe?"

Feelgood: "Popeye the Sailor Man. Improved version by Mammy Yokum."

Hoss; "Who invented Anasazi beans?"

Feelgood: "The Mohawks?"

Hoss: "Ha! Hoss 3, Feelgood 2."

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My favorite word today is coincidence. Adj., it's gotta be the E.S.P. Def.: You and your husband decide, independently but at the same time, not to have your belly button pierced.

Assorted Fragments

This is some stuff that has to find a home other than my Old Folks' Home.

Judy (kenju) often sends me little gems. For instance, the Senior Dress Code. This is just some things that don't go together:

--Mini-skirts and support hose.
--Speedos and cellulite.
--Unbuttoned disco shirt with heart monitor.
--Inline skates and a walker.
--Thongs and Depends.

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Poopsie sent me A Little Book of Wit and Wisdom for my birthday (along with a beautiful orange/white bracelet for my wife, which she wears every day). Here's wisdom:

--"I was born in very sorry circumstances. My mother was sorry, and my father was sorry as well." --Norman Wisdom.

--"A 'woman driver' is one who drives like a man and gets blamed for it." --Patricia Ledger.

--"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work...I want to achieve it by not dying." --Woody Allen.

--"The male is a domestic animal which, if treated with firmness and kindness, can be trained to do most things." --Jilly Cooper.

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From Ivy:

The way to tell if you're old is if going braless pulls all the wrinkles out of your face.

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How come every country I know of will accept American money, but stores in the United States won't accept foreign money? Somebody told me it was because there aren't enough slots in the tills, which might be right. But why the heck do they keep making cigar boxes?

You know, they make a lot more cigar boxes than they make cigars to fill 'em. The only people who smoke cigars anymore are the ones who want lip cancer instead of lung cancer. But lots of cigar boxes are made for storing things. Anything. Like Canadian coins and Pesos and Rupees and Bahts and Euros. And shoestrings that don't match and dead batteries. I think if the U.S. became money friendly it would please the Chinese more than anything because they are good at printing money; any denomination, any country. It's like Rolexes.

Cigar boxes are the junk drawers of the past, present and future. Better get a cigar box franchise, like me.

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My favorite word today (from Anon. via Judy) is sweater. N., knit one, purl two. Def.: A garment worn by a child when its mother is cold.

Food for Thought and Eats

The new National Food of Illinois is bison (buffalo, to New Yorkers). Says so right here in my local news- paper: "The owners of Bison Bluff Farms (Clifton and Kim Howell) hope the shaggy animals known for their lean, protein- rich meat will one day become a lucrative business."

This story also says there are more than 400 bison ranches nation-wide, with 40 of them in Illinois. Some 3,000 bison voted in Chicago's last election.

This got me to thinkin' about national foods elsewhere. Every place in the U.S. except in Illinois the turkey is the National Food. Angie told me it was grits; she could be right. But I think it's turkey, on accounta somebody discovered late last century that it's really good fried in deep fat, which makes it a lot more fatty than bison but who cares? Everybody is already fat; a little more won't hurt.

Also except: The National Food in Hawaii is the porker. Every holiday over there somebody plants a pig in the ground, slow-cooks it like in a crock pot and everybody luaus happily ever after.

The National Food of cannibals is the Long Pig, which is you and I. They say Long Pig tastes like chicken; I wouldn't know.

The National Food of Mexico is Taco Bell, with a side of pinata. The National Food of Canada is Labatt's.

The National Food of England is whatever isn't that bad stuff they served yesterday.

The National Food of France is some tiny portion of something or other with chocolate sauce dribbled around the edges of your plate, preceded, accompanied with, and followed by wine.

The National Food of China must be Panda, because now there ain't hardly any left. But what are left are pretty healthy eatin', because they are all free-range.

I don't know if there are any more countries. There might be.

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My favorite word of the day is diminished. Adj., what's that up ahead? Def.: Descriptive of the view through your windshield when it's raining and there's a large leaf pinned under your wiper which won't blow away even at 60 miles an hour.

Way Back When I Was Younger

Here in the Bide-a-Wee Home for the Aged, I got a piece of toast with an image on it, and naturally I got it posted on eBay. It's an image of the Virgin Clarence.
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I been thinking for a while of favoring you with something I wrote before you knowed me good, and now's the time. Here are edited versions of two pieces I wrote in January. You'll figure out, by the time you're done, why both pieces are best by appearing on the same day.

