Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport

Take a few secs today to wish a very good buddy of mine a Happy Birthday. Click on Poopsie (Janie) and take a quick trip to Tennessee.

My buddy Vicki Bennett has called my attention to a news story that talks about a potential volcanic eruption on the South Sister Mountain, which is about 100 miles east of my Old Folks' Home. Some researchers say even if it blows, it won't be all that big a deal, unfortunately. I think the visitor industry has put this in the category of "too bad," because a decent volcano is a pretty good tourist draw, which would create more jobs for Oregon.

See, the neat thing about volcanoes is they draw a lot of rubberneckers from out-of-state, so we can throw up some hot dog stands and invent a lot of jobs in the service industry. Jobs in the service industry are well-liked by Big Business because they don't pay much, and they are well-liked by poor people because they can't be outsourced. You couldn't possibly sell hot dogs in India to someone who wanted to see a volcano in Oregon.

+ + + + + + + +

Until recently, most of the rubberneckers have been over there in Serbia, according to this other story Vickie sent me about the World Testicle Cooking Championship. It seems an Australian who called himself Nigel told some people in Sumska Kuca, there in North Serbia, that he was the world's leading chef when it came to cooking up kangaroo nuts, and he would be glad to show off his skill if the Serbians would get ahold of some testicles.

So the Serbs went balls out for this idea. They rented this expert a hotel room, bought some kangaroo testiculars -- and the sumbitch never showed. Well, they went ahead with the World Championship, and a team that whipped up bull and boar's nuts won the title, so the day wasn't wasted.

The sponsors said they hope Nigel will show up next year if he hasn't gone tits up. They said they would hang loose.

All this talk about testicles has made me hungry for nutcrackers:


+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is patience. Adj., like a great blue heron. Def.: What you use while waiting for the right moment to screw someone over.

This Is How You Spell Onomatopoeia

Oh, damn. Update: Feets points out I spelled it wrong. But now it's right. Hoo boy. Onomatopoeia. There.

You know how it is in high school when some kids hang around the fringes of your gang, but never quite get invited in?

(It wasn't quite that way in grade school, when our gang rgularly "pantsed" Jerry Rippee. Jerry was so anxious to be one of us that he submitted, day after day. He was so pitiful that we made him a member of the gang. Which says something about our coolness, I think.)

Our gang in high school was like the Hell's Angels: There were a lot of us. Let's see, Don, Jack, another Don, Sam, John, Bill, Phil and me. This is the gang that left the horse in the high school one Halloween. Martin was a fringe player, and the only reason we let him into our booth at Kessler's Ice Cream now and then was because he had his own wheels, a 1936 Model A.

One time five of us were out riding with Martin and he was driving crazy. I said, "Martin, I bet if you go around a corner on two wheels, you can shear off the lug nut posts on the other side when the car comes back down."

So Martin tore around this corner on two wheels, and sheared off the lug nut posts on the other side when the car came back down. "Pay me," I said, as the other four of us headed off toward Kessler's.

+ + + + + + + +

We led incredibly vicious lives in high school. Lots of times our gang would get p.o.ed at the girls because one of our number got dumped ("jilted," or "Dear Johnned," we'd say). So we'd go find a bunch of girls and yell bad things at them: "You're ugly as a mud fence." "You're all a bag of bones." And like that. We held nothing back.

And they'd yell back: "You smell like jock straps." "Buzzards." "Momma's boys." These girls wanted their mouths washed out with soap.

I don't know how any of us survived high school, getting in gang wars all the time.

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is denounce. N., particulate of speech. Def. When it's not verbs, adverbs, adjectives or conjunctions.

I'm Always Up for a Challenge

I previously gave you one of the British Foot in Mouth Award winners. Here's one more, actress Alicia Silverstone:

"I think that the film ['Clueless'] was very deep. I think it was deep in the way that it was very light. I think lightness has to come from a very deep place if it's true lightness."

+ + + + + + + +

Somebody sent me one of them pages of odd facts, like: "There are no words in the dictionary that rhyme with orange, purple and silver."

