Yesterday I got cornered by The Home's history buff, Feelgood Haines.
"Hoss," says Mr. Haines, "knowin' you're such an irreligious nut, I thought it my bounden duty to square you away on that Ezekiel fella who had such a big role in the Old Testimony." My eyes got gauze over 'em, which Feelgood took as a sign to continue. This is the story he told:
All this business about seeing stuff took place when Ezekiel was camped out in Tornado Alley, probably in Kansas. Kansas has been flattened so often by tornados that it is the only completely flat state in the world. Their corn is bigger than their highest mountain.
One day this powerful wind and lightning storm hit right above old Zeke, and lo the behold he saw these weirdos coming out of the sky. There were four of them and they looked sorta human but they had four faces -- the faces of a man, an eagle, an ox and a lion. Hoo boy, talk about eyes in the back of your head!
Zeke says to himself, well, this makes sense: you got the face of a man representing intelligence, the face of an eagle for vision, the face of an ox for strength, and the face of a lion for....well, hell....maybe you don't need that one. I don't know what it's for.
Zeke said he also saw a wheel within a wheel, and they was both turnin'. He described this to some Japanese later on and they made a fortune on toy gyroscopes.
What were those guys up to? Zeke asked one, whose name was Chester.
"Chester," Zeke said, "what in thunder and tarnation are you cats doin'?"
"Well," Chester replied, "somebody told us to get into the wheatfields and make some crop circles, but we're all squares. Maybe we'll just do a few swastikas, sacrifice some cows, and head on in to Wichita for breakfast."
"Well," Ezekiel said, "amen to that."
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Yesterday I wrote how some people would walk into Oxygen Holes and die for lack of air. Then I said, Scientists put this in the category of "too bad."
Nobody laughed. I guess I should have said: Scientists put this in the category of "unlucky."
I don't know if that's any funnier. Maybe you people need to get the knots outta your funny bone.
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My favorite word today is evidence. n., from Old Greek word for "play." Def.: The abrasions on knees and elbows formed from the compulsion to make love on cheap sheets.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Monday, June 20, 2005
Doing What Comes Naturally: Dying
The Administrator of this here Home for Old Soiled People was kind to point out a website that "predicts" when you're going to die. She knows how morbidly curious we are about gettin' on The Last Roundup.
According to this site, I am already dead, which is good news because I have avoided a lot of pain. I clicked on Death Clock, entered my birthdate, height, weight, etc., and The Clock said I will die March 26, 2001. If there was an obituary on me in the local rag, I missed it.
So I'm wonderin' if I died a natural death. Then I wondered, "What IS a natural death?" I'm pretty sure it's not the kind you get from cancer or heart attack or halitosis. It is probably more like:
Shutdown. This is where all your vitals go belly up all simultaneous-like. God or the Devil or somebody gets in there and turns off the key, and your mufflers quit rumbling. Of course, your hair will continue to grow for several days, but I don't know if hair is a vital. Maybe.
Heartbreak. This is when your left and right ventricles part ways. If they split up, you probably will not feel too good. Causes of Heartbreak can be getting dumped for the fourth time, finding out the Cubs lost the World Series, or discovering that Elvis really is dead. Most often this kind of death will occur in a Heartbreak Hotel.
Braindead. This occurs from trying to decipher Bushisms. To stay out of danger you might kinda want to avert your eyes when you read this example: "Natural gas is hemispheric. I like to call it hemispheric because it's a product that we can find in our neighborhoods."
Flensing. Flensing means, in part, cutting the skin off a carcass. Lots of people take off their skin every few years to check their back for moles. Unfortunately, not everybody is good with knives.
Oxygen Holes. These are kind of like the ozone hole over the Antarctic -- there's nothing there. Occasionally a human being will walk into an Oxygen Hole and not be able to catch his breath because there's no air there. Scientists put this in the category of "Too bad."
The Orlando Bloom Body to Die For. This death is reserved for women and gay men. It results from reading in People Magazine that Orlando Bloom (or a similarly well-endowed Hollywood hunk) "has a body to die for." These deaths are characterized by finding sex toys in the "On" position.
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Here's a succinct description of my new business plan:
"Home Repo. We can do it to you. You can yelp."
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My favorite word today is do-over. n., from assemblyrequired. Def.: The small, seemingly insignificant thing that remains after assembling anything, which means you have to undo everything and start over.
According to this site, I am already dead, which is good news because I have avoided a lot of pain. I clicked on Death Clock, entered my birthdate, height, weight, etc., and The Clock said I will die March 26, 2001. If there was an obituary on me in the local rag, I missed it.
So I'm wonderin' if I died a natural death. Then I wondered, "What IS a natural death?" I'm pretty sure it's not the kind you get from cancer or heart attack or halitosis. It is probably more like:
Shutdown. This is where all your vitals go belly up all simultaneous-like. God or the Devil or somebody gets in there and turns off the key, and your mufflers quit rumbling. Of course, your hair will continue to grow for several days, but I don't know if hair is a vital. Maybe.
Heartbreak. This is when your left and right ventricles part ways. If they split up, you probably will not feel too good. Causes of Heartbreak can be getting dumped for the fourth time, finding out the Cubs lost the World Series, or discovering that Elvis really is dead. Most often this kind of death will occur in a Heartbreak Hotel.
Braindead. This occurs from trying to decipher Bushisms. To stay out of danger you might kinda want to avert your eyes when you read this example: "Natural gas is hemispheric. I like to call it hemispheric because it's a product that we can find in our neighborhoods."
Flensing. Flensing means, in part, cutting the skin off a carcass. Lots of people take off their skin every few years to check their back for moles. Unfortunately, not everybody is good with knives.
Oxygen Holes. These are kind of like the ozone hole over the Antarctic -- there's nothing there. Occasionally a human being will walk into an Oxygen Hole and not be able to catch his breath because there's no air there. Scientists put this in the category of "Too bad."
The Orlando Bloom Body to Die For. This death is reserved for women and gay men. It results from reading in People Magazine that Orlando Bloom (or a similarly well-endowed Hollywood hunk) "has a body to die for." These deaths are characterized by finding sex toys in the "On" position.
+ + + + + + + +
Here's a succinct description of my new business plan:
"Home Repo. We can do it to you. You can yelp."
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is do-over. n., from assemblyrequired. Def.: The small, seemingly insignificant thing that remains after assembling anything, which means you have to undo everything and start over.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Orcas Will Do Their All for Hoss
I didn't make any money yesterday. Sybil Ungentine held on until 9:55 p.m. and Lester Jammies won the pool. There's always a silver lining though: Tonight we got a Death Watch on Lester.
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If I can Make My Pile real soon, I might be able to live in a ritzier joint than The Old Folks' Home where I am presently tucked. See, when the menu here says "steak," it is really ground round, which the low lifes around here call hamburger, which it is. When it says crab, it means the imitation variety known as "krab." When it says pecan pie, you know they will be fresh out.
I want to get in some place that serves abalone twice a week, and filet mignon or New York steak all the rest of the time. Except for breakfast, when we would have chicken fried steak or T-bones, basted brown eggs and some of Angie's grits.
So what I'm thinking of doing is settin' up a business that sells Orca testicles. I imagine, given the rarity of this item, that it would command a premium price, which is what I'm always after. It's easier to Make My Pile in a seller's market.
What brought this to mind is the popularity, in Wyoming, of "Rocky Mountain oysters," which are sheep nuts. The most succulent sheep nuts are the ones that have been removed from the sheep by the teeth of their Basque shepherds. I am recruiting for Orca nut chewers, but don't have much hope for success. So I put out an advertisement for nut cutters from my spinoff company, "Orca Nut Harvesters," and some of Seven's deep sea diver buddies seem interested.
Now before you get PETA on my ass, don't worry about the Killer Whales that we will be denutting. We will only take one nut per customer Orca. Everybody knows that while it takes two to tango it only takes one to bango.
My buddy Mags in San Francisco tells me there's some Killer Whales in the San Diego Zoo, so I will get my cutters to practice down there, whenever we get clearance from the Zoo people. That shouldn't be a problem.
