I Will Always Love Me

Remember way back when I told you Ol' Hoss was pretty? And then I posted my picture and you found out I lied?

Well, now I can say I'm "precious," and it's no damn lie. I got it in writing.

My pal Ronni Bennett, a champion of us old people, did a thingie on her site where she asked her readers to choose b**ggers from her b**groll and say something nice about them -- "a warm bear hug to others." Well, this was just an open invitation to my buddies to show you how precious I am (look here at my childhood ceramic look-a-like):

Complimenter No. 1: "Who can possibly keep up with your energy and sharpness of mind?"

Hoss: "Does this require an answer?"

Complimenter No. 2: "Great wit, humor, and snark, which I love."

Hoss: "Yadda ta yadda ta yadda ta. What the hell is 'snark'? 'Precious' is where I'm at."

Complimenter No. 3: "Gene [Ol' Hoss] is the funniest, most creative writer in the blogosphere today..."

Hoss: [Insert Precious Moments picture here. ("Precious Moments" picture, right, showing Hoss With B**g)]

Complimenter No. 4: "What a wit! He is like a medicine to others, bringing laughter and joy with him always."

Hoss: "You know what's really funny? When your computer goes down on you." (Ho ho har de har har. I should have been nominated for "Best Sex B**g.")

Complimenter No. 5: "Beyond precious and totally unique, this is a must-see site."

Hoss: "Precious?" Don't ask for a cuddle. I don't want any of this to rub off.

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My favorite phrase today is Back in the saddle again. Adj., you're thinking Gene Autry, right? Def.: Director's order to the leading man for the fourth take of a scene in a porno film.

Small Talk Saves the Day

What's "small talk"? It seems to be the ability to chit-chat with just about anyone, anytime, anyplace, about anything. "Small talkers" can mention the weather and almost at once morph the conversation into children, traffic jams, and sales on shoes. Some of you may think "small talkers" are just blathering. Not so.

The other day I am reading one of my regular b**ggers and ran across a long comment about "small talking" that is so good I want you to read it here. Ol' Hoss normally is not serious (abnormal would be a nice description), but just this once. This is from a woman I know only as Dalene.

"On behalf of all the small talkers of the world, myself included, it's like a smile, small talk. It is a means of connecting to those around you, a gentle means of putting people at ease. Plus, it gives the small talker a compass as to what is going on; we DO know a lot about what is going on. Also, you never know who you are standing next to, unless you engage in some sort of conversation, and sometimes it is a fascinating discovery.

"As a former journalist, it was an essential tool of the trade. In addition, it can provide the small talker with an effective means of changing a situation that everyone else knows needs to be changed but is not sure how to proceed.

"Example: I am standing in line at a mall clothing store for women, and a woman in front of me has with her a child who is obviously bored and cranky. All of us standing in line, and the clerk, can see the mother is growing ever angry with her child. I am watching the mother's jaws, which are clenched, and her hands, which are wrapped around the child's wrists way too tight.

"I am concerned what type of punishment this child might be in for once the mother and child get to the parking lot. So I engage her in small talk. I get her to laugh, I get her to relax. I have a child with me and in all that small talk I work in how it must be torture for a child to be dragged through an adult world; there is nothing fun for them.

"Why? Because I want her to find the empathy that may soften her anger towards her child. And I believe if I had confronted her directly, said the obvious, it would have simply made her more angry.

"I see small talk as an art, the ability to talk to anyone about anything, and it often leads to more meaningful conversations. (I just looked at the length of my comment, so I probably did not need to tell you which side of the fence I was on in regard to small talk. *Grin*. Okay, I am done.)"

Hoss says: And nicely done.

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My favorite word of the day is child. N., no, not Julia. Def.: Something that is nice to have hanging onto your neck.

Money-Making Scheme No. 302

My guess is that there's money to be made in the songwriting business. Well, you don't make any money writing songs, because anybody can do that: Rhyme June with moon and spoon 'n shit and you got a best seller. No, what I was thinkin' was the lawsuits you can get goin' when somebody rips your tune off the Internet.

Lots of people steal tunes they don't even like, just to be stealin'. What they're really after is those one-of-a-kind tunes that nobody else has got, so they can brag up the neighborhood. Well, let me tell you, I have wrote a lot of those one of a kind musicales. For instance, have you ever heard this one?:

"I Got Ahead of You on the Way to the Head, You Pinhead"

The thing to do is think of songs about subjects nobody else has thought of. I'm sure I have in me a nice song about honing knives:

"With my carborundum in me hand,
"I hone to beat the band.
"And when you see me on the phone,
"I'm called away from my old hone.
"It's a call from a bill collector named Bill,
"I told him come on over and watch me use my sharp knives to cut your arms off, Bill."

"Tra la la boomp-de-a
"Tra la la boomp-de-a, etc."

I got more good ones like that, but the way people steal off the Internet scares me. One of these days I'll see some bozo on the street with his boom box, playing a song that's still in my head.

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The pessimist: "The glass is half-empty."
The optimist: "The glass is half-full."
The engineer: "You got more glass than you need for the job."