Hah! You think Ol' Hoss isn't going to challenge that?

They say nothing can rhyme with an orange.
I'm darn close with chickens that free-range.
It just goes to show,
To be in the know,
Trust Ol' Hoss who knows dirt ain't a dinge.

There's nothing that can rhyme with purple?
Well, there's acid that makes you go burple.
So never say never,
Hoss is too clever,
What he pours on his pancakes is syruple.

You can't make a rhyme out of silver?
You come pretty close with deliver.
But to make it exact,
Hoss has the ol' knack,
He says, "Hey, there's always Phil Silvers!"

+ + + + + + + +

Here's another useless fact:

The dot over the letter "i" is called a tittle. What is inside a woman's T-shirt is called a chest.

+ + + + + + + +

Here in The Old Folks' Home, our Alzheimer's unit is planning an event to be remembered.

+ + + + + + +

My favorite word today is magic. N., I lost count again. Def.: The additional riser someone adds to your stairs while you creep upward in the dead of night.

I Was Just Thinking About That

It is always good thinking to do some thinking now and then. So I began thinking some deep thoughts. Let's see what we got here:

-- The Chinese invented gunpowder, Nobel invented TNT, the U.S. invented the atomic bomb, and the Indians invented corn. Which has been the most useful?

-- Everybody has something to complain about: politicians, the weather, their job, the next-door neighbor. If we eliminate the politicians, the weather, all the jobs and all the next-door neighbors, would people complain about not having enough to complain about?

-- Do you know that you also are a next-door neighbor?

-- In case you are robbed, will you be able to give police the serial numbers of the bills that were in your wallet?

-- Do crop circles come in any other shape?

-- Why is baseball not called basesball?

-- Why is diarrhea called "the trots" rather than "the canters"? I have always voted against diarrhea, even when it is called "the runs."

-- Why do cows eat hay and women can eat just about anything, like chicken livers, and they both can make milk? I am a big believer in hay and chicken livers, though.

-- Why is it that when you get a wrong number it is always someone you don't know?

-- Why are you the only good driver on the road?

-- Did you know that Tennessee Walking Horses also can run?

-- When Saddam is executed, will the oxygen he would have used be put up for sale on eBay?

-- When I am reincarnated as a fine Kentucky thoroughbred standin' at stud, how will you know it's me?

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is out. Adj., what did you think? Def.: Descriptive of every part you have ever needed for your car to be fixed.

Am I Glad It Wasn't 8 Things

Ol’ Hoss picked up this Ol’ Meme from my buddy Ol' Shane. To be properly entertained, you really ought to click on the links.

7 things I can do

1. Cook, if I have enough beer
2. Type really fast
3. Play the ukulele
4. Sop up gravy with bread
5. Charge things to your MasterCard
6. See over the heads of little people
7. Make up words*

7 things I can’t do

1. Cook, if I don’t have enough beer
2. Climb mountains
3. Gain weight
4. Sew, but I can darn socks
5. Anything artistic
6. Rub my head and pat my tummy at the same time
7. Pat my head and rub my tummy at the same time

BF 7 things I see as attractive in the opposite sex

1. Something like my buddy Pier Angeli
2. Smarts, so they don’t want to eat at McDonald’s
3. Good legs
4. Good everything else
5. Willingness to make the beer run
6. Doesn't need a Stairmaster
7. Forgiveness. Lots of this, please

7 things I say the most

1. Hoo boy
2. Boy howdy
3. So it goes
4. Take an old cold tater and wait
5. Scientists classify this as "too bad"
6. I'm so pretty
7. That asshole Bush

7 books that I love

1. The Bible, because it is "open source"
2. "My Ten Years in a Quandary," Robert Benchley
3. "Low Man on the Totem Pole," H. Allen Smith
4. "Long Gone With the Wind and the Rain," Mr. Horsetail Snake
5. "Up Front," Bill Mauldin (featuring Willie and Joe)
6. "Weeny Whodunits and Other Yoda Yoga," Mr. Horsetail Snake
7. "Sex Life of the Banana Slug," Charles Darwin, et al

7 things I plan to do before I die

1. Eat me an abalone steak
2. Help elect a black President
3. Plan my reincarnation as a fine Kentucky horse standin’ at stud
4. Gladhand Bill Gates
5. Apologize for killing mosquitoes that the swallows needed for food
6. Tie a mirror on my shoe so I can look up your dress when you visit
7. Apologize for looking up your dress

+ + + + + + + +

*My favorite word today is rumornates. N., jumping over the moon. Def.: Cows that gossip.

