A Non-Meme Meme?

I don't know what to call this. It was offered to me by Lisa and Tisha. Good friends of Ol' Hoss, so you know they is right pretty.

What you do is ask yourself a bunch of questions and then give the answers. Easy meat. And it gives me a chance to talk about myself, which is a terrific subject.

FIRST NAME? Lowell (ugh).
WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Lowell, Massachusetts. Middle name is Eugene, for Eugene, Oregon. Last name is Maudlin for drunk dipshit.
WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Hoo boy, probably sometime in March.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Nobody who can read likes my handwriting because they can't read it.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Where's the question about peanut butter?
KIDS? Threesome: Good, bad and indifferent.
IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I'm thinking...
DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Is "journal" a b**g? I got me one of those.
DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? You're doing a GREAT job here Hoss.
DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? No, and the ice cream they gave me is also gone.
WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Jump whom?
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Is s'mores a cereal?
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? I got these kind with Velcro. I haven't tied a shoe for 20 years.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? It's relative. I can lift two pieces of paper, so I ain't no fairy weakling, I guess.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Is this the question about peanut butter?
SHOE SIZE? 10 1/2, if you've worn 'em. Otherwise, 10.
RED OR PINK: Nonsense. Orange.
WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I have developed a pot gut in the last six months. I am hoping it's cancer because I hate to diet.
WHOM DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Oh, boo. This almost makes me cry again. My wife.
WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Blue black.
LAST THING YOU ATE? Cherry cheesecake. They love me in the old folks' home.
WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Myself think.
FAVORITE SMELL? After the rain.
WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My chemist.
THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Boy howdy, I am a leg man. Do you know what has 2 arms, 2 wings, 3 heads, 3 bodies and 8 legs? A man on a horse holding a chicken.
DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON(S) WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Oh, they are way fine.
FAVORITE DRINK? Root Beer Bourbon and water B&B.
FAVORITE SPORT? Pro football, college basketball.
EYE COLOR? Blue-green-sludge.
FAVORITE FOOD? Oysters Abalone Vienna Sausage.
LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED AT THE MOVIE THEATRE? Hellzapoppin? I don't know.
HUGS OR KISSES? Followed by a shack job.
WHAT DID YOU LAST READ? "Jersey -- Witches, Ghosts and Traditions." No shit.
WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Picture of my grandson in basketball uniform.
WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? All-Star baseball. Tough luck, Nationals.
THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Map, anyone? Ensenada, Mexico, or Miami, Fla.
WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I am groovy and scram gravy ain't wavy.

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My favorite word today is remembrance. N., let's see, how did that go? Def.: Recalling something that wasn't quite as good as you thought it was.

To Put a Spin on It

Casey was entered in the Olympics Ice Skating competition. So he took the floor -- and put on the worst performance anybody had ever seen. He couldn't spin, fell three times and continuously ran into the sideboards.

So the judges scored his performance: India 0.0; Great Britain 0.0; Russia 0.0; United States 0.0; Ireland 10.0.

The United States judge turned to the Irish judge and said, "Are you out of your mind? That was terrible!" The Irish judge demurred: "It's very slippery out there, you know."

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A little boy was playing outdoors one day. His used his mother's broom as a horse and had a wonderful time until it began to get dark.

He left the broom on the back porch. His mother was cleaning up the kitchen when she realized her broom was missing. She asked the little boy if he knew where it was.

"It's on the back porch," he said. "Well, go get it for me, please," the mother said.

The boy told Mom that he was afraid of the dark. Well, said Mom, "The Lord is out there, too. Don't be afraid."

So the boy opened the back door a little and said, "Lord, if you're out there, hand me the broom."

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My favorite word today is death. N., and then you reincarnate, right? Def.: Life's way of telling you that you've been fired.

Give a Little Lot

I always knew you had an urge to be a good person. So now Ol’ Hoss gives you a chance to satisfy your deeper urge.

My new buddy, Monty, will be participating July 29 in a 24-hour blogathon for Cerebral Palsy research and care. She is looking for sponsors, which you will shortly be.

See, Monty is the mother of twins, a girl and a boy. The boy has cerebral palsy. But Monty maintains a stiff upper humor. For every $100 she gets pledged to the cause, she will sing a song on audio-phone or podcasted or whatever. Ain’t that neat? (The songs are really ditzy, but Monty is a lot of fun, which makes it all the more neat-o.)

So click on the Monty above, go over and pledge your little heart out. As they say, every little bit helps. But keep in mind that bigger bits help more.

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I’m going to hate myself in the morning, but I can’t resist telling you what I learned when I was dreaming last night: “Carrying babies must be easy; otherwise, they would have men doing it.”

(Bam! Crash! &%#^%$#&()&^$!sucker.) [Hmmm....seems like sounds of discontent among the lovely ladies who visit. Order up an investigation, Watson.]

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My favorite phrase today is successful father. N., can this be? Def.: A person who lets mommy tend to the potty training.

You Gotta Be Scandihoovian

I told you yesterday about my great trip north, from Salem to Seattle. One of the b**ggers I met there, Bonnie, is a graduate of Michigan State University, and loves her some Spartans. So she gave me a blank scoreboard, and I filled it in. This is to one-up her pal Vicki, a graduate of Michigan.

Sorry, Vicki. I guess you had to be there to defend yourself..

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Anyway, there I was at Zoka's Coffee, up in North Seattle, which is getting kind of famous. One of the owners is Tracy Allen, who is chairman of the Rules Committee of the "World Barista Championship." Didn't know about that, did you? Me neither.

A barista is an expert -- like a coffee sommelier -- in things coffee. Naturally, since the English drink tea and we drink coffee, you would expect us to be winning this thing hands down. No soap. In the seven years it has been held, the best showing by an American was third place this year. A Dane has won four times, a Norwegian once, and -- perhaps out of character -- an Australian sobered up enough to win the other time.

Competition is in three categories: espresso, cappuccino, and signature beverage, which must be espresso-based. No booze is allowed, which is why Americans can't win.

Now, back at home, the winner of the Las Vegas Latte Competition (for prettiest presentation) was none other than Reid Hickman, also of Zoka's Coffee fame. Here's his winning entry.