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My favorite word today is finis. N., an incomplete word meaning "finish". Def.: When you see the cymbal player coming back from a smoke break, you know the tune the orchestra is playing is about to come to an end.

Showing My Colors

I have this buddy, Tom, who has written a piece about political issues. You can tap into it at his site, Born Fool. It was inspirational. That is, it has inspired me to do what he has done, which is tell you my take on political issues of importance.

I'm like that; I got opinions. I told Tom one of mine by writing in his comments section:

"Should our Congresspeople get involved in foreign relations, or should they be limited to screwing Americans?"

Of course Tom was being serious in his post. I don't have time for that. Here's my platform (which, of course, is biodegradable):

1. When lobbyists throw a party for politicians, require that the politicians be limited to one money bag per person or one 18-hole round at The Old Course, but not both.

2. Capital punishment should become more fun. To many people, this is no laughing matter, but I think they are just spoilsports.

3. Congress should pay attention to the environment. The problem is that environmentalists think this "paying attention" should be for free. Environmentalists have totally misunderstood The American Way: "Grease my palm or your palms will be wood chips tomorrow."

4. Congress should spend more time passing laws to prohibit people from becoming comatose. Then the congresswits won't have to call special sessions to save dead people.

5. Congress should pass a law saying that congresspeople will be in the first wave of soldiers called upon to fight a war. Any of them who flee to Canada will be replaced by their wives, wearing designer shoulder holsters.

6. The rule of "The Perfect Tax" will be adopted. This is the one that taxes everybody except me.

7. Potholes will be declared illegal. Traffic tickets will be declared unconstitutional. PMS will be outlawed. (And, for my special friend up in Washington State, dreadlocks will be declared a national disgrace.)

8. The National Motto will become "In Hoss We Trust."

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My favorite word today is puzzling. Adj., worse than a crossword. Def.: The instructions on how to play Keno from your room in a Las Vegas hotel.

Short Shrift Sunday No. 10

Ol' Hoss seldom asks you for anything. Oh, I've asked my buddy Bill Gates to put me in his will, but I've never asked for much from YOU. Until today.

There are these things called BoB (Best of B**g) awards. And two of my buddies are in the running. So here's what you do (and this includes you lurker bozos, too):

Go to Bob Awards and cast a ballot in the section for Best Overall B**g for my pal, John, The Sound of Muzik, and in the section for Most Inspirational Blog for my princess, Raehan, Agog and Aghast. Thankew.

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I spend about half 10 percent of my time campaigning against buttcrack, and it's like wading against the tide. You stomp out the custom in, say, Chicago, and it erupts in Nashville. I have written to Levi Strauss and Dickey and Lee, saying the term "lo-rider" was only meant for cars, not for trousers. My new motto: "Only asscracks show buttcrack."

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Listen: Don't say I was never good to you. I got this photo of Paris Hilton screwing by the pool. You click here to see this treasure. (You shouldn't be working today, but if you are, this is safe. Trust me. Hee hee.)

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My favorite phrase today is pig out. Vb., the bad cop is on lunch break. Def.: Going to the all-you-can-eat ribs restaurant only to be told they are out of ribs.

Short Shrift Saturday #10

"I speak plainly sometimes, but you've got to be mindful of the consequences of the words. So put that down. I don't know if you'd call that a confession, a regret, something." -- George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Jan 10, 2005.

"It's clearly a budget. It's got a lot of numbers in it." -- Same guy.

But, hey, that's a lot clearer than what former Arizona Gov. Evan Mecham once had to say:

"I think today that a few remarks that I might make, we go back to the relationship in this great nation with the people who was the foundation of America, the people they've paid such a price that we may enjoy the blessings of enjoyment that we have, has been spoken this morning."

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As Billy Wilder may have said to the rapper: "You have Van Gogh's ear for music."

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"A blind man walks into a shop with a guide dog. He picks up the dog and starts swinging it around his head. A clerk calls out: "May I help you, sir?" The blind guy says, "No thanks, I'm just looking around." (--English magician Tommy Cooper.)

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My favorite word today is wretched. Adj., try, try again. Def.: Descriptive of your passport photo, regardless of the number of sittings you have.

Should I Sell My Dung Beetle Farm?

Some scientists back East are getting into dangerous territory. They are trying to make shit smell good, which would be a disaster for those of us who have dung beetle franchises.

To back up a little: It seems suburbia is overtaking the farms where all the dairies and hog farms and feedlots are located, and Joe Doe is peein' and moanin' about the smell of manure from the neighbors. So this outfit in Philadelphia named Monell Chemical Senses Center has developed a process that neutralizes the smell of cow and steer and pig shit.

Well, as you can imagine, this does not auger well for the dung beetles. They rely on their sense of smell to get where they're goin' so they can roll up the manure in little balls and take it home to Junior. This has long been the preferred method of ridding the African savannas of elephant doo-doo, and it works pretty good out here at Johanson's Dairy Farm and Manure Source. But if they quit making smelly manure, nobody will need no dung beetles to cart off their dung. And that would screw Ol' Hoss out of a tidy source of income, inasmuch as I am the sole proprietor of Dung Beetles 'R Us.