Children's Books in Time for School

Quite a few children's books have been written. Not all of them have been published. Here are some your poor kids will never see:

What Is That Dog Doing to That Other Dog?

You Were an Accident

Jane Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her

Garfield Gets Feline Leukemia

You Are Different and That's Bad

The Pop-up Book of Human Anatomy

When Mommy and Daddy Don't Know the Answer They Say God Did It

Strangers Have the Best Candy

Barney: The Prison Years

Mister Policeman Eats His Service Revolver

Pop Goes the Hamster, and Other Great Microwave Games

Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence

The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables

Things Rich Kids Have That You Never Will

Controlling the Playground: Respect Through Fear

Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

How to Become the Dominant Military Power in Your Elementary School.

+ + + + + + + +

What's the name of the guy with no arms and no legs who is lying on the front porch? Matt.

What's the name of the guy with no arms and no legs who is lying in a bed of leaves? Russell.

What's the name of the guy with no arms and no legs who has been pinned to the wall? Art.

What's the name of the guy who will never do this again? Mr. Snake.

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is taint. N., mystery zone. Def.: The area between the vagina and the anus: "T'aint pussy and t'aint asshole."

Miscellaneous & Et Cet

I have not had much here about the hurricane and its victims. And I won't. I've done what I can, as you know you did and are doing. But this here place is a port out of the storm. Relax, jangle gently as you move and don't look back -- something might be gaining on you. -- Satchel Paige.

+ + + + + + + +

This was sort of fun. The states in red are the ones I have touristed. You go to World 66 and you can make a map of all the states you visited, or all the countries, all the Canadian provinces, or just Europe. Note those three Deep South states I have not been in -- Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. I doubt if my visiting would have made a difference. But who knows?
+ + + + + + + +

Yesterday when I teased my pal Bonnie about owning a University of Michigan shirt, my buddy Lois Lane said in the comments that she's in a shirt-giving mood. And Bonnie seemed to be offering a Michigan State University shirt. Look, I will take all the university/football shirts I can get and I'll show 'em off. I love to get packages. When you are done giving to Katrina victims, I am at Apt. 111, 695 Orchard Hts. Rd. NW, Salem, OR 97304.

After all, it is dang near my birthday. I was born on Oct. 1 and on Oct. 2, 1930. An explanation of this Miracle Birth is here.

+ + + + + + + +

What has eight legs and one eye? Two chairs and half a pig's head.

+ + + + + + + +

In Great Britain, the annual Foot in Mouth Award in 2004 went to a Member of Parliament, Boris Johnson, who said on television: "I could not fail to disagree with you less."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite phrase today is false alarm. N., when you gotta go. Def.: When the urgent need to defecate turns out to be only an urgent need to fart.

School Days, School Days, Good Old...

It is me again. Since it almost football season, it is time for all of us to swear our fealty to universities with good football teams. Teams who only excel in academics can go pee up a rope until it's time for commencement.

Now, most of you don't need to pay any attention to this picture. It is here for the benefit of my pal Bonnie. See, Bonnie is a stalwart of The Dark Side, a.k.a. Michigan State University, and that just won't do.

This fine shirt was brought to me in July by a buddy of mine, Vicki Bennett, who roots for the University of Michigan. And it just so happens that Vicki also is a former friend of Bonnie's. All this proves is that my allegiance is for sale.

So, anyway, go over to Bonnie's Place and give her the raspberry. Tough luck, Bonnie. (Scientists have put this in the category of "too bad.")