One thing I didn't think about: Do you fry Orca testicles, or bake 'em? Or crack 'em open like coconuts? Hoo boy. There may be some holes in my plan.
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My favorite word today is lost. n., a form of defeatism. Def.: The place you put your keys so you would remember where they are.
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If I can Make My Pile real soon, I might be able to live in a ritzier joint than The Old Folks' Home where I am presently tucked. See, when the menu here says "steak," it is really ground round, which the low lifes around here call hamburger, which it is. When it says crab, it means the imitation variety known as "krab." When it says pecan pie, you know they will be fresh out.
I want to get in some place that serves abalone twice a week, and filet mignon or New York steak all the rest of the time. Except for breakfast, when we would have chicken fried steak or T-bones, basted brown eggs and some of Angie's grits.
So what I'm thinking of doing is settin' up a business that sells Orca testicles. I imagine, given the rarity of this item, that it would command a premium price, which is what I'm always after. It's easier to Make My Pile in a seller's market.
What brought this to mind is the popularity, in Wyoming, of "Rocky Mountain oysters," which are sheep nuts. The most succulent sheep nuts are the ones that have been removed from the sheep by the teeth of their Basque shepherds. I am recruiting for Orca nut chewers, but don't have much hope for success. So I put out an advertisement for nut cutters from my spinoff company, "Orca Nut Harvesters," and some of Seven's deep sea diver buddies seem interested.
Now before you get PETA on my ass, don't worry about the Killer Whales that we will be denutting. We will only take one nut per customer Orca. Everybody knows that while it takes two to tango it only takes one to bango.
My buddy Mags in San Francisco tells me there's some Killer Whales in the San Diego Zoo, so I will get my cutters to practice down there, whenever we get clearance from the Zoo people. That shouldn't be a problem.
One thing I didn't think about: Do you fry Orca testicles, or bake 'em? Or crack 'em open like coconuts? Hoo boy. There may be some holes in my plan.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is lost. n., a form of defeatism. Def.: The place you put your keys so you would remember where they are.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Eclectic = Death, Inventions, Bigfoots
Carolina Sister and I have Death Watch duty in the Home of the Ancients. We are looking after Sybil Ungentine, who seems to be breathing her last. The reason we have a Death Watch is so we know the exact time Sybil passes, as 38 of us have guesses in the pool, at $5 a pop.
See, it doesn't matter what DAY a body expires; what matters is the time of day. Sometimes we have three or four pools going at once, and everybody gets really excited.
Having not much to do, Sister and I begin discussing various ways in which I might Make My Pile. She already has all the money she needs. She's planning to have her corpse barged up the Nile River and planted in the Valley of the Kings, just to piss off a bunch of Egyptian archaeologists.
I tell Carolina that I am about to get in the inventin' mood again. I am really good at this but building a better mousetrap has not got the world beating my door down -- I guess because I have not invented a better mousetrap lately. I could if I wanted to.
What I'm thinking is this: Somebody invented tubeless tires, right? What's the obvious corollary? Tireless boobs! With a no-sag guarantee, this could be a big seller. As usual, my buddy Bill Gates will want in on this.
Carolina Sister nodded, knowingly. "You're sharp, Hoss, but you still need some honing," she says. "What do you think about backward shoes?"
I don't have a clue what she's on about. But I have a reputation of being all-knowing, so I purse my lips, put the tips of my fingers together, pause to stroke my mullet and say, "Yes, you may have something there. Let's see where it leads under closer purview." (Make myself a note to grow a mullet.)
Sister says, "These would keep people safe from Bigfoots. Which is getting more and more important as there seems to be a population implosion out around Falls City." Falls City is where everybody is related to everybody else, so it doesn't surprise me to learn they are interbreeding with the Bigfoots.
"With your backward shoes, when you're out tracking Bigfoots, you'll be going one way and it will look like you're going the other way," Carolina says. "What it means is that the Bigfoots won't be able to track YOU. This is damn important. If a Bigfoot catches you in the woods it'll be like a Boss Con playin' footsy with his pansy cellmate. You'll get reamed out so bad you'll be able to hold a bowling ball in there, no hands."
(Intermission)
"Well, lookee there," I say to Carolina Sister. "It's 9:40 p.m. I have 9:47 p.m. in the pool. Let's go pull Sybil's tubes and I'll cut you in for half."
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My favorite word today is blooming. Adj., from rosy cheeks. Def.: The situation in which a lady has gone to the restroom, done her business, then tucked the hem of the back of her dress into her waistband and returned to the restaurant dining room, blissfully unaware.
See, it doesn't matter what DAY a body expires; what matters is the time of day. Sometimes we have three or four pools going at once, and everybody gets really excited.
Having not much to do, Sister and I begin discussing various ways in which I might Make My Pile. She already has all the money she needs. She's planning to have her corpse barged up the Nile River and planted in the Valley of the Kings, just to piss off a bunch of Egyptian archaeologists.
I tell Carolina that I am about to get in the inventin' mood again. I am really good at this but building a better mousetrap has not got the world beating my door down -- I guess because I have not invented a better mousetrap lately. I could if I wanted to.
What I'm thinking is this: Somebody invented tubeless tires, right? What's the obvious corollary? Tireless boobs! With a no-sag guarantee, this could be a big seller. As usual, my buddy Bill Gates will want in on this.
Carolina Sister nodded, knowingly. "You're sharp, Hoss, but you still need some honing," she says. "What do you think about backward shoes?"
I don't have a clue what she's on about. But I have a reputation of being all-knowing, so I purse my lips, put the tips of my fingers together, pause to stroke my mullet and say, "Yes, you may have something there. Let's see where it leads under closer purview." (Make myself a note to grow a mullet.)
Sister says, "These would keep people safe from Bigfoots. Which is getting more and more important as there seems to be a population implosion out around Falls City." Falls City is where everybody is related to everybody else, so it doesn't surprise me to learn they are interbreeding with the Bigfoots.
"With your backward shoes, when you're out tracking Bigfoots, you'll be going one way and it will look like you're going the other way," Carolina says. "What it means is that the Bigfoots won't be able to track YOU. This is damn important. If a Bigfoot catches you in the woods it'll be like a Boss Con playin' footsy with his pansy cellmate. You'll get reamed out so bad you'll be able to hold a bowling ball in there, no hands."
(Intermission)
"Well, lookee there," I say to Carolina Sister. "It's 9:40 p.m. I have 9:47 p.m. in the pool. Let's go pull Sybil's tubes and I'll cut you in for half."
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My favorite word today is blooming. Adj., from rosy cheeks. Def.: The situation in which a lady has gone to the restroom, done her business, then tucked the hem of the back of her dress into her waistband and returned to the restaurant dining room, blissfully unaware.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
To Keep On Keepin' On
I have to be down for computer maintain today. So a quick story that is making the rounds of The Oldsters' Home where I am incarcerated:
A guy walks into a hash house carrying a shotgun and bucket of cow plop. He orders coffee, drinks it down, raises the shotgun and shoots the bucket of manure, then disappears into thin air.
"What was that all about?" asks the cook.
A patron responds: "He's in training for senior management. He comes in, drinks coffee, shoots the shit, then disappears for the rest of the day."
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My favorite word today is henmark. n., from old eggbeaters. Def.: The dried yellow substance found between the tines of forks in restaurants.
A guy walks into a hash house carrying a shotgun and bucket of cow plop. He orders coffee, drinks it down, raises the shotgun and shoots the bucket of manure, then disappears into thin air.
"What was that all about?" asks the cook.
A patron responds: "He's in training for senior management. He comes in, drinks coffee, shoots the shit, then disappears for the rest of the day."
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My favorite word today is henmark. n., from old eggbeaters. Def.: The dried yellow substance found between the tines of forks in restaurants.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Good Grief! Hoss Had a Childhood?
I just got "tagged" by one of my best buddies. (No, not Bill Gates, the other one, Judy.) She said I am instructed to tell "five things you miss from your childhood."
Hoo boy, I seldom get invited to write sappy stuff. Not that I am bad at it. I can rival anybody when it comes to sappiness. (I am also good at cliches. "Snatching jaws from the defeat of victory" is one of my best. So is, "Frankly, madam, I don't give a darn.")