And this ain't the worst of it. What's going to become of one of our favorite phrases? You know, the one where we see a couple of lovers billin' and cooin' in the park, and somebody says, "They're holdin' onto each other tighter than stink on shit."

Damnation. A great ol' homily bites the dust.

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My favorite word today is advertisement. N., like the apple tempted Adam, and sorghum tempts the bees. Def.: A word coined to extol the virtues of things you don't need.

Do You Remember When I Was Funny?

Well, it's all over but the pouting. I did not become one of the 10 finalists for "Most Humorous B**g" in the BoB Awards program. Like many of you, I figured I was a shoo-in. I have written 341 posts, all of them funny. But, apparently, none of them was humorous.

The last time I was a contestant for anything, it was for the title of "Most Well-Adjusted Baby." Here is the picture that got me into the finals. BUT FOR SOME DAMN REASON I DID NOT WIN!!!

So I am used to being disappointed. I checked out the 10 finalists for Most Humorous B**g, and discovered the real reason I did not make the finals: 8 out of 10 of them used the "F" bomb in their writing. One writer uses it in every headline he writes. You might have noticed that I have given up on the Bomb because it has lost its shock value and it isn't really a very nice word. "Poo" is a nice word. So is "ka-ka". And when kids start flinging this stuff around it is pretty funny (but apparently not humorous). You see a lot of this on the Internet, if you read Mommy and Daddy B**gs. Some of which are instructive, and often funny, but obviously not humorous.

Even my damn cat is peeved that I didn't make the finals! Well, another reason I didn't make it is because I might have been perceived as a "professional b**gger." See, I get more than 30 comments and almost 200 visits EVERY DAY (vox populi). Of the 10 BoB finalists, only one topped that. So, the reason I didn't make the finals is BECAUSE I AM TOO DAMN POPULAR!!

I have been shunned. (This is something Jehovah's Witnesses do to each other to express their displeasure with one of their number. I sure wish I had known before now that I was a Witness.) But at least I didn't get the Hester Prynne award. I'm saving my chest space to sell it on eBay.

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My favorite word today is wife. N., also known as SAHM, and/or breadwinner, laundress, cook, etc., while her husband sits on his fat ass. Def.: A thing that is not averse to asking for directions.

Happy B**giversary to Me!

One year ago today, Old Horsetail Snake became one of about 24 million b**ggers on the Internet. I was then the least famous. Now I am the same, thank you.

In "honor" of the occasion, here is one of my outputs from January, 2005:

It's a Cakewalk

The other day the Activity Director of the Old Folks' Home decided we should have a cakewalk. She is good at thinking up juvenile activities for ancient people who are easily bored. She put 9 numbered slices of cardboard on the floor, in a circle, and asked people to assemble thereon. She said, "When the music starts, move around clockwise. When the music stops, we'll draw one number from a hat. The person at that number will win the prize, this lovely cake."

Maude Frickert: "You can't get away with this."

Activity Director: "With what?"

Maude: "Susie Redwipe, there in the wheelchair, is covering two numbers. So she's got twice the chance of winning. It's not fair."

AD: "Well, I'll give everybody two numbers."

Maude: "But then Redwipe will have FOUR numbers. It isn't fair!"

AD: "Why don't we just play some music and give you the cake, Maude? Would that be okay?"

Maude: "Hell, no! I can't eat cake. I'm a diabetic."

Redwipe (tremulously, hoping not to get hit): "Maude, why, then, are you in the cakewalk?"

Maude: "I just thought I would make it fun for everybody."

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I go into the liquor store and I'm only in there 5 minutes. When I come out, a cop is writing a parking ticket. I say, "Hey, you bozo, how about giving a senior citizen a break now and then?" He ignores me and keeps on writing. I call him a "Storm Trooper" and a "Nazi." He puts the first ticket on the windshield and starts to write another for worn tires.

"You're just a piece of dog shit, you know?" He finishes the second ticket, writes a third for assault or something, and wheels off on his motorcycle.

So, I walk to my car, which is parked around the corner. Geez, some cops just can't take a joke.

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My favorite word today is squeezed. Adj., have a nice day. Def.: When people on both sides of you in an airplane have claimed the armrests.

Got a Disease We Can Make Fun Of?

What this country needs now is a good 5-cent disease. There isn't any of them, anymore, that you can get your jollies over. Simply put, there are no fun diseases in the USA of today.

See, we used to laugh and laugh when somebody with St. Vitus Dance (Sydenham Chorea) would go into their act. Then we found out it's a form of rheumatic fever, and it wasn't funny anymore.

We called gout "the rich man's disease," and laughed because "he is getting what's coming to him for eating all that rich food." Then we found out this is a form of arthritis, and that wiped the grins right off.

And we'd say of the Olmecs, "They musta had a recessive gene for mongolism." And we'd tease kids afflicted with what is now known as Down's Syndrome "for having the big head." But this is serious business, and we discovered there is no smileage in this disease, either.