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It's a Rap

Old Folks' Home Activity Director: "Announcement. Today a band will be playing at 3 p.m. in the Fireplace Room."

Hulda Hearsay: "I hope it's not going to be any of that awful Saran Wrap music."

AD: "I think that's just plain Rap, Hulda."

Hulda: "I don't care if its Plain Wrap, Fur Wrap, Saran Wrap or Christmas Wrap. I won't have it! Oh, that's a good idea. Have them play 'White Christmas'."

AD: "Christmas is 11 months away, Hulda."

Hulda: "What have you got against Bing Crosby?"

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Music Hath Charmin

This morning in The Home we were treated, as every Tuesday at breakfast, to the piano playing of Jeremy, a student from the Oregon School for the Blind. He is 16, with the "intelligence" of a 5-year-old. Yet he can learn a piano piece in 15 minutes just by hearing it once. He is touted as a prodigy.

A reporter came today from a Portland boob tube station to record Jeremy for posteriors posterity. After Jeremy finished, the reporter asked some of us for our reaction to the whiz kid.

Hazel Nutt (yes, her folks were filbert farmers): "I don't know how he does it."

Carolina Sister: "I'm so proud of him."

Hulda Hearsay: "I don't know why I have to sit here at breakfast and be abused by piano music. I hate piano music. Next thing you know they'll be running a drum and bugle corps through here, or bagpipers, or accordion players. You know what perfect pitch is? When you throw a banjo into the dumpster and it hits an accordion. Then it will be kazoos and mouth harps and ukeleles. When does it stop?"

Hulda (continuing): "And not only that, but in December he never once played 'White Christmas'. Why does everybody have it in for Bing Crosby?"

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My favorite word today is cohere. N., a grand plan. Def.: You and your buddy agree to meet at the mall in front of the "You Are Here" map.

Feet on the Ottoman

As I advised y'all, I am taking Saturday and Sunday off, sort of, these days. Just a smidgeon here and there, to keep my hand in. This being Monday, here's the picture you get which I was supposed to publish Sunday, instead of the smart remarks I posted when I forgot to take Sunday off.

My niece visited the Old and In the Way Home yesterday (or some damn day), and I showed her some of the features I'm using, such as Bill Pay and Pay Pal.

She said: "My husband won't let me do any of that. He is a man of his time -- the 18th Century."

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My favorite phrase today is "Always lead; never lag." N., a major advance. Def.: Descriptive of the latest pharmaceutical advertised on TV and about which you are urged to ask your doctor, but for which there is no known disease.

The Dawn of 'The New Education'

Every day I read the b**gs of several teachers, all of whom are frustrated by their charges all the time at one time or another. I feel so sorry for 'em I can't let this go on any longer.

And, get this, there might be some money in it. Ol' Hoss always needs money. Here's my idea, on which I am getting a patent leather or Wilbur/Orville CopyWright:

Ol' Hoss's Fix the Education System, Solve the Immigration Problem, Ease the School Tax Burden, Give the Teachers Some Help Schematic. (This will probably be shortened some, to Ol' Hoss's Fixit Scheme.)

The difficulty these days is most kids don't wanna learn anything. The solution: Don't try to teach 'em anything but one thing. The ones who do want to learn are so few we could have a one-on-one student-to-teacher ratio, and be just as good off as we are now.

The "one thing"? How to use Google/Yahoo/Ask Jeeves.

Think of it. Almost everything a kid needs to know is in one of them search engines. What is 2 + 2? Ask Google. Where is Chad? Ask Yahoo. Where can I get some dope? Google it. How can I build a bomb? See: Google. Who were Ponce de Leon, Davy Crockett, James Madison, Jean Baptiste Charbonneau*? You got it, Jeeves.

Teach 'em Google and sweep 'em out the door. If they need a job, they can do all the stuff the Mexicans are here to do because the blacks won't do it because the poor white trash won't do it. (I KNOW all those are slurs, but it's what I read now and then and I figured I throw it in here because, just in case, there's some truth in it. Anyway, kids 14 and older can paint houses or pick lettuce just as well as immigrants, which we then won't need no more, so la de da to that.)

Kids can learn almost anything from Google. How to build a house, for instance. But this is best learned from watching somebody else build a house. Then they learn first-hand how many pounds of nails they need, for instance. And if they can't count, they can use their fingers and toes. In the Ozarks, they can get up to 22 pounds that way.