Anyway, this all explains why I paid $19.95 for a pound of beans grown in the shade in Panama. Now, all I need is an expensive espresso machine and I'll be all set.

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My favorite word today is immigration. N., hiring people to pick your nose. Def.: In a survey, 43 percent of the people said this is a serious problem; the other 57 percent said "no hablo ingles."

Speeding, Speeding Over the Bounding Main

The closer I got to home, the faster I went. On accounta it was bedtime. So I got 'er up to 82, which was plenty safe since the cops were far ahead chasing some guy who was doing 100.*

What I was doing was returning home from Seattle (400+ miles there and back; just call me Trucker Bob, who has been driving all over the place lately.) I went there to meet a couple of b**ggers -- Stargazer (Margaret) and Bonnie. We met at this sweet-smelling joint named Zoka's Coffee House, where I got the Thatcher special pound of beans for only $19.95.

Normally, I would say something like: "Here's a picture of Margaret and me. I am the pretty one." But, see, she's real pretty too, so I guess I have to tell you she's the one on the left. Otherwise, you wouldn't know.

Margaret is a pistol, an excellent conversationalist. She bought me a latte, which was terrible, but it wasn't her fault. It was my fault for not knowing what it was. So it goes. But get this in the Small World Dept.: She is a French teacher. Bonnie has a daughter who speaks lucid French and works for the French Chamber of Commerce in Manhattan.

(Can't you just imagine those two getting together: "Fooey grass" and "petty fours" and all that.)

Normally I would say something like: "Here's a picture of Bonnie and me. I am the pretty one." (Oh, we've been through that, heh?)

Surprise to me, but Bonnie doesn't have formal training in the arts, which embellish her b**g page most frequently. She says "I just like it," so she buys books and studies it when she's not having babies. Bonnie is the most Mommy of any Mommy I know: She has 11 children, all of them born at home.

I ask you: Does this look like a woman who has had 11 children? (She's the one on the left).

(*In case any cops are reading this, I lied. I never went over 70.)

(*In case there are no cops reading this, I touched 85 briefly. They don't call me Speedy Muldoon for nothing.)

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My favorite word today is voting. N., voters do it in secret. Def.: A legal way to stick it to the minorities.

Short Shrift Saturday #32

To a dog, you're family; to a cat, you're staff.

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A note from Him to Her: "Your doctor called. Your Pabst beer is normal."

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I got this site meter that tells me when somebody gets to my b**g by searching for odd things. You know about it. Happens all the time. Latest one is "cunnulingus free sample." You will be happy to know that my site was not No. 1 for this search. It was No. 2.

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A guy walks into a pet store and says, "You gonna let those kittens go cheap?"

And the owner says, "They prefer to go 'meow'."

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My favorite word today is virus. N., now let's see here. Def.: A word used by your doctor that means "I haven't a clue."

Hoss's Prime (Cheap) Sandwidges

Well, Ol' Margaret (Stargazer) has found me out. There she was in Hanover, PA, and she discovered one of my get-rich-quick steak and seafood houses. I wasn't going to tell anybody, but now that she got this picture, here's the truth: I got me a chain of these dudes what is selling 79-cent sandwidges. At 79 cents a pop, I will have me a Pile in no time.

(Let's see: Wages, 44 cents; ingredients, 34 cents; taxes,6 cents; profit, um.... well, you can see I will be Making My Pile.)

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As long as we are talking about me, which is your favorite subject, here's something else. From Pointmeister I got this site that does instant reviews of your b**g. These reviews are so instant they don't make sense (except, of course, for the plaudits thrown my way):

"REVIEW OF OLD HORSETAIL SNAKE

"I just saw Old Horsetail Snake. There are 61,637 characters in the file, which is a splendid length for Opera users. The page contains 206 links, a superb amount. The document is very structured. It must have taken many years to fine-tune the page. Seeing Old Horsetail Snake, I'm simply stunned, completely stunned. Just perfect.

"Gee. If only the Opera Homepage would have a superb page like that. It makes sense to me that Outside In (Vicki) put up a link to this page. Naturally, I expected the creator (Se7en) to achieve only the best. What a cool page! The color scheme is fresh. The URL has 41 characters. That's just the right size. The best of the best."

So, okay, Se7en gets most of the credit. Still....

(If you want to get a rave notice like this, go to Google Blogoscoped and enter your URL.)

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My favorite phrase today is sixth sense. N., this is eerie. Def.: The ability to smell a rat.

A True Believing Atheist

Feelgood Haines: "Hoss, I see in your piece yesterday you said you is a atheist. Some of your readers asked whether that was indeed true, and I am jumpin' right in. Is that right? You is a no-believer?"

Hoss: "Uh, yeah, something like that."

Feelgood: "Ain't you a pistol? So you don't believe in God or Angels or Satan or Tooth Fairies?"

Hoss: "Well, I think maybe the Tooth Fairy is real. And, of course, when I do a good deed I always get a receipt -- in case heaven is like the IRS."

Feelgood: "How about that, Heaven and Hell?"

Hoss: "Pretty fictional, Feelgood. I think heaven and hell is what we live right here on the ground. I could never cotton much to the idea of some invisible honcho keepin' book on me somewhere. And who said St. Pete could be the guardian to Heaven? How come it isn't Mother Teresa?"

Feelgood: "Streets of Gold? Heavenly Hosts? Mt. Ararat? Arafat? Any of those?"

Hoss: "No. Well, Arafat is busy turning into dust. Say, Feelgood, you ever see that bumper sticker that says 'Jesus loves you; everyone else thinks you're an asshole?'"

Feelgood: "I feel sorry for you Hoss."

Hoss: "Why's that?"

Feelgood: "The Jehovah's Witnesses will be all over you like a tall dog. You ain't never gonna get no peace. And, hell, if they ever give up on you, some of those Mormons gonna jump your bones. Poor bastard. What if you die?"

Hoss: "I got that covered."

Feelgood: "Covered?"

Hoss: "Yeah. I ain't plannin' on dying."

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My favorite word today is God. N., hello, Big Ernie. Def.: A comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh. --Voltaire.

This Is About King Tut

I swear it is. About King Tut. Really. Truly.

Here's an honest-to-goodness news clip:

"Yellow-green glass carved into a beetle-shaped ornament and found on a necklace worn by King Tut was created by a meteorite fireball.