We teased Michael Jackson about grabbing his nuts all the time, until we discovered he simply had tinea cruris -- jock itch.

So, as usual, it has been left to Ol' Hoss to invent a disease that will be pleasant to have and we can make jokes about it, maybe. So here it is:

The Permanent Tan That Doesn't Make You Look Like a Cuban. I would think there would be a lot of call for a disease like this. Lots of people don't like the way they look along about this time of year, and they think about going to Florida to get some sunshine. Florida doesn't need any more people. Just pick up a dose of Hoss's new tanning disease and you'll be all set for the winter.

I will be sorting through some genes in test tubes to figure out how to do this. In the meantime, you can help me out with the name. For some reason, while developing this disease, I remembered the name of a former professional tennis player, named Roscoe Tanner. So why don't we name my new disease after him?

Good idea? I thought so, too. So, Roscoe it is.

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My favorite word today is boredom. N., nothing on TV. Def.: The kind of disease cured by reading Ol' Hoss's definitions.

I Remember Mama (and Burma Shave)

I think I mentioned somewhere along the line that I might be going to a mini-convention of b**ggers in Las Vegas in April. Well, first things first: I need the money to pay my way. (This will be separate from my Reincartion Fund, which will see me wheelin' by the Southern Cross with several previous Popes in tow.) Well, here's how we're raising the dough:

Ol' Hoss's Traffic Cone Ads.

Listen, don't laugh. This is not funny. Just think of it. Sometimes you see a mile or more of those cones tellin' you not to drive in that lane because it's plumb wet of tar or concrete. Now, if you was Google, wouldn't you want to put your ads on those cones?

Like this here.
Well, you know right away that's a Burma Shave ad. But you can't put those along the Interstate highways nowadays (it's illegal, you bozo). And besides that, Burma isn't Burma anymore. It's Myanmar. How would you like to see a sign in your neighborhood that said:

"Henry the Eighth
"Sure Had Trouble
"Short-Term Wives
"Long-Term Stubble.
"Myanmar Shave."

I figure the highway contractors probably pay $10 each for those traffic cones. If I can sell wording on 'em for $15 apiece, I will be a zillionaire of the Bill Gates class, because, as you all know, all the highways are getting reconstructed all the time -- especially in areas where you travel.

"Don't Stick Your Elbow
"Out Too Far
"It Might Go Home
"In Another Car.
"Brought to You Courtesy of General Motors and Myanmar Shave."

Sorta grabs you right where you live, don't it?

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My favorite word today is Burma. N., You ever see that movie about the Burma Road? Def.: Big Mistake, Many Make, Rely on Horn, Instead of Brake.

Short Shrift Sunday #9

What if animals were in charge (Part 2)?


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So, Ol' Hoss is driving around the pharmacy, trying to get a parking place up close so I don't need to walk too far (on accounta my lung disease, see). Finally, I say, "Big Ernie, if you can find me an up-close parking place I will go to church every Sunday and give up booze." Miraculously, a parking place opens up right at the pharmacy's front door.

Hoss says, "Never mind, Ernie. I found one."*

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What makes somebody become a Christian? It's all in the genes. The story, "Gay Scientists Isolate the Christian Gene," is here.

Thanks to Milt Bogs for the link.

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My favorite phrase today is How old am I? Adj., hard to tell. Def.: When I was young, the Dead Sea was only sick. (--Milton Berle.)

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(*A tip of the Ol' Hoss hat to Oz down there in Australia.)

Short Shrift Saturday #9

What if animals were in charge?

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A lady is in the dealership admiring a Lexus. As she leans forward to inspect the fine leather upholstery, a small burst of flatulence escapes her. Embarrassed, she looks around to see if anyone noticed.

Standing behind her is a salesman. "Good day, madame. How may we be of help?"

Trying to recover, the lady mumbles, "Um, how much is this car?"

Salesman: "Madame, if you farted just touching it, you are going to shit when you hear the price."

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My favorite word today is eternity. N., wearing out the ear piece. Def.: The length of time it takes to get a human on the phone; equivalent to the wait for the Second Coming.

Life in a Test Tube

A long while back (1971) an Oregon legislator of my acquaintance, Rich Kennedy, was trying to convince his cohorts to pass a bill that would require two public members to be appointed to all state boards and commissions. He argued that the boards, constituted of members of a particular trade or profession, existed simply to keep other people out. So he handed out a paper giving examples of "typical license board examinations."

Education: Describe the history of the papacy from its origins to the present, concentrating especially, but not exclusively, on its social, political, economic, religious and philosophical impact on Europe, Asia, America and Africa.

Medicine: You have been provided with a razor blade, a piece of gauze and a bottle of Scotch. Remove your appendix. Do not suture until your work has been inspected. You have 15 minutes.

Biology: Create life. Estimate the differences in subsequent human culture if this form of life had developed 50 million years earlier, with special attention to its probable effect on the English parliamentary system.

Music: Write a piano concerto. Orchestrate and perform it with flute and drum. You will find a piano under your seat.