+ + + + + + + +

Speaking of psychology, which my shirt was doing, I am thinking about the need to catch a case of paranoia. The only people here in The Old People's Home who seem to get any attention are those who've got delusions of one kind or another. Take my down-the-hall neighbor, Sixbit Rattigan. I was doing hall patrol yesterday when I caught ol' Rattigan talking to The Home's Administrator:

Rattigan: "People are always talking about me."

Administrator: "No, they're not."

Rattigan: "Not what?"

Administrator: "Talking about you."

Rattigan: "What are they saying?"

+ + + + + + + +

My pal Oz has come through again:

"Incontinence Hotline....Can you hold, please?"

+ + + + + + + +

Do you realize that in 40 years we'll have thousands of old women running around with tatoos?

"I suppose that there on your leg is some kind of snake?"

"No, that's a varicose vein."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is gasoline. N., a rare breed. Def.: A combustible formerly sold in screw top containers, now available only in finer stores.

Something Something Something

I knew two fine people, Angie and Miss Zoot, each of whom is having another child, but after a lapse of several years. So I thought they probably need the advice rendered by this how-to picture. You are welcome, Moms. I live to serve.

+ + + + + + + +

This happened sometime in the 1960's. I am too decrepit to go to the State Library and look it up. You can do it, if you want to.

We have a State Hospital for the mentally disadvantaged here in Salem, the capital of Oregon. There are several buildings out there in East Salem, some of which are connected by tunnels so the patients and staff don't have to cross busy streets.

Somehow, those tunnels became the scene of assignations between patients who were perhaps addled but had not lost their sex drive. Legislators learned of this and demanded a hearing. A state official defended the practice, calling it "tunnel therapy."

Hoo boy, we liberals thought that was funny. Naturally, the Republicans made them give it up. So, according to what my mother told me when I was little, I guess all the guys out there went blind and grew hair on the palm of their hands.

+ + + + + + + +

A guy is lying in his bed, near death, when he perceives emanating from the kitchen the unmistakable smell of chocolate chip cookies, his favorite food of all time.

So, with difficulty, he works himself downstairs, feebly clutches the table and inches his hand toward what he feels is giving him new life -- a warm chocolate chip cookie. His wife smacks his hand with a spatula.

"Get the hell away from there!" she screams. "Those are for the funeral."

(This groaner comes courtesy of TanLucyPez.)

+ + + + + + + +

A caller on a Portland radio station wanted everybody to know the German word for brassiere: "Stopemfumfloppin."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is diet. N., why children don't starve. Def.: The thing that occurs when you observe a 3-year-old eating his boogers.

Your 'Can't Miss' Motion Picture for 2005

If I am going to Make My Pile, which I must if I am to be reincarnated as Smokey the Russian Blue Cat, I expect I will have to go into the motion picture business.

I did not say "movie." "Movie" is short for "moving pictures." "Moving pictures" is what you do when you move. You also move desks and pianos and other ungainly objects so that you achieve a permanently bad back. Which is what you get for not hiring Mayflower to move your damn pictures.

"The Mayflower Compact" would be a good film but it's probably been done by the DAR or the Temperance Union. So my motion picture is going to be about British royalty. I know absolutely nothing about British royalty, which makes writing the script a piece of cake. People really dig science fiction; why wouldn't they fall all over themselves getting to my history fiction?

For this film, I think we will open with The Beatles singing "Hen-e-ry the Eighth I Am, I Am (I got married to the widow next door, etc.)." This would be voiceover to some beheadings, Mary Queen of Scots and Anne Boleyn come to mind. I am undecided. I guess it will depend upon what era of baskets for chopped heads that we can find in the antique shops.

Do you know why the United Nations delegates sit in a circle? So nobody can be "at the head of the table." They got this idea of equality from King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I doubt Arthur was paid any royalties for this idea. (His copywilburwright probably has expired, anyway.) So maybe we will have a segment on different-shaped tables Arthur considered -- rectangles, trapezoids, tetrahedrons, etc. -- before settling on round. This will give film-goers a chance to go get popcorn.