"The carving is known as a scarab, which are ancient Egyptian fertility symbols, SHAPED LIKE DUNG BEETLES."

Hoo boy, is Hoss ever getting classy. King Tut and I. Boy howdy!

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Okay, so this b**g is about dung beetles. I give great thankees to Tisha for giving me these pictures. Of course, she had to, knowing how much I like manure dung beetles.

These pix she got at the Fort Worth TX zoo, where she and her family were idling while Uncle Bronc was getting his insides re-done (you don't want to know).

Anyway, King Tut and the dung beetles are A-OK, just like me.

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My favorite word today is atheist. N., sorry, Big Ernie. Def.: Me, who lacks invisible support.

Feelgood Explains the Fourth of July

We were having a nice nod-off in the Fireplace Room when Feelgood Haines thundered in.

Feelgood: "Hoss! I am so glad I caught you here. I am about to explain to this assemblage of personal people what is not much known about the Fourth of July. For instance, did you know our people were hacked at King George because he wouldn't let people emigrate to the US of A? Ain't that a burner, huh?"

Hoss: "Uh...snurfle...em...."

Feelgood: "Get up, Hoss. This is important. See, we used to be in favor of immigration. Now we're against it. Does the Supreme Court know about this?"

Hoss: "Put a lid on it, Feelgood."

Feelgood: "Now that I got your attention, get this from the Declaration of Independence, Missouri:

"He (King George III) has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages..."

Feelgood: "See, them redskins used to take scalps, which was no good. But now they're taking our dough in their damn casinos. Which is also no good. I think scientists would say this is 'too bad'."

Hoss: "Scientists, huh?"

Feelgood: "Are you listening? We are celebrating the 230th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence by Button Gwinnett. Wouldn't you like to have a name like that? Button. Boy howdy."

Hoss: "I'm not sure they signed on July the Fourth."

Feelgood: "Well, a course they dint. In fact, when they voted on it, Pennsylvania and South Caroline voted NO. You dint know that did ya, you old sonofabitch? No, you dint, no fakin' with me. That's prolly why Pennsylvania has all those liquor blue laws."

Hoss: "I DO know that one guy didn't even sign until 1781. He was thinking it over."

Feelgood: "Well, anyway, we got this song that's associated with the Fourth of July stuff, that's called 'Battle Hymn of the Republic'. And in there is this line: 'As ye deal with my contemners...' Holy dung beetles, Hoss, you ever see that word before? Nevertheless, let me polish this off with a quote from Ol' Tom Jefferson, who wrote this on declining an appearance at the 50th anniversary of independence:

'For ourselves, let the annual return of this day forever refresh our recollection of these rights [of men], and an undiminished devotion to them.'"

Feelgood: "Ta ra ra, boom de ay. That's how cherry bombs sound. Devoted cherry bombs."

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My favorite word today is contemner. Adj., ain't that a bitch? Def.: To treat with contempt; viz., a Simon Legree sneer.

I Am So Pretty. I Also Am Perfect.

Hoo boy! Ol' Hoss is perfect!

Well, you knew that.

Here's what happened: Momma K tries to get people to recognize other b**ggers by awarding them a "Perfect Post" button for b**gging above and below the call of duty. We nominators are sent a code for the Perfect Post button that we can send to b**ggers of our choice.

I wasn't sure I had the code right, so I put it in my own template as a test. Sure enough, it came up. AND THEN I FORGOT TO REMOVE IT.

Hah! It was amazing foresight on my part: Mother Pie (a.k.a. Hattie Page) nominated me for having done a Perfect Post. So now I am legal. (You scroll down a little, on top of my b**groll, and you can see my little Perfect Post button.) I am so pretty.

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Oh, you want to know which of my June masterpieces got selected for this award. All of them were prizewinners, of course. The one that was choosed out, though, was this guy. Where I preach to the choir, or maybe to the high school gradates. Something.

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You wanna see people falling down? Go here, where they do it with abandon.

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Over at Melissa's place you can find a whole bunch of things her mother taught her, such as:

My mother taught me RELIGION. "You better pray that will come out of the carpet."

My mother taught me ANTICIPATION. "Just wait till we get home."

Go visit to see a lot more bon mots. (Homilies?)

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My favorite phrase today is perfect lover. N., how sweet and sour he is. Def.: Someone who turns into a pizza at 4 a.m. --George Pierce.

Short Shrift Saturday #31

Ya'll know what my sister
Tan Lucy Pez says: You say "Rabbit! Rabbit!" at the first of each month, and you will have good luck the whole month long. Then, just to be evil, you put up a picture of a rabbit (or two) on your site.

I don't know if these count as real rabbits, but they're randy enough for me.

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The blonde walks up to the librarian and asks, "How do you spell 'tequila'?" So the librarian obliges, and the blonde leaves.

Pretty soon, the blonde is back. "I still can't find it," she says.

The librarian says, "Find what?"

"Tequila Mockingbird."

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Signs of the times?

In a Rumanian hotel elevator: "The lift is being fixed for the next few days. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable."

In a Copenhagen ticket office: "We take your baggage and send it in all directions."

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It was 102 degrees in Salem, OR, last Monday. This is called global warm enough.

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My favorite word today is au one. N., half a nanny. Def.: When the au pair won't do windows.

Perfection Comes in See-Through Pants

Tomorrow is Saturday, so the owners of the Perfect Post Syndrome insist that the awards be made today, which I am happy to do because I do not like being hit upside the head with a fresh fish.

Ya'll know what a Perfect Post is: It's one of those that edifies, titilates or is just plain superflagilisticexpealidocious. My award, for embarrassing herself beyond belief, goes to Julie for her post of June 1 in which she admits to showing off -- showing off her buttcrack. Go give it a read. I guarantee you a good time will be had by all -- except for Julie.

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I swiped this cartoon from Plutos the Bubblemans. It came with this tagline: "So Carlos wanders right into the middle of the Hippos migration path and scores the big fat one."

See, Pluto knows about my affinity for dung beetles, and he did this cartoon in my honor. Thanks, Simon. (Also go visit this guy; he is a whiz cartoonist.)

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"Smoking kills. If you're killed you've lost a very important part of your life." --Brooke Shields.