Psychology: Evaluate the emotional stability, degree of adjustment and repressed frustrations of each of the following: Alexander of Aphrodisias, Ramses II, Gregory of Nicea and Hammurabi.

Engineering: The disassembled parts of a high-powered rifle have been placed in a box on your desk. You will also find an instruction manual printed in Swahili. In 10 minutes, a hungry Bengal tiger will be admitted to the room. Take whatever action you feel appropriate.

Economics: Develop a realistic plan for refinancing the national debt. Trace the possible effects of your plan in the following areas: Cubism, the Donatist controversy, and the wave theory of light. Point out the deficiencies in your plan.

Sociology: Estimate the sociological problems which might accompany the end of the world.

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My favorite word today is catfight. N., your record-keeping stinks. Def.: The argument you have with the Blockbuster clerk about whether you did indeed return that CD.

Flowers That Bloom in the Spring, Tra La!

There's bound to be another "blonde" joke in here somewhere. (This "test" is courtesy of Plum Crazy J&J's Mom.)

Going on the offensive:

What did the blonde say when she found out she was pregnant?
"Are you sure it's mine?"

Why is air a lot like sex?
Because it’s no big deal unless you’re not getting any.

Why is it so hard for women to find men that are sensitive, caring, and good-looking?
Because those men already have boyfriends.

What’s the difference between a new husband and a new dog?
After a year, the new dog is still excited to see you.

What’s the difference between a northern fairy-tale and a southern fairy-tale?
A northern fairy-tail begins “Once upon a time”. A southern fairy-tale begins “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit...”

(As usual, don’t blame this on me. It’s Judy’s fault.)

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The year’s best headlines of 2005:

“Crack Found on Governor’s Daughter”
“Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers”
“Miners Refuse to Work After Death”
“War Dims Hope for Peace”
“Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures”
“Man Struck by Lightning; Faces Battery Charge”
“New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group”
“Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead”

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My favorite word today is perplexed. Adj., what the hell? Def.: The slight frown on the face of someone who is examining your music collection.

I Shoulda Been a Scientific

Because math was so difficult for me in high school, I got warned off trying to be a scientific. But in my dotage I know I coulda been a good one. I describe to several science publishings, like Archaeology, National Geo, and Smithsonian. I love pictures of naked natives and sphinxes, like this one. What I been thinkin' on of late is global warmup. A lot of the blame is being put on us "developed" countries putting too much gunk (carbon dioxide) in the air. Scientists are continually saying this is "too bad."

I am submitting a paper to some high muckety-muck science outfit tomorrow describing my solution to this problem. In a nutshell, without all the graphs and stuff, here it is:

Everybody on the planet Earth (and this goes for cows, too) breathes in, on average, 35 pounds of oxygen a day -- and then breathes out an equal amount of carbon dioxide. This is the shits (methane from that stuff is another contributory to global warmup).

So here's my solution to global warming: From here on out it is okay to breathe in, but not to breathe out. This will take a heavy burden off the airwaves, close the ozone hole, and keep the temperature moderate in Oregon. You butts in Minnesota and New Hampshire will continue to get snow and freezing rain, but that's what Big Ernie intended all along, so live with it.

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Boy, I wish I had majored in science, because there are a lot of enigmas like this I could be solving. For instance, I've always wondered: If a butterfly farts in the forest, will it make a smell if there is nobody there to appreciate it?

Unknowns like that keep me awake at night.

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My favorite word today is storage. N., thanks to Painless Parker. Def.: After getting a tooth extracted, this is the hole in your gum where you place little bits of food for consuming later.

Date Checks 2006; Make Them Out to Me

From my pal Judy, an oldie but goodie:

A little old lady had worked in and around her family dairy farm since she was old enough to walk. When canned Carnation milk became available in grocery stores in the 1940s, she read an advertisement offering $5,000 for the best slogan. The producers wanted a rhyme beginning with "Carnation Milk is best of all..."

The LOL thought to herself: I know all about milk and dairy farms. I can do this!

She sent in her entry, and about a week later a big black limo drove up in front of her house. A man got out and said, "Carnation LOVED your entry so much, we are here to award you $1,000, even though we will not be able to use it."

This was her entry:

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I ambled down to the dining room for a cup of coffee, and Feelgood Haines calls me over to his table. Feelgood is our Eccentric Historian here in the Home for the Deranged. "You know, Hoss," he says, "this is the year when we're boasting on ol' Lewis & Clark, and I bet there's a lot of their history you ain't up on."

Hoss: "I think that's about to be cured."

Feelgood: "Well, this story is just too good for you to go to the grave without. Did you know Meriwether Lewis had a brother named Fairywether?"

Hoss: "That's too good to be true."

Feelgood: "Well, anyway, after readin' what his brother wrote about the Great Northwest, Fairywether made his way out here to clean up in the tuna industry. One thing that got to him, though, was that he was deathly afraid of the ocean. So he had to hire a bunch of Indians to do his harvesting."

Hoss: "For once, your story is making sense."