Okay, prepare to get all cloyed up over these tear-jerkers:
I miss killing a swallow with my slingshot. This is really sad. When I was about 10 I spent several weeks at the home of my grandparents. He was pastor of the church next door. A lot of violet-green swallows hung around the church, and I would try to wing them with stones from my homemade slingshot. One day I got a church window. I never got a swallow. Don't cry for me yet; there's worse to come.
I miss two feet of snow. I remember wading through about two feet of snow in Drake Park in Bend when I was about 10. I hated it. Now I live in a much milder climate. What I really miss is not having any snow to hate.
I miss gun fights. The 1930's were really good for people who liked to blast away at bank tellers and the like. "Pretty Boy" Floyd, "Baby Face" Nelson, John Dillinger, and Bonnie and Clyde were all shot to death in 1934. None of these people worked the Bend area, but that doesn't mean they're not missable.
I miss Fudgesicles. Well, that's not exactly true. I actually DON'T miss Fudgesicles. You can still get some at the supermarket. I guess what I miss is the nickel Mom would give me once a week to buy a Fudgesicle. Nobody gives me nickels anymore, which often gives me cause to go all weepy-eyed.
I miss Curtis Tank. The "tank" is what was a privately owned swimming pool in Bend. Mr. Curtis put tarpaper around the edges and when you got out of the pool and laid yourself out on that sun-heated tarpaper it was like you had gone to Heaven that felt like Mild Hell. Every afternoon Mr. Curtis would throw pennies into the pool and we could dive for 'em and buy a Walnetto or some jelly beans. Actually, I guess I miss penny candy more than I miss Mr. Curtis.
If you think of anything else in my childhood that I should be missing, please let me know so you can be roundly ignored. ("Roundly ignored" is probably my favorite cliche of all time, and that's why you are being blessed with it today.)
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My favorite word today is adversity. n., old Rhode Island Red. Def.: The part of the chicken gizzard that cannot be chewed.
Hoo boy, I seldom get invited to write sappy stuff. Not that I am bad at it. I can rival anybody when it comes to sappiness. (I am also good at cliches. "Snatching jaws from the defeat of victory" is one of my best. So is, "Frankly, madam, I don't give a darn.")
Okay, prepare to get all cloyed up over these tear-jerkers:
I miss killing a swallow with my slingshot. This is really sad. When I was about 10 I spent several weeks at the home of my grandparents. He was pastor of the church next door. A lot of violet-green swallows hung around the church, and I would try to wing them with stones from my homemade slingshot. One day I got a church window. I never got a swallow. Don't cry for me yet; there's worse to come.
I miss two feet of snow. I remember wading through about two feet of snow in Drake Park in Bend when I was about 10. I hated it. Now I live in a much milder climate. What I really miss is not having any snow to hate.
I miss gun fights. The 1930's were really good for people who liked to blast away at bank tellers and the like. "Pretty Boy" Floyd, "Baby Face" Nelson, John Dillinger, and Bonnie and Clyde were all shot to death in 1934. None of these people worked the Bend area, but that doesn't mean they're not missable.
I miss Fudgesicles. Well, that's not exactly true. I actually DON'T miss Fudgesicles. You can still get some at the supermarket. I guess what I miss is the nickel Mom would give me once a week to buy a Fudgesicle. Nobody gives me nickels anymore, which often gives me cause to go all weepy-eyed.
I miss Curtis Tank. The "tank" is what was a privately owned swimming pool in Bend. Mr. Curtis put tarpaper around the edges and when you got out of the pool and laid yourself out on that sun-heated tarpaper it was like you had gone to Heaven that felt like Mild Hell. Every afternoon Mr. Curtis would throw pennies into the pool and we could dive for 'em and buy a Walnetto or some jelly beans. Actually, I guess I miss penny candy more than I miss Mr. Curtis.
If you think of anything else in my childhood that I should be missing, please let me know so you can be roundly ignored. ("Roundly ignored" is probably my favorite cliche of all time, and that's why you are being blessed with it today.)
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My favorite word today is adversity. n., old Rhode Island Red. Def.: The part of the chicken gizzard that cannot be chewed.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Monday, June 13, 2005
Go Meet an Artiste
Every day I visit over 70 websites to find your good writing. I generally comment, saying "That's good," or "That's gooder'n good." Occasionally I find something that is exemplary, and so it is today.
My friend Vicki has published a Rembrandt of words, and I'd like you to read it. So today Hoss will not be writing his piece so you can use the time to visit Vicki.
Click on Vicki Bennett, scroll to June 10 and read her scintillating piece, "The Long Goodbye." You'll be thanking me.
Hoss will have a piece tomorrow. Naturally I will be praising it highly.
My friend Vicki has published a Rembrandt of words, and I'd like you to read it. So today Hoss will not be writing his piece so you can use the time to visit Vicki.
Click on Vicki Bennett, scroll to June 10 and read her scintillating piece, "The Long Goodbye." You'll be thanking me.
Hoss will have a piece tomorrow. Naturally I will be praising it highly.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Bury These Guys on the Lone Prairie
Hopalong Cassidy and Ward Bond didn't shoot near enough Indians. There's still a bunch over at Grand Ronde, in Oregon, that need shooting. These are the ones that got a casino that us white-eyes visited yesterday.
Damn! If'n I was John Wayne I'd burn down their teepees (except they're all living in four-bedroom condos with maid service). I'd lead 'em to Badwater in Death Valley (except they got sweet water from the Yamhill River). I'd force-feed 'em firewater (except they don't allow that on the reservation anymore on account of they always wind up on the 12-Step).
I'd bury 'em up to their necks in anthills and slather 'em with honey. I'd run a herd of buffalo through their Wounded Knee & Barbecue Observance Picnic. I would run off their horses -- especially their 500-horsepower Lamborghinis and Ferraris.
You probably have figured out why I am so tight-up. I lost $8 at the Spirit Mountain Casino yesterday. Now for the rest of the month I'll have to shine my own damn shoes.
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I guess I forgot to tell you that Carolina Sister was on the bus that took us to
Spirit Mountain. She also lost, but she didn't care. She bought Google at $85 and it's now $300.
"You know, Hoss," she said, "gambling is a gamble. I wouldn't recommend it for poor people like you."
Boy that pissed me off. Has anybody got revenge for the Custer thing yet?
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My barber is really hard of hearing. The other day, I'm in his shop and for conversation I say, "I see Willamette University has got a rowing crew. I wonder what the kids have to weigh to make the cut." Guess what kind of trim he gave me.
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My favorite word today is internutted. n., microsoftese. Def.: The blinking at the bottom of the screen that tells you the Internet is working very hard on your problem and is not intending to connect you, but wants you to know how difficult this is.
Damn! If'n I was John Wayne I'd burn down their teepees (except they're all living in four-bedroom condos with maid service). I'd lead 'em to Badwater in Death Valley (except they got sweet water from the Yamhill River). I'd force-feed 'em firewater (except they don't allow that on the reservation anymore on account of they always wind up on the 12-Step).
I'd bury 'em up to their necks in anthills and slather 'em with honey. I'd run a herd of buffalo through their Wounded Knee & Barbecue Observance Picnic. I would run off their horses -- especially their 500-horsepower Lamborghinis and Ferraris.
You probably have figured out why I am so tight-up. I lost $8 at the Spirit Mountain Casino yesterday. Now for the rest of the month I'll have to shine my own damn shoes.
+ + + + + + + +
I guess I forgot to tell you that Carolina Sister was on the bus that took us to
Spirit Mountain. She also lost, but she didn't care. She bought Google at $85 and it's now $300.
"You know, Hoss," she said, "gambling is a gamble. I wouldn't recommend it for poor people like you."
Boy that pissed me off. Has anybody got revenge for the Custer thing yet?