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Isaac Newton on why chickens cross the road: "Chickens at rest tend to stay at rest; chickens in motion tend to cross roads."

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So, O'Connell is staggering home with a pint in his back pocket, when he trips and falls heavily. He feels something wet going down his leg.

"Please, God," he says. "Let it be blood."

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If we aren't supposed to eat animals, why are they made of meat?

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My favorite word today is diplomat. N., a freak of nature. Def.: A man who can convince his wife that she would look fat in a fur coat.

For He Was a Jolly Good Fellow

A man is waiting for his wife to give birth. The doctor comes in and informs the dad that his son was born without torso, arms or legs. The son is just a head!

But the dad loves his son and tends to him with love and compassion. After 21 years the son is old enough for his first drink, so dad takes him to the bar. Dad orders up the biggest, strongest drink for his boy. With all the bar patrons looking on curiously and the bartender shaking his head in disbelief, the boy takes his first sip of alcohol. Swoop! A torso pops out!

The bar is dead silent, then bursts into whoops of joy. The father, shocked, begs his son to drink again. The patrons chant "Take another drink!" Swoop! Two arms pop out! The crowd chants again, "Take another drink!" By now the boy is getting tipsy, but he obliges, guzzling the last of the drink. Swoop! Two legs pop out!

The bar is in chaos. The father falls to his knees and tearfully thanks Big Ernie. The boy stands up on his new legs and stumbles to the left....then to the right...right through the front door, into the street, where a truck runs over him and kills him instantly.

The bar falls silent. The father moans in grief. The bartender sighs and says, "That boy should have quit when he was a head."

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My favorite word today is lottery. N., get poor quick schemes. Def.: A tax on people who are bad at math.

Did Cavemen Really Live in Caves?*

Lame joke:

Question: What's the difference between a rabbit and a hare?

Answer: You can't trim your nose rabbit.

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Lamer joke:

First boy: "Golly, you know my Dad works 12 hours a day to give us a nice home and good food to eat? And Mom slaves away all day cooking and cleaning and sewing? Now I'm worried."

Second boy: "Why is that?"

First boy: "What if they try to escape?"

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Back when I was going to church, I could never quite get a handle on "The Trinity." This is the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost (or Spirit, in some denominations). Now, it appears, neither can the Presbyterian Church.

In a new paper stressing theological imagination, the church appears ready to go all non-gender on us. The new trinity, it suggests, ought to be called "Rainbow, Ark and Dove," or "Giver, Gift and Giving," or "Lover, Beloved and Love," or "Fire That Consumes, Sword That Divides and Storm That Melts Mountains."

But this is the best one: "Compassionate Mother, Beloved Child and Live-Giving Womb."

Dear Mrs. God, Hallowed be thy name...

And what the hell is a "Holy Spirit," anyway? Is that 80 proof, or 100?

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My favorite word today is cynic. N., no, never. Def.: One who smells flowers and suspects he is in a funeral home.

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(*This is just a headline. It doesn't have anything to do with the material here.)

Things That I Didn't Know Before

I got this idea for a meme from Ladybug.

Appetizer: On a scale of 1 to 10 (with 10 being highest) how funny do you think you are?

Answer: 1 to 10. Oh, no way. They don't got numbers for my kind of humor. Let's see, the last time I was funny was B**g No. 84. I would reprint it here, but it wasn't that funny. Now my pal Lois Lane, now she's funny. Like a one-armed paper hanger with the itch.

Soup: Name a local restaurant you would recommend to visitors.

Answer: McDonald's? No, wait, that's not so local. I think you get the best bang for the buck by going to a Mom and Pop restaurant, where you can get three eggs, sausage, a pile of home fries, and great coffee. We don't have any of those.

Salad: What's a lesson you were lucky enough to learn as a young child?

Answer: Do unto others before they can do unto you. Hit the other guy when he's not ready. A bird in the hand gathers no moss. I got a lot of lessons like these. All good.

Main Course: Where would you like to be 5 years from now?

Answer: Hoo boy. See, this depends upon whether I am alive or not. If I am alive, I think I would like to be polishing off my 2,500th b**g in my continuing effort to get one that's funny. If I am dead, I would like to be reincarnated in time to polish off my 2,500th b**g in my continuing effort to get one that's funny.

Dessert: If you could see the front page of a newspaper 10 years from now, what would the main headline be?

Answer: Reincarnation Real, Hoss Says. ("In a blow to science, the reincarnated Old Horsetail Snake held his first press conference today. 'Crossing over from live to dead and back to live was really kind of funny, sort of like a Lois Lane b**g,' Ol' Hoss declared.")

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My favorite phrase today is raw sewage. N., from the old dumping grounds. Def.: What it is before you cook it.

The Flowers That Bloom in the Summer

In case you can't read the sign, you CAN make it bigger, you know.

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Speaking of tantrums, check this out. It has a surprise ending, which is the best kind.

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Haven't had your fill of immigration stories? How about "reverse immigration" stories? Like this.

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This gymnastics routine is provided for my buddy, Teacher Woman, whose daughter is in YMCA Gymnastics Nationals.

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What hacks me off is that most immigrants don't bother to learn our language. Which is English and French and German and Latin and various other assorted Serbians. For instance, how many wetbacks drybacks newcomers know about onomatopoeia?

And how many can even spell "mnemonic" when they hear it? (How many of YOU can spell it, for that matter?) And as for the definition -- ROY G BIV*.

And also, et cetera, ad infinitum, o sole mio, can they (you) define "gullible"?

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My favorite word today is gullible. Adj., sounds funny when you say it three or four times. Def.: The Brooklyn Bridge is finally sold.

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(Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet. I love rainbows.)

Short Shrift Saturday #30

At one time in my life, I thought I had a handle on the meaning of the word "service". It can be defined as "The act of doing things for other people."

Then we came across these terms which use "service":

Internal Revenue Service
Postal Service
Telephone Service
Civil Service
Customer Service
Service Stations

Hah! Service Stations my butt. I know better.

And so it was no surprise, really, when I overheard some farmers talking. One of them said he had paid a stud fee to have a bull "service" a few of his cows.

So it has all come into focus. We now know what those "service" agencies are doing to us. I don't suppose you feel any better.