Feelgood: "Here's the best part: Fairywether needed a name for his product, so the Chief Indian -- who was the Indian Chief -- said, 'We'll name it after you. How does Chicken of the Sea grab you?'"

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My favorite phrase today is interim. Adj., jolly good show. Def.: What they do with 'arry when 'e dies in London.

Just Catching Up on a Few Things

As you know, I was not able to post anything on Christmas on account of Internet hookup problems. So I didn't get to repeat what LadyBug gave me as one of those re-writes of the old 'Twas the Night Before. I won't give you the whole thing, just some parts that especially relate to us Old and In the Way People:

"Our salad was Jell-O, so jiggly and great,
"Then puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate.
"The social director then had us play games,
"Like 'Where Are You Living?' and 'What Are Your Names?'

"Old Grandfather Looper was feeling his oats,
"Proclaiming that reindeer were nothing but goats.
"Our resident wanderer was tied to her chair,
"In hopes that at bedtime she still would be there."

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Is this dog blonde? Close enough. Here is part of the "famous" blonde's year in review:

January: Took scarf back to store. Was too tight.

March: Finished jigsaw puzzle in 6 months. Box said "2-4 years."

April: Trapped on escalator for 5 hours. Power went out.

July: Lost breast stroke swimming contest. Other swimmers used their arms.

December: Couldn't call 911. No "eleven" button on my phone.

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According to Oz:

A lady gives birth in a hospital, and her doctor comes in with a worried look on his face. She says, "Is there something wrong?"

Doctor: "Well, yes, I'm afraid that your baby is a hermaphrodite."

She: "What's that?"

Doctor: "That means the child has features of both a male and a female."

She: "You mean it has a penis...and a brain?"

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My favorite phrase today is 45 minutes. Adj., the joke is on blonde males. Def.: The difference between a boyfriend and a husband.

Short Shrift Sunday #8

I published a post at 5:10 a.m. today. It is not here. Here is a reasonable facsimile:

This is either a hot tub for baby or Mommy's lunch. One of those.

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Waxing lyrical:

What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of the buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. It is the noxious smell of a seeper from your 16-year-old son in the back seat.

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Lucy has at her site a whole raft of mistakes Israeli high school students made on English matriculation exams, such as:

"You should be preparing the pizza as follows: Put the floud and water in the bowel and scrumble it with the spoon."

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My favorite phrase today is speech impediment. Adj., mamma mia. Def.: When an Italian has one arm shorter than the other.

Short Shrift Saturday #8

Just a note to let you know that I have been nominated in the Best of Bob Awards for 2005 in the category of "Most Humorous B**g." So I have to get rid of pictures like this, so when the voting starts I will have a chance.

My nomination came from
Tan Lucy Pez and Judy (kenju), who clearly are easily amused. Nominations are open until Jan. 3, but I am not telling you where because the competition is already too tough. (It's at BoB Awards.)

Also nominated for "Most Humorous" is my buddy The MuzikDude, down there in Colorado. Fortunately, he is also nominated for "Best Overall B**g", and if voters have any sense they will think about him for that award and leave the comedy to Hoss.

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Here are my New Year's resolutions:

1. Be nicer to George W. Bush
2. Find out why some camels have one hump, and some have two.

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My favorite word today is guilt. Adj., he knows who's been naughty. Def.: What you feel as you remember all the terrible things you have done on New Year's Eve.

I Keep Trying to Become Famous

Just how did YOU get into the b**gging game? This is a fascinating question (to Hoss, anyway). What started you down this path? I was interviewed by a young Texas lady on this subject, and I was so damn interesting I thought I would share my response. Then maybe you might want to answer the same questions on your own site, for lack of something better to do.

1. How did you come to learn about b**gging?

I noticed a story on my home page about the subject. It listed a few popular b**gs, which I looked up. Those listed other b**ggers, and those still more, so pretty soon I figured out what it was all about. A lot of it was trivia and trivial, but some of the writers were rather astute, and some were cute.

2. How long have you been b**gging?

I began in early January of this year. It seemed good to start in the winter so I could say, in case nobody ever read what I wrote, "Well, it is off-season."

3. What got you interested in creating your own b**g?

I found several writers who were doing humor and, having been the class clown in high school, I said, "I can do that." To obtain readership, which is what all b**ggers want, I began visiting other people, and some of them would visit me back. Some of them stuck with me. Now over 100 people stop by every day. So now I claim to be famous, which is what all b**ggers want.

4. How many b**gs do you have?

Just one. I thought of starting a second one, "365 Ways to Cook Rutabagas," but as you can see it would have had a limited life span so I didn't do it.

5. How has b**gging affected your life?

What makes you think I HAVE a life? Writing my piece and reading others' have proved to be efficient ways of keeping me from watching all the crap on TV.

6. What feelings do you associate with b**gging?

Remorse, chortling, anxiety, pity, cackling, uncertainty, glee, funny bones, pains in the butt.

7. How does b**gging benefit you?

I confess to having an ego. So when people say they get a laugh out of what I write, I swell up like a toad and bust my buttons. This is hard on my tailor, but adrenalin to me.