Do NOT, however, let these bozos build stairways in these houses. That takes talent they will never have. I know this husband of one of my teacher b**ggers who builds stairways. Mr. Stargazer, who belongs to Teacher Woman (Margaret), is an artist. To see examples, go here. Kids who don't wanna learn anything except how to best show off their butt-crack will never be able to do it. It would be dangerous to climb any stairs these illiterate bozos built.

Somebody might be thinkin': Wait a minute! You gotta be able to read to Google. Well, not everybody needs a readin' job. Somebody has to kill turkeys for Thanksgiving. Don't take no readin' skill to do that.

I could go on all day. But won't. Enjoy your newfound freedom, teachers. Glad to help out.

(*Son of Sacajawea, who is buried in Oregon, so I didn't need no damn Google.)

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My favorite word today is brake.N., an infernal machine. Def.: On the grocery cart you get is the one with the wheel that turns sideways, effectively halting you in mid-aisle.

Hoss Has the Day Off

In case there was still any doubt about whether the roll goes "over the top" or "under," this settles the debate. Glad, as usual, to help out.

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My favorite word today is chagrin. Adj., what a waste. Def. At the family reunion, yours is the only salad nobody eats.

Your Life Made Really Easy -- for a Price

I just got interviewed, via email, by the AARP monthly newsletter. They is doing a story about "older" b**ggers, and I got recommended. One of the questions was: "Do you have a favored topic, and what led you to focus on it?" I said, "My favorite topic is rutabagas, because nobody else was writing about rutabagas. Now, unfortunately, lots of people are. I might be shifting to a new topic: What do dung beetles do with their own dung?"

Nah, I didn't really say that. Wish I had.

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Listen, for a tenth of your monthly income would you like to live a life of ease? we can help each other out. You send me money, and I send you:

Ol' Hoss's Cradle to the Near-Grave Service. I'll be right up-front with you. I badly need money to pay for teeth implants. I have decided I don't want to be gumming my food in Heaven. Or in Hell, either. (I wonder which one of those places features "Shit on a Shingle" creamed chipped beef on toast?)

Here's the scam offer:

I am going to send you a cradle for your bedroom. (This is sort of Rube Goldbergian, but much better.) You can rent out the rest of the house, for you will never need it. Here's how it works:

Imagine a giant cradle hanging from your ceiling. It is a bed that you can move into a lot of shapes like those you see on paid-program TV. Changing positions is what you do for exercise. You can actually make it rock back and forth -- if that's good to get babies to sleep, think of what it will do for you.

There is a movable lid down where your nether regions (genitalia?) reside. Beneath that is a hose that carries your waste off to the potty, which is sensory-operated when it hosts a brown log (also will whisk away mustard color). A fine mist will arise out of your dump-hole and spray you spic and span, followed by a powerful fan that will tickle and dry your balls or honey-pot fanny. My magic lid to this depository will then reappear to rest your boners.

On each side of the bed will be one of those swinging trays like they use in dentists' offices, which you will use for brushing teeth, eating your breakfast and/or TV dinners, and as a reading stand/computer laptop office. Naturally you already have a remotely-operated TV/Stereo. Within reach will be your refrigerators for holding beer, which will be delivered by your local TV dinner/beer store, and your microwave oven.

Listen, there's a lot more to this. You probably have the gist, though: You never have to get out of bed. Beds and bidets are guaranteed. Cost is slightly higher for parties of three.

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My favorite word today is normal. Adj., how the world turns. Def.: Neighbors' description of the "regular guy" who is discovered to have killed 18 people.

Working Hard But Losing Ground

I wonder if they felt a positive jolt in the economic fortunes of Tennessee today at 6:15 a.m. when I took a slug of Jack Daniels. Taking a slug of Jack's at that time of day is called an eye opener, and I needed it to write my piece. It made me sleepy, though, so I took a nap instead. I had to dream up a topic, anyway.

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One of my buddies reminds me that I haven't told you lately about the old TV show, Hollywood Squares. These fine questions and answers are from the days when this game show's responses to the questions were spontaneous and riotonius, which means funnier than a riot. Peter Marshall was the emcee:

Pete: If you're going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you be?
Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it.

Pete: True or False: A pea can last as long as 5,000 years.
George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes.