+ + + + + + + +
My barber is really hard of hearing. The other day, I'm in his shop and for conversation I say, "I see Willamette University has got a rowing crew. I wonder what the kids have to weigh to make the cut." Guess what kind of trim he gave me.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is internutted. n., microsoftese. Def.: The blinking at the bottom of the screen that tells you the Internet is working very hard on your problem and is not intending to connect you, but wants you to know how difficult this is.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Time Waits for No Hoss
I don't have a lot of time for writing this weekend. The Older'n Dirt Folks' Home bus is takin' some of us to the Indian gambling joint. The chief Indian said he needs us because "I've got a family to feed."
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A Brit, an Aussie and a Scot are in a tavern drinking brew. The flies are thick, and three of them kamikaze these gentlemen's beer. The Brit and the Aussie flick the flies off their suds and drink it down. The Scot carefully picks the fly out of his beer, dries if gently with his breath, and says, "There now, laddie, all safe and sound. Now SPIT IT OOOT!"
This is from my buddy, Oz, who also opines: Economics is the only class in college where the professor can reuse the exam papers year after year. This is completely safe because the answers are different every year.
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When Nixon was running for his second term, he used Vice President Spiro Agnew as his hatchetman. Agnew was as nasty of tongue as they come, and was doing a great job of dividing the country. He gave one of his typical take-no-prisoners speeches at the Republican Governors' Conference in Idaho. After it was over, my boss, Oregon Gov. Tom McCall, was asked for comments.
He said: "That was a rotten, bigoted little speech."
The next day, at the conference, Agnew asked Tom, "Did you really say that I gave a 'rotten, bigoted little speech'?"
Tom said: "I don't remember saying 'little'."
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My favorite word today is quickstep. v., bus-terminalism. Def.: The frenzied movement from one restroom stall to another, trying to find one with a lock on the door and no Lincoln logs clogging the drain.
+ + + + + + + +
A Brit, an Aussie and a Scot are in a tavern drinking brew. The flies are thick, and three of them kamikaze these gentlemen's beer. The Brit and the Aussie flick the flies off their suds and drink it down. The Scot carefully picks the fly out of his beer, dries if gently with his breath, and says, "There now, laddie, all safe and sound. Now SPIT IT OOOT!"
This is from my buddy, Oz, who also opines: Economics is the only class in college where the professor can reuse the exam papers year after year. This is completely safe because the answers are different every year.
+ + + + + + + +
When Nixon was running for his second term, he used Vice President Spiro Agnew as his hatchetman. Agnew was as nasty of tongue as they come, and was doing a great job of dividing the country. He gave one of his typical take-no-prisoners speeches at the Republican Governors' Conference in Idaho. After it was over, my boss, Oregon Gov. Tom McCall, was asked for comments.
He said: "That was a rotten, bigoted little speech."
The next day, at the conference, Agnew asked Tom, "Did you really say that I gave a 'rotten, bigoted little speech'?"
Tom said: "I don't remember saying 'little'."
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is quickstep. v., bus-terminalism. Def.: The frenzied movement from one restroom stall to another, trying to find one with a lock on the door and no Lincoln logs clogging the drain.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Movies of Which I'm Partial To
Awhile back I wrote about how I was the easy goin'-est person in this whole Old Folks Labor Camp, and I guess that's why Alli Deluxe of TofReknin thinks she can unload a meme on me.
Well, this time a "tagger" has tagged the right guy, because this meme is about films and I am the sharpest cheddar in the deli when it comes to motion pictures.
Total number of films I own on DVD/Video:
Three. These are videos I made of the three grandkids from birth to 4 years of age. These rival "M*A*S*H" for comedy, "Doctor Zhivago" for pathos and "Jurassic Park" for terror. The Smithsonian wants me to gift them the films, but I am holding out for an offer from Spielberg.
The last film I bought:
You gotta be kidding. People buy this stuff? Nuts to that. Everything will be on free TV eventually. I don't spend any of my hard-earned going to movies either. I can wait 'em out.
The last film I watched:
"Soylent Green," 1973. I liked this movie because it has a Biblical theme, like, resurrection. See, what happens is that some people are put in this meat grinder gizzy and turned into something like Spam so that other people won't go hungry. Can't you just see "born again" written all over that? Sort of a pre-cursor to cloning.
Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me:
"King Kong," 1933. I didn't see this until about 1939, but it stirred me somethin' fierce. There's Fay Wray in a slinky dress and you JUST KNOW what Kong the Dong has in mind. I knew right then my education was on the right track because I found "stirring of the loins" in my Collier's Encyclopeedee.
"Gunga Din," 1939. While the Thugees are trying to decimate some British troops, Victor McLagen takes an on-screen whiz. This is why films are X-rated from time to time. Gunga was an Indian lad who took one for the team (read: shot to death). Cary Grant says, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din." But we all knew he was just sayin'. "Din" is pronounced "Dean," but James Dean was later.
"Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," 1939. This means a lot to me because Dopey proved not to be a loser. I also am a non-loser dope, as are such buddies of mine as Chris Cope, Lightning Bug's Butt, Legs Ho, and MuzikDude. Those people, though dopes, write some of the best pieces of anybody. So I guess Dopey means a lot to me. Snow White and the other dwarfs can fuck off.
"The Wizard of Oz," 1939. This is important because the owner of the Salem Golf Club has an autographed picture of Ray Bolger in his "Oz" costume, and I got to see it a lot when I played golf. Other than that, this picture sucks big gas.
"Long Gone With the Wind and the Rain," 2005. This is the almost motion picture based on my screenplay, which I wrote in February. It is best remembered for the gritty performance that would have been given by Vivien Sleigh of Tara, who had lost her legs in a Texas chainsaw massacre and was waiting for replacements from Legs 'R Us. This would have had 302 Academy Award nominations if I had been able to get it filmed.
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My favorite word today is park. n., from KickedQuarans. Def.: Where you will find trees, grass and dog turds.
Well, this time a "tagger" has tagged the right guy, because this meme is about films and I am the sharpest cheddar in the deli when it comes to motion pictures.
Total number of films I own on DVD/Video:
Three. These are videos I made of the three grandkids from birth to 4 years of age. These rival "M*A*S*H" for comedy, "Doctor Zhivago" for pathos and "Jurassic Park" for terror. The Smithsonian wants me to gift them the films, but I am holding out for an offer from Spielberg.
The last film I bought:
You gotta be kidding. People buy this stuff? Nuts to that. Everything will be on free TV eventually. I don't spend any of my hard-earned going to movies either. I can wait 'em out.
The last film I watched:
"Soylent Green," 1973. I liked this movie because it has a Biblical theme, like, resurrection. See, what happens is that some people are put in this meat grinder gizzy and turned into something like Spam so that other people won't go hungry. Can't you just see "born again" written all over that? Sort of a pre-cursor to cloning.
Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me:
"King Kong," 1933. I didn't see this until about 1939, but it stirred me somethin' fierce. There's Fay Wray in a slinky dress and you JUST KNOW what Kong the Dong has in mind. I knew right then my education was on the right track because I found "stirring of the loins" in my Collier's Encyclopeedee.
"Gunga Din," 1939. While the Thugees are trying to decimate some British troops, Victor McLagen takes an on-screen whiz. This is why films are X-rated from time to time. Gunga was an Indian lad who took one for the team (read: shot to death). Cary Grant says, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din." But we all knew he was just sayin'. "Din" is pronounced "Dean," but James Dean was later.
"Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," 1939. This means a lot to me because Dopey proved not to be a loser. I also am a non-loser dope, as are such buddies of mine as Chris Cope, Lightning Bug's Butt, Legs Ho, and MuzikDude. Those people, though dopes, write some of the best pieces of anybody. So I guess Dopey means a lot to me. Snow White and the other dwarfs can fuck off.
"The Wizard of Oz," 1939. This is important because the owner of the Salem Golf Club has an autographed picture of Ray Bolger in his "Oz" costume, and I got to see it a lot when I played golf. Other than that, this picture sucks big gas.
"Long Gone With the Wind and the Rain," 2005. This is the almost motion picture based on my screenplay, which I wrote in February. It is best remembered for the gritty performance that would have been given by Vivien Sleigh of Tara, who had lost her legs in a Texas chainsaw massacre and was waiting for replacements from Legs 'R Us. This would have had 302 Academy Award nominations if I had been able to get it filmed.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is park. n., from KickedQuarans. Def.: Where you will find trees, grass and dog turds.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
The Things That I Could Tell You
Carolina Sister to Ol' Hoss: "Mr. Snake, what's the difference between centipedes and millipedes?"