8. Discuss some of the relationships you have formed through b**gging and how they have affected your life.

You have finally got to my serious side. For some reason I have developed as good or better friendships with other b**ggers -- people I don't know -- than with most of the people at home whom I DO know. Most b**ggers are not terribly guarded; we tell each other our hopes, fears, desires, birthdays, philosophies and bents. I live in Oregon, but I have had writers in Maine and Michigan go out of their way while in my territory to come visit me in the Old Folks' Home where I live. Next April some of us are going to meet in Las Vegas for a mini-convention of b**ggers. Friends of mine from Connecticut, Michigan, South Carolina and Texas will be among the people there. When it's over, I am going to go see some of these people on their home grounds. They have invited me to stay overnight with them -- their judgment of my worthiness based solely on what I say on the Internet. We already exchange eMail hugs, sweatshirts and cookies. If not for people like this, I would be very lonely. But I am not.

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My favorite word today is yo. Vb., whassup? Def.: What the dyslexic rabbi says.

I'm So Happy I Could Spit

At last! Thank God almighty, I'm free (of Qwest's slackers) at last. (Martin Luther king had it tough, but he never had to deal with a phone company, I bet.)

My thanks to all you lovely people who kept the faith while I was being consoled by scientists, who said what was happening to me was "too bad." I will be around to visit your place soonest. This picture is a token of my appreciation. I think it says "I love you."

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This comely lass boards the bus, which is jammed with patrons. She says to a gentleman, "Would you mind giving up your seat to a poor pregnant lady?" He says, "Oh, sure, I didn't notice. Ummm, how long have you been pregnant?" She: "About ten minutes."

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While I have been shut off from the Internet, I have not been able to make any progress towarding Making My Pile. As all one or two of you know, I need to make a lot of money over the next year to be able to afford my fancy funeral, which will feature several mob guys driving Cadillacs.

So I am jumping right back into Internet sales, with the must have gift for Christmas, 2006. Its name (write this down, now) is No-Booze Booze for Diabetics.

As all some a couple of you know, liquor is off-limits for diabetics. This makes Ol' Hoss sad, because he is not diabetic and can drink himself silly if he wants -- and he does. But Hoss believes diabetics ought to be able to have a tiddly, even if it's sort of make-believe.

Here's how we're gonna brighten their day. We will get us a big vat of Southern Comfort, and we will boil it till all the alcohol is gone. Then we will bottle up what is left, which is water that tastes like Southern Comfort. Since we won't have a lot of product left after boiling the alcohol off, we probably will have to charge something like $100 a fifth. But that's okay because diabetics don't spend a lot on chocolate so they've always got money to spare.

The only other problem I see is that this No-Booze Booze will taste like Southern Comfort, which, as a few all of you know is the most foul liquor ever built. I thought of boiling down some Jack Daniel's, but why waste the good stuff on a bunch of diabetics?

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My favorite word today is yankee. N., a baseball player that sucks. Def.: Synonymous with a "quickie," except men can do it alone.

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(This will have to do for my post for today -- Wednesday -- and tomorrow, because I need all of tomorrow to visit you, my pals. And, as an aside, I just want to say to my buddy, Bill Gates: It is okay to comment here now and then; you're among friends -- unless you got some Qwest stock.)

Three Cheers for the Red, White and Hoss

If there is anything that Ol' Hoss is (and there is) it's patriotic. When the "USA, USA" chant goes up, I bleed red, white and blue (blue blood is only if I'm in New England). So when Dubya says we need to be spyin' on one another because there is a terrrist under every bush (entendre intended), Ol' Hoss volunteered.

While everybody here in the home for the Ancient Wrinkled was at lunch, I went to all their rooms and reversed the peephole lenses. That way, I can stand in the hall and see everything that they're doing. So, soon after lunch I went on hall patrol to see who in The Home might be plotting against our country.

First off I peered through the lens into the room of Feelgood Haines, the house historian. This was just for practice, for I knowed Ol' Feelgood is above reproach, patriotic-wise. But you know what I saw? Feelgood is writin' a book; the title is "The Menu Man: Torture by Tofu in Abu Gharib." Well, Dubya is gonna wanna hear about this. One of our Americans is squealin' about the CIA's second-favorite form of torture. (The favorite form is tapes of Milton Berle.)

Then I went on to spy in the room of Candy Lander. She has got a whole raft of Texas State Patrol uniforms in there, and she is switching the labels from "Made in China'" to "Made in Crawford, Tex." Duplicity!! Dubya will be so proud.

Well, let's see if we can trust Bernard Trustworthy. The spy-peep shows him playin' with his GI Joe toys. And, yeah, he's got the usual alignment: On the left side there is the "Dick Cheney Drink It Straight Like I Am Regiment," and on the right side is the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell Regiment." Dubya is going to be peeved to learn that all the medal winners are on the right side.

I go up to the top floor to peek in on Gondola Price. And what do we see here? She's at work on a needlepoint doily, with a slogan in the middle. The slogan reads: "Bring the Boys Home Now." That makes this woman a major threat to The American Way, and I will be askin' George W. to get a missile into room 310 post haste.