(This little tale was handed to me by Judy, known to you as kenju.)

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Thomas Jefferson: "The natural order of things is for liberty to yield and government to gain ground."

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My favorite word today is beer. N., for he's a jolly good fellow. Def.: Propellant of conversation.

Just Call Me Jean

I have given a lot of thought to this b**g -- 30 or 40 seconds, minimum. See, it is a subject that sorely troubles Ol' Hoss: Why aren't there any girls named Bill?

I guess we can go pretty far back to find out that William nee Bill was a name given at one time to one child. What I mean is, there had to have been a No. 1 William because not every Mom and Dad named their kid William all at once. No, there was a No. 1 William, who instantly became Bill. Bill Shakespeare.

Makes sense, doesn't it? But how about this: Who was the No. 1 Kerry? And was it a boy or a girl? Same for Kelly, Carey and Beverly. And Shirley. Boys, or girls?

So, really, what I am wondering is, who came up with the idea that some names are for boys and some names are for girls? Think of this: Francis is a boy, but Frances is a girl. In France, Jean is a boy but in London Jean is a girl. My forebears started out in France, then moved to England. So I am Jean Gene? And my real first name? Lowell. Why can't girls be Lowell, since it's only a city in Massachusetts? Why can't boys be Shannon, since it's only a city in Ireland?

Why can't I get any of the pregnant ladies to name their kid Benjamin? There's this babe up in Canada who is going to name her offspring "Zoe Alexis". Horseshit. What's wrong with Benjamin?

Did the Neandertals give their kids names? Ooga, Oona and Hamfat -- boys or girls, take yer pick. God, I love that: Hamfat Gooch, source of every boy's DNA.

Monk was a boy. I never want to see no girl wandering around saying, "Hi, I'm Monk."

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My favorite word today is civilization. N., ever advancing. Def.: Figuring out new ways to kill people.

How to Get to Be Red in the Neck

You know you're a redneck when:

You take your dog for a walk and you use the same tree.

Your boat has not left the driveway for 15 years.

You think "The Nutcracker" is something you do off the high dive.

You have the local taxidermist on speed dial.

You come back from the dump with more than you took.

Your grandmother has "ammo" on her Christmas list.

You keep flea and tick soap in the shower.

You've been involved in a custody fight over a hunting dog.

You know how many bales of hay your car will hold.

You have a rag for a gas cap.

You consider your license plate personalized because your father made it.

Your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand.

Your llama breeding isn't exactly working out.

You have a complete set of salad bowls that say "Cool Whip" on the side.

Your working TV sits on top of your non-working TV.

A tornado hits your neighborhood and does $100,000 worth of improvements.

You missed your 5th grade graduation because you were on jury duty.

You've used your ironing board as a buffet table.

You think fast food is hitting a deer at 65.

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My favorite phrase today is rack of lamb. N., like a rack of antlers. Def.: Same as a school of fish.

Will You Love Me When I'm GaGa?

This is what happens when Catholic drivers put the pedal to the metal.

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Gen-you-ine news-
paper headline: "Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over"

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Well, I guess it's no secret that I am a fan of dung beetles. And you should be, too. I just read a story that said cattle ranchers save $380 million a year because beetles carry off the poo.

To say nothing of meerkats. See, according to this video, dung beetles are the resident maid service for meerkats, which are very lovable, as you know.

Moral of the story: Take a dung beetle to lunch.

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A nifty quote from Tan Lucy Pez: "You'll always be my Dad. That's one thing the casinos can't take away from me."

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Here's a funny that I stole from Raggedy. It is Frank Caliend, doing a number on Dubya.

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My favorite phrase today is end of the world. N., I've been reading Revelations again. Def.: What today's TV shows make you hope for.

Father Knows Best

A boy is nervous about his first date, for he doesn't know what to talk about. He asks his father for advice.

"My son, there are three subjects that always work," he said. "These are food, family and philosophy."

So the boy collects his date and they go to a soda fountain. They stare at each other for a long time, so finally the boy gets up his nerve.

He says, "Do you like spinach?" She says, "No." And the silence returns.

Finally the boy tries the second point raised by his father. "Do you have any brothers?", he asks. Again, the girl says, "No." The silence returns.

Finally, the boy plays his last card. Thinking of his father's advice he asks, "If you had a brother would he like spinach?"

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From Indy's Mom: "Every crow thinks his is the blackest."

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My favorite word today is mirrors. N., this is hard to believe. Def.: They can't talk and they still lie.

You Want Two Bloods and a Blood Light?

This is from Lois Lane:

On a hot day in Minnesota, Helga hung the wash out to dry, put a roast in the oven, then went downtown to pick up some dry cleaning.

"Gootness, it's hodt," she mused to herself as she walked down Main Street.

She was passing by a tavern and thought, "Vy nodt?", so she walked in a took a seat at the bar. The bartender came up and asked her what she would like to drink.

"Ya know," Helga said, "it is so hodt I tink I'll have myself zee cold beer."

The bartender asked, "Anheuser Busch?"

Helga blushed a little, but replied, "Vell fine, tanks, und how's yer pecker?"

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And this is from Marti:

A neighbor found out her dog could hardly hear so she took it to the vet. He found the problem was hair in its ears, so he cleaned it out and the dog could hear fine. The vet told the lady if she wanted to keep this from reoccuring she should go to the store and get some "Nair," and rub it in the dog's ears once a month.

So she goes into the drug store, and as she is getting the Nair rung up, the druggist says, "If you're going to use this under your arms, don't use deodorant for a few days."

The lady says, "I'm not using it under my arms."

The druggist says, "If you're using this on your legs, don't shave for a couple of days."

The lady says, "I'm not using it on my legs. If you must know, I'm using it on my schnauzer."

The druggist says, "Stay off your bicycle for a week."

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My favorite word today is charity. N., this will hurt me more than it helps you. Def.: Taking Cinderella's ugly sisters to lunch.

Short Shrift Saturday #29

I flew from Phoenix to Portland on Wednesday along with an Indian lady who had one of those red thingies on her forehead. I said, "What's that?" And she said, "It's a red thingie."

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Signs you are getting old:

Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them, either.

There's nothing left to learn the hard way.

Things you buy now you won't wear out.