Hoss: "Nothin'. They taste the same."
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If I am ever going to finish telling you the 500 or 2,000 most notable things about me, I better get it on.
72. When I was about 4 (I am now 74 252/365ths), I had wild monster pigs under my bed. I know, you think every child has this "dream" about monsters under the bed. Well, I will have you know my story is TRUE. If it weren't true, why did my Dad let me get in bed with him and Mom?
73. When I was about 35 I had female problems. So I decided to commit suicide. I waded into the ocean up to my thighs. I was going to see how far I could swim toward China before I drowned. It was painfully cold, so I gave up committing suicide by ocean drowning. Then I thought about shooting myself, but that also seemed to involve a lot of pain. So here I am. I have always voted against pain.
74. I am quite a sports nut. I have participated in or played football, baseball, softball, basketball, track and field, hunting, fishing, golf, horseshoe pitching, badminton, ping pong, archery, gymnastics, boating, ice skating, roller skating, skiing, darts, billiards, snooker, slingshot, tag, king of the mountain, dodge ball, kick the can and hide-and-go-seek. All of these games have rules. There are no rules in curling, so I don't play that.
75. I used a bow and arrow up in Yakima, Wash., to bring down a 5-lb. carp. Carp are those things you clean on a cedar board, then you throw away the fish and eat the board. Did you know that Oregon Grape is not a grape?
76. When I worked for the tourist promotion wing of state government, I performed as a "model" so our staff photographers would have a warm body to show in the scenic pictures they were taking. We would use these pictures in advertisements to lure Californians to visit Oregon. Then once they got here we'd tell 'em to go home. "Don't Californicate Oregon."
77. Once while working for the touristy board I caught an 8-lb. brown trout in the Deschutes River near my hometown of Bend, Ore., while we were making an "action scene" for my photographer. The fish was too heavy for the gear I was using so the photog waded into the river and hoisted the beast up on the bank. This activity was on company time. Since I was smart for my age, I converted the fish to personal use.
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My favorite word today is Minniehaha. n., Minnesotadumbspeak. Def. 1: A titter; a giggle; a chuckle; a minor laugh. Well short of a guffaw. Def. 2: A chortle by a female mouse when Mickey slips on a banana peel.
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Never let religion get in the way of what you believe.
Hoss: "Nothin'. They taste the same."
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If I am ever going to finish telling you the 500 or 2,000 most notable things about me, I better get it on.
72. When I was about 4 (I am now 74 252/365ths), I had wild monster pigs under my bed. I know, you think every child has this "dream" about monsters under the bed. Well, I will have you know my story is TRUE. If it weren't true, why did my Dad let me get in bed with him and Mom?
73. When I was about 35 I had female problems. So I decided to commit suicide. I waded into the ocean up to my thighs. I was going to see how far I could swim toward China before I drowned. It was painfully cold, so I gave up committing suicide by ocean drowning. Then I thought about shooting myself, but that also seemed to involve a lot of pain. So here I am. I have always voted against pain.
74. I am quite a sports nut. I have participated in or played football, baseball, softball, basketball, track and field, hunting, fishing, golf, horseshoe pitching, badminton, ping pong, archery, gymnastics, boating, ice skating, roller skating, skiing, darts, billiards, snooker, slingshot, tag, king of the mountain, dodge ball, kick the can and hide-and-go-seek. All of these games have rules. There are no rules in curling, so I don't play that.
75. I used a bow and arrow up in Yakima, Wash., to bring down a 5-lb. carp. Carp are those things you clean on a cedar board, then you throw away the fish and eat the board. Did you know that Oregon Grape is not a grape?
76. When I worked for the tourist promotion wing of state government, I performed as a "model" so our staff photographers would have a warm body to show in the scenic pictures they were taking. We would use these pictures in advertisements to lure Californians to visit Oregon. Then once they got here we'd tell 'em to go home. "Don't Californicate Oregon."
77. Once while working for the touristy board I caught an 8-lb. brown trout in the Deschutes River near my hometown of Bend, Ore., while we were making an "action scene" for my photographer. The fish was too heavy for the gear I was using so the photog waded into the river and hoisted the beast up on the bank. This activity was on company time. Since I was smart for my age, I converted the fish to personal use.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is Minniehaha. n., Minnesotadumbspeak. Def. 1: A titter; a giggle; a chuckle; a minor laugh. Well short of a guffaw. Def. 2: A chortle by a female mouse when Mickey slips on a banana peel.
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Never let religion get in the way of what you believe.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Speaking Up to Make My Pile
Thanks to all for the kind words about my daughter's piece on this site yesterday. We are mightily buoyed.
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My good buddy Vicki thinks I might be able to Make My Pile by giving commencement speeches. For those of you who don't know about my all-consuming need to Get Rich, I need a lot of money to pay for my lavish funeral, which entails a trip to the Andromeda Galaxy for a Storied Restoration of a Misspent Youth.
Bein's how I am such a succulent speaker, I think I WILL INDEED make myself available to give commencement or matriculars, whichever comes first. Below is my boilerplate speech to high school students. I would ask you to suggest improvements but that would be like King Midas asking for more gold. I mean, what's the point?
STUDENTS OF MANY DUMBNESS, LEND ME YOUR HARKEN
Students, today is the last day of your life. If there are any cucumbers growing under your chair, it is to remind you that you are about to harvest the crispy goodness of the multiple choice.
You now no longer need to remember that it was true/false King Arthur who wenched Excalibur from the stone. Nobody gives a shit about King Arthur anymore.
In fact, nothing of what you have learned in high school will be useful anytime, anywhere. Your memories of these years will be about sex, booze and mirthless teachers. Please note that the ability to whistle while you work is no longer in demand.
Ventricles!! You should have studied ventricles! Ventricles and aortas will always be in demand. You should have well noted the utter advantage of opposable cloven hooves, of which ventricles are not a part.
Martha Stewart pleated pink plaid tampons. Vivisection. Study war no more. These are fairly important.
You strived for greatness!! No cigar.
Many of you will be going to college. You will not learn anything there except that the books are more expensive and arcane. The beer tastes the same in college as it did in high school.
Transmit sexual disease as much as you can, then study the transmission of sexual disease for your Master's thesis. You will need at least a Master's degree to put bread and water on the table.
Many of you will instead go to The School of Hard Knocks. Load up on credit cards and get your first bankruptcy out of the way early. It is The American Way.
Stop to sniff the Mexican Hairless. Great Danes are tall enough to hump your abs.
There is a large market for elephant growers.
Global warming will arrive stealthily, like panty creep.
There are only two things certain in life: Death and composting.
Let us pray:
People who write on shithouse walls
Should roll their shit in little balls.
People who read these words of wit
Should have to eat these balls of shit.
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My favorite word today is hippocampus. N., Ivyleagueism. Def. A series of buildings erected for the education of large animals.
+ + + + + + + +
My good buddy Vicki thinks I might be able to Make My Pile by giving commencement speeches. For those of you who don't know about my all-consuming need to Get Rich, I need a lot of money to pay for my lavish funeral, which entails a trip to the Andromeda Galaxy for a Storied Restoration of a Misspent Youth.
Bein's how I am such a succulent speaker, I think I WILL INDEED make myself available to give commencement or matriculars, whichever comes first. Below is my boilerplate speech to high school students. I would ask you to suggest improvements but that would be like King Midas asking for more gold. I mean, what's the point?
STUDENTS OF MANY DUMBNESS, LEND ME YOUR HARKEN
Students, today is the last day of your life. If there are any cucumbers growing under your chair, it is to remind you that you are about to harvest the crispy goodness of the multiple choice.
You now no longer need to remember that it was true/false King Arthur who wenched Excalibur from the stone. Nobody gives a shit about King Arthur anymore.
In fact, nothing of what you have learned in high school will be useful anytime, anywhere. Your memories of these years will be about sex, booze and mirthless teachers. Please note that the ability to whistle while you work is no longer in demand.