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My favorite word today is service. N., when the tea and crumpets are delivered. Def.: What the telephone company provided when human beings worked there.

(Yes, I am still posting from my daughter's house. Maybe from Hoss's place on Wednesday. We shall hope so.)

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Wouldn't you just hate to be named Joe Nacchio? ("Let's go over to Nacchio's, see if he's got any salsa.") This Joe Nacchio, former CEO of Qwest Telephone Co., must hate it, too, for he has been charged with raking off $101 million during insider trading in the company's stock. Several other company officials have already admitted guilt in overstating company earnings and/or insider trading, and the company has paid $650 million to stockholders and the FCC for financial shenanigans.

But that's not the worst! No, you see, Qwest is full of liars, even today. Qwest is my phone company. Here is what I have been told by various representatives when I sought to have my basic phone service and DSL (internet) line changed from one apartment to another in my Old Folks' Home:

"We will have your basic service restored on Saturday, and DSL on Monday." (Truth: Basic service only was restored on Monday.)

"We will have your DSL service up and running on Tuesday." (Nope.)

"We will have your DSL service restored on Thursday." (Nope.)

"We will have your DSL service restored on Dec. 28." (Counting the days.)

It is getting harder and harder for Ol' Hoss to say "So it goes."

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So:

Sam always wanted a pair of gen-u-ine cowboy boots. Seeing some on sale, he plunks down his cash and goes on home. On arrival, he asks his wife, "Notice anything different, Bessie?"

Bessie looks him over. "Nope, not a thing."

Sam says, "C'mon, take a good look." Again, Bessie sees nothing new.

Sam storms into the bedroom, undresses, and walks back into the room completely naked, except for the boots. He yells, "Now see anything different?!!"

Bessie looks him over and says, "Sam, what's different? It's hanging down today. It was hanging down yesterday. It'll be hanging down again tomorrow."

Furious, Sam screams, "And do you know why it's hanging down, Bessie? IT'S HANGING DOWN BECAUSE IT'S LOOKING AT MY NEW COWBOY BOOTS!!"

Bessie replies, sadly, "Shoulda bought a hat, Sam. Shoulda bought a hat."

(Thanks and a tip of the Ol' Hoss hat to "Nat.")

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My favorite word today is doughnuts. N,, things you stir coffee with. Def.: What you see when the Pillsbury Doughboy bends over.

This Is Not Good

Here's why I don't get along with the phone company:

If I went into a Dollar Store and said, "Gimme some of them cheap condoms which I can make into water balloons on account of condoms don't do me any good because my prostate is gone," they would hand me some cheap condoms and take my dollar.

But if I say to the phone company, "Gimme one of those services you advertise," they are going to say, "Screw you, buster." And they probably wouldn't even use a condom.

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Please notice I did not use the "F" word. But do you know how to get a sweet 80-year-old lady to use the "F" word? Have another sweet 80-year-old lady yell "Bingo!"

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My favorite word today is clammy. Adj., cockle, razor, blue, quahog. Def.: How you feel after drying off at the swimming hole when all the dry towels have been used.

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(I'm at my daughter's house again. As close as I can tell, I won't have a line to the Internet until sometime Thursday. Poor Hoss.)

Short Shrift Sunday #7

I have been reduced to having to write from my daughter's house because the bastards nice people at Qwest have not seen fit to restore my phone service yet. Tuesday at the latest, they say. Thanks for peeking in.

From a church bulletin:

"For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs."

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Somebody told me: "You seem to be reaching the apex of a mediocre career."

Oz told me: "Many people quit looking for work when they find a job."

Geo. Dubya opined: "My more important job is to defend the homeland, to protect innocent Americans from the deaths of the killers." (Washington, D.C., 6/19/2002.)

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My favorite word today is crunch. Adj., "I found it." Def.: The sound a contact lens makes as it finds its way under a shoe of the largest person searching for it.

Short Shrift Saturday #7

At left is my message to Qwest, my local telephone company. Also I could add: Up yours (theirs, not YOURS).

I am not sure this post will be here today. Or if there will be any post on Sunday. Or Monday. But I guess you can come see.

What's happening is that I have a DSL line in my current apartment -- No. 111 -- in the Ancient People's Housing. According to the telephone company's computer, there is no DSL line available for my new digs, No. 205, which is approximately 75 feet from here.


Now, if PEOPLE were in charge of the universe, this would be easy. But when the machines took over, well just lookee here:

I'll be back when you see me. Maybe even before then.

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This pirate walks into a bar with a big ship's wheel stuck down his pants. The bartender says, "Excuse me, sir, but do you know you have a ship's wheel down the front of your pants?"

And the pirate says, "Aaaargh, it's drivin' me nuts!"

(Thanks, Bonnie Belle.)

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Lucy says you'll know you're under too much stress "when you ask the drive-thru attendant if you can get your order to go."

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My favorite word today is follow-up. N., semi-social behavior. Def.: Stalking a homely women in a department store so she'll have something to tell her roommate.

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.)