In a hostage situation, you are likely to be released first.

You and your teeth don't sleep together.

You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.

You don't remember being absent minded.

You have a party and the neighbors don't realize it.

Your investment in health insurance is finally beginning to pay off.

Your mind makes contracts your body can't keep.

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My favorite word today is diet. N., who was this Atkins guy? Def.: A generally hopeless plan for testing your will power.

Deep Out of the Heart of Texas

While in Texas I didn't get close to Crawfish, where the President lives. But he continued to impress me:

"You never know what your history is going to be like until long after you're gone." --May 5, 2006.

"I was not pleased that Hamas has refused to announce its desire to destroy Israel." --May 4, 2006.

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German poet Heinrich Heine died. He left his entire estate to his wife -- if she would remarry, so there would be "at least one man to regret my death."

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If you want to crack up, go here, where you can discover that 5x5 is 14. I lifted this from Cascokat.

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I wish you a Merry Fartmas. Great video, except it's a stinkeroo.

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My favorite word today is chastity. N., you want a belt with that? Def.: The least practiced of the sexual perversions.

Just Passing These Along

Here are a couple of stories from my new buddy Peskie, who is a brother to Ozguru.

"I'm getting a divorce," said Jack to his friend Bill. "My wife hasn't spoken to me for six months."

Bill thought for a moment, then replied: "Just make sure you know what you're doing, Jack. Good wives like that are hard to find."

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A Swiss guy, looking for directions, pulls up at a bus stop whjere two Englishmen are waiting. "Entschuldigung, koennen Sie Deutsch sprechen?" he asks. The two Englishmen just stare at him.

"Excusez-moi, parlez vous Francais?" The two continue to stare. "Parlare Italiano?" No response. "Hablan ustedes Espanol?" Still nothing.

The Swiss guy drives off, extremely disgusted.

The first Englishman turns to the second and says, "Y'know, maybe we should learn a foreign language."

"Why, what for?" says the other. "That bloke knew four languages, and it didn't do him a damn bit of good."

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A very unattractive, nasty woman walks into Wal-Mart, beating on her two kids. The Wal-Mart greeter asks, "Are they twins?"

The ugly woman says, "Hell, no. The oldest one is 9 and the younger one is 7. Why? Do you really think they look alike?"

"Oh, no," replied the greeter. "I just couldn't believe you got laid twice."

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My favorite phrase today is in conclusion. Adj., I knew this would come to an end. Def.: The audience's alarm clock.

Never Let It Be Said

Some things about some other people:

1. People who point at their wrist while asking for the time.... I know where my watch is, where the hell is yours? Do you point at your crotch when you ask where the restroom is?

2. People who will search the entire room for the remote because "it's too far" to walk to the TV and change the station manually.

3. When people watching a film say, "Did you see that?" No, half-deck, I spent $12 so I could come stare at the floor.

4. When people say "Life is short".... What the hell? Life is the longest thing anyone ever does.

5. When you are waiting for the bus and someone asks, "Has the bus come yet?" Yes, dumbass, and it left me standing here. Idiot.

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Sitting behind some nuns at a baseball game, three men decided their habits were blocking the view. So they tried some insults to get them to move.

In a very loud voice, the first guy says, "I'm going to move to Montana. There are only 100 nuns in Montana."

The second guy joins in. "I'm moving to Utah. There are only 50 nuns in Utah."

And the third agrees. "I'm going to Idaho. There are only 25 nuns in Idaho."

One of the nuns turns, smiles sweetly, and says, "Why don't you go to Hell. There are no nuns there."

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My favorite word today is drama. N., it ain't funny, McGee. Def.: Your life after you have taken out all the dull parts.

There's No Pun Like an Old Pun

Three vampires go into a bar. The first vampire says, "I vould like a blood." The second vampire says, "I vould like a blood." But the third vampire says, "I vould like a plasma."

So the bartender says, "Let me get this straight: You want two bloods and a blood light?"

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On her way home from the grocery store, the little old lady stops at Nathan Hale's Used Cars, and she is waited on by Nathan himself.

They look for awhile, and finally she decides she wants a Plymouth Fury, but not white like the one she is looking at.

"Well, what color would you like? Red, I have one of those. I can get you one in blue. What will it be?"

The lady reaches into her bag, pulls out an ear of corn, strips the husk and says, "There, I want a car that color."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," says Nathan. "But the Fury doesn't come in that color. You can have red, black, white, blue, almost anything else."

This severely hacks the woman off, for she wants what she wants. She is so peeved she starts throwing vegetables at poor old Nathan, who runs for his life.

Another customer sees this and asks the bookkeeper what was going on. The bookkeeper says, "Apparently, Hale hath no Fury like the woman's corn."

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Pretty soon it will be Sunday, when God rests and everybody else has to play golf.

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My favorite word today is jury. N., 12 man women good and true. Def.: Persons chosen to determine who has the better lawyer. --Robert Frost.

Strange Goings on in the Texas Nation

See, in Texas, women work outside the home. Then they do all the cooking, laundering, washing, child-rearing and toenail trimming. But this is okay because men are busy with the golf and resting up from having to work to bring home almost as much money as the women.

This is NOT TRUE in the household where I am presently immersed. Walt -- Tisha's husband -- is an excellent husband and provider and child-rear. But it is true in every other household, where they got names like Bubba and Boy John and Jim Bob Hambleton, who will sell you some insurance.

Walt took me golfing today -- he golfed and I watched. The boy needs some lessons. Not in golf. In driving. He goes so fast down the highway I barely have time to think about what we're seeing. Like, Red Haven Lumber, whose sales office is made of brick.

So there is an election going on here. It is different than in Oregon, where the top vote-getter in the primary is the party's candidate in the fall election. Here, if you don't get 50.+ percent in the primary you have a runoff. So Walt's dad, Larry Cowling, is in a runoff with Carolyn Coleman for state representative. The election is Tuesday.

Now all of you know I am not much on prayer. However, that only applies to me, not to you. So if you got any prayers on you, send one up for Larry. It isn't that Carolyn is bad; she is just not as good. Even if she does do floors.
Larry took me out for dinner. I had frog legs and Rocky Mountain Oysters.*

(*I didn't want to put in this post what Rocky Mountain Oysters are, because a lot of little kids read this b**g. So that's why I am not telling you that Rocky Mountain Oysters are calf nuts.)