Ventricles!! You should have studied ventricles! Ventricles and aortas will always be in demand. You should have well noted the utter advantage of opposable cloven hooves, of which ventricles are not a part.
Martha Stewart pleated pink plaid tampons. Vivisection. Study war no more. These are fairly important.
You strived for greatness!! No cigar.
Many of you will be going to college. You will not learn anything there except that the books are more expensive and arcane. The beer tastes the same in college as it did in high school.
Transmit sexual disease as much as you can, then study the transmission of sexual disease for your Master's thesis. You will need at least a Master's degree to put bread and water on the table.
Many of you will instead go to The School of Hard Knocks. Load up on credit cards and get your first bankruptcy out of the way early. It is The American Way.
Stop to sniff the Mexican Hairless. Great Danes are tall enough to hump your abs.
There is a large market for elephant growers.
Global warming will arrive stealthily, like panty creep.
There are only two things certain in life: Death and composting.
Let us pray:
People who write on shithouse walls
Should roll their shit in little balls.
People who read these words of wit
Should have to eat these balls of shit.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is hippocampus. N., Ivyleagueism. Def. A series of buildings erected for the education of large animals.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Warning: A Change of Pace
Yesterday was my wife's 68th birthday. There wasn't a big celebration. Some of you will recall from an earlier piece I wrote that she has Progressive Supranuclear Palsy -- she can't walk, her words are slurred and her eyesight is going. Here is what our daughter the schoolteacher wrote:
THINGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME
My mother was one of those rare women who never doubted she could do it all, even though our culture put limits on women during her younger years. With this attitude she set about doing it all and I watched her succeed.
This is what she taught me: you can do or be whatever you decide. Set your own goals and trust in your abilities.
My mother had many hobbies and interests to occupy her free time. She was always learning and perfecting her skills. She became an excellent golfer. She was a seamstress with skilled hands that could produce magnificent wedding dresses, prom dresses, finer than any boutique.
This is what she taught me: pursue your interests, devote your life to things you can learn and love.
When she retired she turned her energies toward others, volunteering her time generously. She had a new fulltime job devoted to Hospice, Salem Outreach Shelter, Meals on Wheels, mentoring and working with disadvantaged children through Operation School Bell.
This is what she taught me: serve others. You can make a difference.
Then the unthinkable happened. This woman, whose energies were unstoppable, was stopped by a hideous, indiscriminate and cruel disease. My mind ranges "I can't stand it." But I smile and stifle my anger and frustration. I push her wheelchair down the hallway of the assisted living facility where she now lives and she greets fellow residents heading to dinner in their wheelchairs and walkers. She says to me, "I'm so lucky to have you push me in my wheelchair."
This is what she taught me: You can stand it and you can find something good in any situation. Be thankful for what you have. You can face what life deals you with grace and courage.
THINGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME
My mother was one of those rare women who never doubted she could do it all, even though our culture put limits on women during her younger years. With this attitude she set about doing it all and I watched her succeed.
This is what she taught me: you can do or be whatever you decide. Set your own goals and trust in your abilities.
My mother had many hobbies and interests to occupy her free time. She was always learning and perfecting her skills. She became an excellent golfer. She was a seamstress with skilled hands that could produce magnificent wedding dresses, prom dresses, finer than any boutique.
This is what she taught me: pursue your interests, devote your life to things you can learn and love.
When she retired she turned her energies toward others, volunteering her time generously. She had a new fulltime job devoted to Hospice, Salem Outreach Shelter, Meals on Wheels, mentoring and working with disadvantaged children through Operation School Bell.
This is what she taught me: serve others. You can make a difference.
Then the unthinkable happened. This woman, whose energies were unstoppable, was stopped by a hideous, indiscriminate and cruel disease. My mind ranges "I can't stand it." But I smile and stifle my anger and frustration. I push her wheelchair down the hallway of the assisted living facility where she now lives and she greets fellow residents heading to dinner in their wheelchairs and walkers. She says to me, "I'm so lucky to have you push me in my wheelchair."
This is what she taught me: You can stand it and you can find something good in any situation. Be thankful for what you have. You can face what life deals you with grace and courage.
Monday, June 06, 2005
This Is Not About a 20-Mule Team
Because I am so old, I will tell you an old story. Old people love to reminisce. It reminds us of the days when we still had prostates and teeth.
Lane County, Oregon, stretches from the Cascade Mountains to the Pacific Coast. In this county is the small community of Noti. Here is how that name came about:
A trapper and an Indian needed to get to the coast from the hinterlands, and they only had one horse. So they agreed that the trapper would ride ahead for a few miles, tie up the horse, and take off on foot. The Indian would hike to where the horse was, ride a few miles past the trapper, tie up the horse and start hiking. This way they both would get to the coast a little faster than just walking.
So the trapper took the horse, went a few miles -- and kept on going. The Indian got to the place where he expected to find the horse, and said, "Trapper, him no tie." And right there today sits the village of Noti.
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I read a story where some Internet muck-de-mucks say they are providing a new domain for pornographers. Instead of using .net or .com like you and I do, the porno people would use .xxx. That is SO cute. You know, it would be, like, X-rated? They might be doing this so children will be better able to find Internet porn. I don't know if Al Gore invented this idea.
Anyway, when I was growing up, XXX stood for poison. You didn't want to drink nuthin' that had XXX on the bottle. (Likewise, you didn't wanna mess with anybody who had 666 on his forehead.)
What they seem to be doing here is combining the .xxx with the XXX, and then we all can get a Poison Porn Pal.
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I think I could stand to be gay if I could get some women involved. Maybe that defeats the purpose. I don't know.
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TanLucyPez had a piece about childhood in which she mentioned a "brouhaha and hullabaloo."
So, my favorite word today is brouhaha. n., from Pepys Diary. Def. There's something funny about this beer.
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Matey says:
"Of course there's no reason for it; it's just our policy."
Lane County, Oregon, stretches from the Cascade Mountains to the Pacific Coast. In this county is the small community of Noti. Here is how that name came about:
A trapper and an Indian needed to get to the coast from the hinterlands, and they only had one horse. So they agreed that the trapper would ride ahead for a few miles, tie up the horse, and take off on foot. The Indian would hike to where the horse was, ride a few miles past the trapper, tie up the horse and start hiking. This way they both would get to the coast a little faster than just walking.
So the trapper took the horse, went a few miles -- and kept on going. The Indian got to the place where he expected to find the horse, and said, "Trapper, him no tie." And right there today sits the village of Noti.
+ + + + + + + +
I read a story where some Internet muck-de-mucks say they are providing a new domain for pornographers. Instead of using .net or .com like you and I do, the porno people would use .xxx. That is SO cute. You know, it would be, like, X-rated? They might be doing this so children will be better able to find Internet porn. I don't know if Al Gore invented this idea.
Anyway, when I was growing up, XXX stood for poison. You didn't want to drink nuthin' that had XXX on the bottle. (Likewise, you didn't wanna mess with anybody who had 666 on his forehead.)
What they seem to be doing here is combining the .xxx with the XXX, and then we all can get a Poison Porn Pal.
+ + + + + + + +
I think I could stand to be gay if I could get some women involved. Maybe that defeats the purpose. I don't know.
+ + + + + + + +
TanLucyPez had a piece about childhood in which she mentioned a "brouhaha and hullabaloo."
So, my favorite word today is brouhaha. n., from Pepys Diary. Def. There's something funny about this beer.
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Matey says:
"Of course there's no reason for it; it's just our policy."
Sunday, June 05, 2005
You Won't Be Here Very Long
Ol' Hoss hasn't got a lot of time this morning, as I am Hall Monitor in The Way Too Old People's Home. The monitor goes up and down the halls shoving the inmates back into their rooms when they try to take off too early for breakfast. Naturally I am very good at this because I hate old people.
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Matey tells me:
Mr. Halfbright goes into a lumber yard and says, "Gimme some 4 by 2's."
The clerk says: "You mean 2 by 4's?"
Halfbright: "Let me check." He goes out and consults with a passenger in the pickup truck, comes back and says: "Yes, 2 by 4's."
Clerk: "How long you need them?"