Pete: You've been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a woman?
Don Knotts: That's what's been keeping me awake.

Pete: According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he's married?
Rose Marie: No; wait until morning.

Pete: What are "Do it," "I can help," and "I can't get enough"?
George Gobel: I don't know, but it's coming from the next apartment.

Pete: Charley, you've decided to grow strawberries. Do you get any the first year?
Charley Weaver: Of course not. I'm too busy growing strawberries.

Pete: According to Ann Landers, is there anything wrong with getting into the habit of kissing a lot of people?
Charley Weaver: It got me out of the Army.

Pete: Jackie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they?
Charley Weaver: His feet.

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The other day, the people in the dining room fed us something called "Pasta Coronary." I guess they got people waiting for rooms.

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My favorite word today is pretend. Vb., on the cheap. Def.: You ask for samples at all the Farmer's Market booths on grounds you can't make up your mind, say "hmmmm," and walk out having had a free lunch.

All the Money Is in Groceries, Not Food

Most of you know that I will probably be dead in about a year or so, and you also know I can't afford it. See, I need to Make My Pile so something exotic can be done with my body. I am big on exotic, like lap dancing.

My current plan is to be shot in a time machine to some brave new world in the Andromeda Galaxy, if I cash in my chips in the summer. Otherwise I will go to the Southern Cross. But then when it gets to be summer up north I can move to Andromeda. I am a good candidate to be in favor of global warming. Warm is better than cold.

I think there is A Pile to be made selling groceries. You never want to be in a position of selling food. Food is what farmers sell, and they don't earn jack shit. Groceries is what Costco and Kroger and Safeway sell, and they make all the money -- and I want some of the action. So, get ready for:

Ol' Hoss's Fine Tomatoes and Firing Range. The word tomatoes implies, of course, that I will be selling lots of different stuff because everybody is confused about whether tomatoes is fruit or vegetable. So people will just assume that I also will be selling Wheaties and Smoked Trout.

The big money, of course, will be in cheese. I will have gorgonzola, camembert, liederkranz, those isoceles triangles of parmesan, brie -- no, wait, that's French. Screw the frogs; they peed all over our favorite war. So we'll have Edam instead. I think the Dutch might still like us. The big fun, though, will be in the Swiss Cheese Firing Range, where people will get to make their own holes in the cheese. I'll be providing beebee guns, for people who like a lot of little holes but don't want 'em done all at once; rifles for single-shot also, but that make bigger holes; and shotguns that can make various sized holes, because shot comes in various sizes. But they can do this quick and get on their way home for Happy Hour.

I will charge the same amount per pound of ammunition as for the cheese. But it will be worth it for people to get their own home-shot cheese, don't you think?

This idea might not make me wealthy right away, but I can always sell out to my buddy Bill Gates. He wants to own everything high-tech like this.

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My favorite word today is held. Vb., in the nick of time. Def.: A child examines what he left in the toilet that he needed to let go of 20 miles back and was told to "hold it."

All in the Timing

I am in the fireplace room of our Golden Oldies Home, when in comes Feelgood Haines. Feelgood is the guy who's our homegrown history buff, but today, he says, "I think you'd be interested in knowing some science stuff I been saving up"

Hoss: "No I wouldn't."

Feelgood: "You ain't interested in women?"

Hoss: "Well, yes, but..."

Feelgood: "This is about how you can remember gestation periods."

Hoss: "!!?"

Feelgood: "See, you use a memory crutch. Like, say, ROY G BIV gives you all the colors of the rainbow, from Red right down to Violet. Or that 'There's a rat in separate.' 'I before E except after C and a few other places.' So here's your memory aid about gestation periods:

"The elephant was saddled with two long years,
"When God was playing dirty tricks.
"The mouse got by with just three weeks,
"But woman was saddled with 36."

Hoss: "Why do I need to know this?"

Feelgood: "Elephants can live to be 80 years old because of that long gestatory period. Eighty-two if you count the way the Chinese do. Humans live to be a 100, but it's only because they get good medical care and we can force-feed 'em if we have to. Mice don't live long because they got a short gustatory and besides that they have to eat saccharine, butter, tobacco and shit like that."

Hoss: "But...?"

Feelgood: "What I ain't yet figured out is, When an elephant gets a cold, where does it get its chicken soup?"

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My favorite word today is secret. N., of initiations and such. Def.: What you promise to keep, but don't.