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My favorite word today is brassies. N., no, that's not even close. Def.: The way Tisha pronounces the place we are going for dinner, which is Bryce's.

Short Shrift Saturday #28

Here I am in the country of Texas enjoying the hell out of the little ones. Tisha and Walt's kids -- Lucas and Carli -- are 6 and 8. I had forgotten how much fun little kids can have and be.

This is Tisha's 37th birthday. She is being much loved.

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Two women friends had gone for a night out. Both were very faithful, loving wives, but they had gotten a little over-enthusiastic on the Bacardi Breezers. Incredibly drunk and walking home, they needed to pee, so they stopped in the cemetery.

One of them had nothing to wipe with, so she just took off her panties and used those. Her friend, however, was wearing an expensive pair of panties and didn't want to ruin them. She was lucky enough to squat next to a grave that had a wreath with a ribbon on it, so she wiped with that.

The next day, one of the women's husbands was concerned that his normally sweet, innocent wife was still in bed, hung over. So he phoned the other husband and said, "These girl nights out have got to stop. I'm starting to suspect the worst. My wife came home with no panties."

"That's nothing," said the other husband. "Mine came back with a card stuck to her ass that said: 'From all of us at the Fire Station...We'll never forget you.'"

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My favorite word today is conciousness. N., are you in there? Def.: That annoying period between naps.

And, Boy, You Have Earned This

To: Seniors of Schlotz High School

From: Ol' Hoss

Howdy, Bubs. The chairman of your School Board has asked me to speak to you on your gradation night, on accounta I am one of the leaking graduates. Hardly nobody has topped what I done since I gradually gradated. But no matter how many good things I have done in the area of dung beetles and buttcrack, this is about you'uns. So listen up.

Firstly, I seen you have sweated through 12 years of pubic school so as to get on with your life. So you done good. Let me give you some statiticians: 63 percent of you never thought you would get this far. 37 percent of you didn't. That adds up to 100 percentages if you are keeping score.

28 percent of the remaindering of you say you are going on to college. That is a worthwhile endiver...endovering...endevur thing. I want to warn you, though, that all is not peaches and sour cream at the collegial level. No, see, they have these classes that sometimes start at 8 a.m. and you don't want none of that, prolly. No, better you stay home and work at the Burger King or Sid's Mouldings which has different hours, such as 9, 11 and 14.

I think that was secondly and thirdly.

Fourthly, you wanna decide which way to go. There is a lot of discussion about sex in the Capitol (gays vs. straights, etcetera) but you need to decide for yourself. See, you can be heterosexual, unisexual, bisexual, multisexual, gay, lesbian or even get a sex change. Anyway, it's time to quit experimenting and pick one.

Now then, fifthly, this will be good news. Effective right after gradation you can go ahead and screw the teacher. See, she won't be your boss no more so there is nothing wrong-headed about it. (Oh, hoo boy, I said "head." Ho ho har de har har.)

Let us pray.

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My favorite word today is shortcut. N., I've never gone this way before. Def.: When did they put that fence in here?

Is This It? The Cure for the Common Buttcrack?

Sort of at the time you read this I will be in the air, heading back to Texas. I am going to visit my buddy Tisha, because she has such a lovely south-of-the-mouth accent.

Oh, and by the way, I tried commenting many times yesterday, but yesterday is also when B**gger was doing maintenance. So, summing up, here is my comment for your pieces yesterday: "Not bad. Needs work."

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Once again, I don't remember who sent me here, but THANKS. "Here" is where I am going to send you, because this is a video that may cure man's worst affliction: Asscrack. Kindly click on Crack Spackle, and enjoy the show.

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Look at this little picture I stole from Pointmeister, Mike Ashley. As any fool can plainly see, the need for Crack Spackle is indeed high. But I am wondering this: What if I gave everybody a couple of dung beetles? Then when you see buttcrack you drop a beetle down into the slot and let him go to work. Hoo boy, I would love to see this.

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You know you are getting old when...

You feel like the morning after, and you haven't been anywhere.

Your children are looking middle-aged.

Your knees buckle but your belt won't.

Your back goes out more than you do.

You sink your teeth into a steak -- and they stay there.

Everything that works hurts, and what doesn't hurt, doesn't work.

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My favorite word today is flashlight. N., I can see clearly now. Def.: Where you keep your dead batteries.

Nor Any Drop to Drink

The 92-year-old lady goes into the bar and orders "a Scotch and one drop of water." She says to the barkeep, "It's my birthday."

She drinks up, and the guy on the next stool says, "Hey, since it's your birthday, have one on me." So she says to the barkeep: "A Scotch, with one drop of water."

A fella down at the end of the bar hears it's her birthday, and orders another drink for her. She says: "A Scotch, with one drop of water."

The bartender says, "Excuse me ma'am, I've served a lot of funny drinks, but never with just one drop of water. What's the story?"

The lady says, "I'm 92, so you know I learned how to hold my liquor. But I could never hold my water."

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The Marx brothers did this:

What has a trunk but no key, weighs 3,000 pounds, and lives in a circus?
That's irrelevant.
Relephant! That's right.
That sort of testimony we can eliminate.
That's fine. I'll take some.
Some what?
Eliminate. A nice cold glass of eliminate.

That was from the comments section of Miss Cellania. This is from herself:

Bessie, an inmate of an old folks' home, runs into the lounge and yells:

"Whoever can guess what I've got in my hand can have sex with me tonight."

Albert pipes up: "An elephant?"

Bessie ponders. "Close enough."

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Somebody (I should write this stuff down) challenged me to make "decider" my favorite word. No sooner said, than:

My favorite word today is decider. N., plenipotentiary. Def.: What you make when you press de apples.

Strange Things Abound

I have seen other b**ggers write about "Six Strange Things About Me." Hah! I can do that. How about 60? Okay: Six.

1. I love dung beetles. The reason for this is quite simple: Dung beetles are to shit what I am to fudgesicles -- so, you see, we both enjoy our work. Besides that, they helped me clean up after the dog, when I had a dog.