Halfbright: "Let me check." He goes back outside, consults, and returns. "We need 'em a long time. We're building a house."
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I can just picture this, something written by Average Mom Tammy about her young son:
"Boy Terror will do that wonderful back arching thing when I try to strap him into the car seat."
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My favorite word today is defrock. n., pastoralism. Def.: The second lowest grade you can get when you frock. If you get an F, you are a frocking failure.
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Matey tells me:
Mr. Halfbright goes into a lumber yard and says, "Gimme some 4 by 2's."
The clerk says: "You mean 2 by 4's?"
Halfbright: "Let me check." He goes out and consults with a passenger in the pickup truck, comes back and says: "Yes, 2 by 4's."
Clerk: "How long you need them?"
Halfbright: "Let me check." He goes back outside, consults, and returns. "We need 'em a long time. We're building a house."
+ + + + + + + +
I can just picture this, something written by Average Mom Tammy about her young son:
"Boy Terror will do that wonderful back arching thing when I try to strap him into the car seat."
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My favorite word today is defrock. n., pastoralism. Def.: The second lowest grade you can get when you frock. If you get an F, you are a frocking failure.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
I Am So Relaxed
Of all the people in The Old Folks at Home where I live, I am probably the most easy goin'. In fact, I am probably the most easy goin' person in the whole City of Salem. I MIGHT be the most easy goin' person in Oregon, the Western United States, Kalamazoo, Oshkosh and Blue Ball, Pa.
I am loose. I kid you not: There has never been a bowel as loose as I am. I am so loose I would put a slip-knot to shame. Problems roll off my back like persimmons off a Pinto. This is because I am so easy-goin'. I am sure that I have put myself in a position to claim the title of "Easy Goin'-est of All Time."
I also am sure that if you say "easy goin'" real fast about 10 or 12 times you will wonder what the hell you're doing.
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Yesterday I wrote about Ol' Hoss's "Musical Manhole Cover," which converts farts into such tunes as "Classical Gas." I got criticized by some people for sayin' this item is for men, as if women don't ever "let one."
Look, if I had said the Manhole Cover would also be for Womenholes, there would have been hell to pay. About two-thirds of my readers are women, and I didn't wanna piss them off by insinuating that they occasionally fart. All of these women are really pretty and I am trying to get next to them. I may be dumb, but I am not stupid.
But, just in passing, I want it known that the "Manhole Cover" comes in a "One Size Fits All."
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Many of you may not have seen this. It's the description Darrel gives of himself on his "Other Brother" template:
"What a wise old Navajo Chief might say of me: 'Like the squirrel does store the fine pinion nuts, so does Other Brother hit softballs many many tree lengths, and then drink mightily and strong from the blood of grain.'"
Ernest Hemingway couldn't have said it purtier.
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My favorite word today is Uh-oh. n., Old English word meaning "uh-oh". Def.: The shame of being caught picking nose hairs.
I am loose. I kid you not: There has never been a bowel as loose as I am. I am so loose I would put a slip-knot to shame. Problems roll off my back like persimmons off a Pinto. This is because I am so easy-goin'. I am sure that I have put myself in a position to claim the title of "Easy Goin'-est of All Time."
I also am sure that if you say "easy goin'" real fast about 10 or 12 times you will wonder what the hell you're doing.
+ + + + + + + +
Yesterday I wrote about Ol' Hoss's "Musical Manhole Cover," which converts farts into such tunes as "Classical Gas." I got criticized by some people for sayin' this item is for men, as if women don't ever "let one."
Look, if I had said the Manhole Cover would also be for Womenholes, there would have been hell to pay. About two-thirds of my readers are women, and I didn't wanna piss them off by insinuating that they occasionally fart. All of these women are really pretty and I am trying to get next to them. I may be dumb, but I am not stupid.
But, just in passing, I want it known that the "Manhole Cover" comes in a "One Size Fits All."
+ + + + + + + +
Many of you may not have seen this. It's the description Darrel gives of himself on his "Other Brother" template:
"What a wise old Navajo Chief might say of me: 'Like the squirrel does store the fine pinion nuts, so does Other Brother hit softballs many many tree lengths, and then drink mightily and strong from the blood of grain.'"
Ernest Hemingway couldn't have said it purtier.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is Uh-oh. n., Old English word meaning "uh-oh". Def.: The shame of being caught picking nose hairs.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Is This Idea Any Stinking Good?
Thinking is probably the most popular activity in The Old Folks' Home. You can only play dominoes, bingo and cards for so long, and then the fights break out. I do my best thinking at any time that I want, which is why I am so versatile. Not everybody can think all the time.
What I think about most is How to Get Rich, as I've explained past-wise. See, if I Make My Pile, when I go belly up in the fish tank I can have my body shot into space for preservation and enhancement. On the other hand, if I decide to go the reincarnation route, I will have a lot of money stashed away in Switzerland to make my comeback as a Internet writer.
I still haven't decided what to reincarnate as. Some people think it would be fun to get reborn as Bill Clinton. I don't know about that. I don't think I'd be good at giving blow jobs. But I haven't given it a lot of thought 'cause there ain't any money in it.
Whate I HAVE thought up is my latest money-making schemeroo, an invention I have named "Hoss's Musical Manhole Cover." Here's the description I gave to the Patent Leather Office:
A "Manhole Cover" is sort of a diaper that covers up a guy's shithole. Naturally, like any diaper it will keep little crumblets of crap from going into a guy's pants and then falling on the floor, so that's a plus. But this brand new item is much, much more. See, I am building in a little musical device that will come into play in case the wearer "lets one go."
The way farts are today, they just come out all seepily or noisily, with odor. Fart, though, into a Hoss Musical Manhole Cover and the fart gas is converted into music. So far I have successfully tested sounds of kazoo and music box (I imagine there will be a lot of variations, like maybe for trombone in D minor). The Manhole Cover will be lined with charcoal to assimilate the odor.
This will be of massive benefit to society. Men will be able to fart all they want. No more holding it in during church services. You could accompany the choir with your own personal flute music. Just let 'er fly, and some of the finest sounds this side of a Swiss yodel will come oozing out of your jeans.
Better sell your Beano and Pepcid stock. In the future Hoss envisions, gas will be a good thing.
Be the first on your block to own one. $9.95 at Target, $8.97 at Walmart.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is screwed. n., old reo-ism. The wistful watching of your ride circling the block once again.
+ + + + + + + +
I ask you:
If a ventriloquist throws his voice out, is he eligible for worker's comp?
What I think about most is How to Get Rich, as I've explained past-wise. See, if I Make My Pile, when I go belly up in the fish tank I can have my body shot into space for preservation and enhancement. On the other hand, if I decide to go the reincarnation route, I will have a lot of money stashed away in Switzerland to make my comeback as a Internet writer.
I still haven't decided what to reincarnate as. Some people think it would be fun to get reborn as Bill Clinton. I don't know about that. I don't think I'd be good at giving blow jobs. But I haven't given it a lot of thought 'cause there ain't any money in it.
Whate I HAVE thought up is my latest money-making schemeroo, an invention I have named "Hoss's Musical Manhole Cover." Here's the description I gave to the Patent Leather Office:
A "Manhole Cover" is sort of a diaper that covers up a guy's shithole. Naturally, like any diaper it will keep little crumblets of crap from going into a guy's pants and then falling on the floor, so that's a plus. But this brand new item is much, much more. See, I am building in a little musical device that will come into play in case the wearer "lets one go."
The way farts are today, they just come out all seepily or noisily, with odor. Fart, though, into a Hoss Musical Manhole Cover and the fart gas is converted into music. So far I have successfully tested sounds of kazoo and music box (I imagine there will be a lot of variations, like maybe for trombone in D minor). The Manhole Cover will be lined with charcoal to assimilate the odor.
This will be of massive benefit to society. Men will be able to fart all they want. No more holding it in during church services. You could accompany the choir with your own personal flute music. Just let 'er fly, and some of the finest sounds this side of a Swiss yodel will come oozing out of your jeans.
Better sell your Beano and Pepcid stock. In the future Hoss envisions, gas will be a good thing.
Be the first on your block to own one. $9.95 at Target, $8.97 at Walmart.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is screwed. n., old reo-ism. The wistful watching of your ride circling the block once again.
+ + + + + + + +
I ask you:
If a ventriloquist throws his voice out, is he eligible for worker's comp?
Thursday, June 02, 2005
That's Interesting, Hoss. Not.
Here in The Home for the Wizened and Otherwise Wrinkled, Harold Halfnuts is on oxygen. Like me. Harold Halfnuts, NOT like me, continues to smoke.
I wonder what the explosion is going to be like. Will it be a big one, or just a little "poof"? How far will the body parts fly? These are important questions. I think I'll get the Administrator to put up a closed circuit TV out in the smoking area. Might be a hit on "America's Funniest Home Videos" when Harold blows.
Maybe we can get one of them TV cops, sayin', "Keep moving people, nothing to see."
+ + + + + + + +
I can't get enough of me:
68. The night I graduated from high school, I drank a half pint of whiskey en route to a senior class party at Suttle Lake, 30 miles west of Bend. The next thing I know, I am back in Bend, in Drake Park, propped up against a Ponderosa pine, wearing somebody else's shoes. Other than getting drunk about 1,000 other times, it was the second worse thing I ever did. But I am done voting for Jim Beam.
69. This is the worse thing I ever did as a child: One Halloween, in about 1939, the "gang" I ran around with went out and tipped over two outhouses. Not everybody had flush toidies. I guess it would have been okay if the owners of those things had been pedophiles. Hell, maybe they were. I feel better already.
70. Two Halloweens later, the "gang" stole a horse and let it loose in the high school for an overnight stay. It has just now dawned on me that I can add "rustler" to my resume.
71. In 1948, in the summer between finishing high school and going on to college, four of us found a 1916 Model T sitting in the front yard of a Bend, Or., residence. We bought it for $25. Our fathers refurbished the sucker. We drove it over a 4,800-foot pass from Bend to Salem, and gloried in our treasure all year. Then the father of one of us "owners" repossessed it because we never paid for the tires. So it goes.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is insouciance. n. hossism. Def.: The glassy-eyed look of the owner of a dog who is shitting on your lawn.
I wonder what the explosion is going to be like. Will it be a big one, or just a little "poof"? How far will the body parts fly? These are important questions. I think I'll get the Administrator to put up a closed circuit TV out in the smoking area. Might be a hit on "America's Funniest Home Videos" when Harold blows.
Maybe we can get one of them TV cops, sayin', "Keep moving people, nothing to see."
+ + + + + + + +
I can't get enough of me:
68. The night I graduated from high school, I drank a half pint of whiskey en route to a senior class party at Suttle Lake, 30 miles west of Bend. The next thing I know, I am back in Bend, in Drake Park, propped up against a Ponderosa pine, wearing somebody else's shoes. Other than getting drunk about 1,000 other times, it was the second worse thing I ever did. But I am done voting for Jim Beam.
69. This is the worse thing I ever did as a child: One Halloween, in about 1939, the "gang" I ran around with went out and tipped over two outhouses. Not everybody had flush toidies. I guess it would have been okay if the owners of those things had been pedophiles. Hell, maybe they were. I feel better already.
70. Two Halloweens later, the "gang" stole a horse and let it loose in the high school for an overnight stay. It has just now dawned on me that I can add "rustler" to my resume.
71. In 1948, in the summer between finishing high school and going on to college, four of us found a 1916 Model T sitting in the front yard of a Bend, Or., residence. We bought it for $25. Our fathers refurbished the sucker. We drove it over a 4,800-foot pass from Bend to Salem, and gloried in our treasure all year. Then the father of one of us "owners" repossessed it because we never paid for the tires. So it goes.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is insouciance. n. hossism. Def.: The glassy-eyed look of the owner of a dog who is shitting on your lawn.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Food for Thought & Explaining Hoss
Poor Fred Schmidlapp, guy on the second floor of The Home Where Our Roaming Days Are Over, gets teased a little. He's got a harelip, which means he talks funny. But Fred is a fun guy.
The other day Fred and I are at the neighborhood confectionery, where Fred asks the counterman, "How much are your cathews?" Counterman says, "$8.95 a pound." Fred says, "Whoa, thath pretty high. How much are your pitathios?" Counterman replies, "$9.95 a pound." Fred says, "Boy, thath really high. How much are your peanuth?" "They are $1.95 a pound," Counterman says. "Thath pretty high, but give me a pound of peanuth."
And then Fred says, "Thay, mithter, thankth for not makin' fun of my harelip." The counterman says, "I'm very sensitive to people making fun of handicaps. You see, I've got quite a large nose."
Fred: "Nose! NOSE! Your nuth are tho high I thought that wath your prick!"
+ + + + + + + +
Your day would not be complete unless I told you some more things about Ol' Hoss the Mossback:
65. When I was growing up, I joined a kids' rifle club to learn how to shoot deer. I never got to shoot at any deer until about 50 years later. But one of the guys in the club did. He told me all about it: "I stalked that sucker for half a mile, then I got close. So I slipped a cartilage into my gun..." This is why I always vote for the close study of English as a first language.
66. I was about this age (66) when my brother-in-law talked me into going deer hunting over to Spanish Peak, about 180 miles to the east. On the second day there I shot a deer. On days 14-30 I ate deer. And then I had nothing to show for it. I guess it was a waste of time.
67. During World War II, it was a big thing for communities to organize scrap metal drives to get together stuff that could be melted down and used to make airplanes and guns and bullets and stuff. When I was 12, I scoured my neighborhood and collected 1,000 pounds of steel and iron. Got my name in the newspaper, the Bend Bulletin. Front page. I always vote for notoriety for Hoss.
The "worst" part of that drive was that the City of Bend donated a cannon that had been given to the city as a First World War memorial. I always wondered if it got made into another cannon.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is augment. v., adj. beerspeak. The phrase you use to clarify the remarks of Augie Busch.
+ + + + + + + +
Most panic attacks result from having to go to the bathroom and being unable to make up your mind what book or magazine to take with you.
The other day Fred and I are at the neighborhood confectionery, where Fred asks the counterman, "How much are your cathews?" Counterman says, "$8.95 a pound." Fred says, "Whoa, thath pretty high. How much are your pitathios?" Counterman replies, "$9.95 a pound." Fred says, "Boy, thath really high. How much are your peanuth?" "They are $1.95 a pound," Counterman says. "Thath pretty high, but give me a pound of peanuth."
And then Fred says, "Thay, mithter, thankth for not makin' fun of my harelip." The counterman says, "I'm very sensitive to people making fun of handicaps. You see, I've got quite a large nose."
Fred: "Nose! NOSE! Your nuth are tho high I thought that wath your prick!"
+ + + + + + + +
Your day would not be complete unless I told you some more things about Ol' Hoss the Mossback:
65. When I was growing up, I joined a kids' rifle club to learn how to shoot deer. I never got to shoot at any deer until about 50 years later. But one of the guys in the club did. He told me all about it: "I stalked that sucker for half a mile, then I got close. So I slipped a cartilage into my gun..." This is why I always vote for the close study of English as a first language.
66. I was about this age (66) when my brother-in-law talked me into going deer hunting over to Spanish Peak, about 180 miles to the east. On the second day there I shot a deer. On days 14-30 I ate deer. And then I had nothing to show for it. I guess it was a waste of time.
67. During World War II, it was a big thing for communities to organize scrap metal drives to get together stuff that could be melted down and used to make airplanes and guns and bullets and stuff. When I was 12, I scoured my neighborhood and collected 1,000 pounds of steel and iron. Got my name in the newspaper, the Bend Bulletin. Front page. I always vote for notoriety for Hoss.
The "worst" part of that drive was that the City of Bend donated a cannon that had been given to the city as a First World War memorial. I always wondered if it got made into another cannon.
+ + + + + + + +
My favorite word today is augment. v., adj. beerspeak. The phrase you use to clarify the remarks of Augie Busch.
+ + + + + + + +
Most panic attacks result from having to go to the bathroom and being unable to make up your mind what book or magazine to take with you.
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