2. I wear mail-order clothes. We have plenty of stores in town that sell shoes and shorts and shirts and T-shirts and pants and hankies and stuff like that. BUT IT DOESN'T COME BY MAIL!! Everybody knows that getting something in the mail is the greatest fun since chopped butter.

3. My grandson sucks. This is my step-grandson, Jordan, who is taller than me, stronger than me, smarter than me and prettier than me. So, he sucks. So would all of you people who are taller, stronger, smarter and prettier -- but, of course, there aren't any.

4. My granddad was a preacher. I've told you about this before. He was actually a great preacher, full of fire and brimstone. You did not want to be thinking about hell on his watch. Now that he's gone it is safe for me to be an atheist. Even in a foxhole.

5. My work was for nothing. One summer when I was about 19, I got a job with the lumber mill plucking rocks out of the road they had built at Pine Mountain, east of Bend. The next year, they decided that having rocks in the road gave it a good base, so they hired a trucker to bring some in. That was okay by me; I had a soft job over in the valley.

6. I like capital punishment. I know, I know. A liberal like me is supposed to be against killing people. I can't help myself. When I think of some arsehole killing a baby for no good reason, I think: Well, let's off that dude and we'll have one less bastard to worry about. I wouldn't kill ALL the killers, just some of 'em. I guess I could take applications?

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My favorite word today is insurance. N., oh I love for somebody to sell me some. Not. Def.: The only thing that makes death worthwhile.

Let's Not Fight Like Brothers, OK?

Two arabs boarded a flight out of London. One took a window seat and the other sat next to him in the middle seat.

Just before takeoff, a Marine sat down in the aisle seat. After takeoff, the Marine kicked off his shoes, wiggled his toes and was getting settled in when the arab in the window seat said, "I need to get up and get a Coke." The Marine said, "Oh, don't get up. I'll get it for you."

As soon as he left, one of the arabs picked up the Marine's shoe and spat in it. When he returned, the other arab said, "That looks really good. I think I'll go get one." Again, the Marine obligingly went to fetch it. While he was gone, the other arab picked up the other shoe and spat in it.

As the plane was landing, the Marine slipped into his shoes. And he knew immediately what had happened.

The Marine says, "Why does it have to be this way? How long must this go on? This fighting between our nations? This hatred? This spitting in shoes? This pissing in Cokes?"

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Dear Friends and Volunteers:

I have the privilege of being in charge of raising money for a monument of George Dubya Bush. And I am proud to report success.

We are placing this monument near the statue of Christopher Columbus, the greatest Republican of them all. He left not knowing where he was going, and when he got there he didn't know where he was. He returned not knowing where he had been -- and the best thing of all: he did it on other people's money.

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My favorite word today is religions. N., fee fie fo fum. Def.: Things that are all basically founded on guilt but with different holidays.

Short Shrift Saturday #27

So the cowboy goes into a bar in Dodge City and orders a drink. Bartender says, "Haven't seen you afore. You must be new in town." Cowboy admits that is so, and the bartender says, "You might want to just keep on goin', 'cause the Brown Paper Gang is hanging around these parts."

"Brown Paper Gang?" queries the cowboy. "Why do they call them that?"

"Well, see," says the barkeep, "they got brown paper hats, brown paper saddles, and brown paper chaps. The sheriff and two or three posses are out lookin' for 'em right now."

"What is this Brown Paper Gang wanted for?" asks the cowpuncher.

"Rustling," says the bartender.

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My favorite word today is memory. N., are made of this. Def.: What you forget with.

Some People Spell it 'mAUDLEYn'

And so it was just like my Mom said: Magdalene College in Cambridge, England, is pronounced "Maudlin." Take that, Thesaurus.

See, in the dictionary it says "maudlin, adj., self-pityingly or tearfully sentimental." And it adds that this comes from Mary Magdalen, who is often pictured weeping. Just think of it!! There I was in Da Vinci Code and didn't even know it!

Now then, what I did was appeal to my buddy over in London, Huw, to whom I posed the question: "How do you pronounce Magdalene, as in Magdalene College?" And he said it is indeed "Maudlin," perhaps because the founder of the college was a gent named Audley, whose name was writ thus by waggish scribes at his school: mAUDLEYn. Which obviously is pronounced Maudlin. And then Huw said the same is true of Magdelen College in Oxford ("What is good for Cambridge is good for Oxford," you see).

I learned this pronounciation from reading my Mom's research into the history of the Maudlin family, which was started in North Carolina by a man named Ezekiel. (You suppose this is the guy with the wheel? Nah...).

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Speaking of spelling, this is in my Sunday comics:

"I heard Swish mountain climbers Yoda atop the Alfs, climbed the Egyptian Pyrenees, and I walked along the Great Mall of China."

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If God had wanted me to touch my toes, he would have put them on my knees. (No, I can't remember where I got this.)

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My favorite word today is window. N., I can see right through you. Def.: What men come back with when sent window shopping.

How Perfect Is This?

'Tis the first of June and time for slipping you my Perfect Post award from May. Which goes to Ann Arbor, once again, only this time to Big Dave. This is my environmentally challenged buddy who believes yard work is for sissies. However, he does not take the easy way out and claim he doesn't mow because of allergies. No, Ol' Dave is far too subtle for that. Go see.

Perfect Post is a device invented by Momma K and Lucinda so some of us can show our love for exceptional writing. Glad to do it.

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There is a new b**gger on the block, name of Raggedy, who amuses me with this homily about Big Ernie:

"May God bless those who love us.
"And for those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts.
"And for those whose hearts cannot be turned,
"May God turn their ankles
"So that we may know them by their limping."

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Rabbit! Rabbit! According to the Pez family, including my sister Lucy, if you say Rabbit! Rabbit! on the first of each month, you will have good luck all month long. None of my rabbits has been as cute as this one; probably it is good for 7 years' worth of luck.

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You wanna have some fun, you go visit Steve Martin, who has a magic act that will have you laughing long.

(I stole this from Miss Cellania, who doesn't care because she had it first.)

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A 5-year-old girl is showing Grandpa a drawing she made of her new sister.

Grandpa: "That's nice, but you didn't put in any nose, eyes or mouth."

The Girl: "I don't know her that well."

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My favorite phrase today is "Standing on the Promises." N., let me count the ways. Def.: Favorite hymn of your neighborhood politician.