Fade to black, then slow dissolve to Wallis Simpson. She's the American lady that King Edward VIII needed to play footsie with. So he abdicates (we will give the people who attend my motion picture a handbook which explains British phrases, like "abdicate," "spot on," and "jolly good." I will hire my buddy Shane, an Englisher who is presently unemployed so it won't cost me much.)

We will probably have an Alfred Hitchcock moment, in which we catch Prince Charles nude in the shower in the Bates Motel. I am told that even if our focus goes below the belly button we still will retain our PG rating.

Our Big Scene will be in the Tower of London. It is a requirement of British royalty that there always be six ravens in the Tower (currently there are eight). These ravens are often fed a rabbit carcass, but in my film we will have them feasting on some plain old tea-and-crumpets type, like Monty Python, who will shrug off The Birds, turn his face to the audience and ask, "Is British royalty relevant?"

I hope it is not too late for the motion picture houses to insure against the avalanche caused by 500 people yelling "No way!!"

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is inscrutable. Adj., imponderable. Def.: The first six chapters of a book on your bedside table which has such an impenetrable plot you can't bring yourself to continue.

I'll Be Right Back

I think I am onto something here. You will remember that I plan to be reincarnated right after I kick the bucket because I so much enjoy breathing. I suppose you do too, so you might want to get in touch with Genetic Savings and Clone down there in Texas.

They advertise themselves as "the world's leading pet-cloning company." And I sure wouldn't mind coming back as a pampered cat. (The company tells me there is not much call for people who want to come back as pot-bellied pigs.) I am well-disposed, though, to coming back as Smokey, the now-dead Russian Blue pet of this couple who live in Medford, Oregon. Before he died, Smokey had some of his cells harvested and stored down in this Texas clone-a-torium because, the owners said, it "had a melodic meow and a distinct personality." Which sounds like me all over.

Genetic Savings & Clone started out asking for 50,000 smackers to clone your pet, but what with down-sizing and out-sourcing and what not, the price is now down to $32,000. These Medford people think in a few years it will be down to $10,000, which sounds about right to them. I mean, this was a good cat.

So what I need to do is get some of my cells scraped off and sent down to GS&C and mixed in with those Smokey molecules. Somebody said the only cells that work are those they scrape off your baby-maker. We'll see. I'll do whatever it takes because I sure want to get took care of by that Medford couple. I love to be doted on.

Of course I will need to send it some money, which I don't have. I thought about an advance sale on my body parts. You know how much my body (and yours) is worth, piece by piece? $4.50. Maybe $5 if you're really fat because hide sells for 25 cents a square foot and so fat people have a real advantage when it comes to selling their parts.

So I will need to figure out some other way to Make My Pile. I wonder if there's much of a market for Russian Blue cats? That would be a good business to get into, because I understand they go for about $10,000 apiece.

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite phrase today is Judas goat. N., of biblical proportions. Def.: The asswipe who says "Let's have one more" when you are already drunk.

How to Break Up a Picnic

Speaking of food, I gotta tell you this story of not long ago when I was evil. It is okay to be evil when you're 74 332/365ths like I am. Nobody will hit you because you look so frail and beat-down. Besides, it was only a practical joke invented to piss people off, at which I am pretty good.

This Congressman I worked for is now out of office but he has this former administrative assistant who keeps track of everybody who worked for the Congersperson. This year he suggested we get together for a reunion picnic. I hate reunion picnics because of all the ants, yellow jackets and flies they attract. And dogs, like old Maggie Hipsalot.

So, since I hate picnics I volunteered to help. I said, Why don't I send out a notice to everybody tellin' 'em what to bring? "Golly, Ol' Hoss, that would be fine and just dandy," he says.

"I will send it in your name so they will know how official it is," said Hoss.

Well, you know how this went down. Normal people would tell the reunionists to bring table service and their favorite hot dish, or rolls, or sodie pop, or their favorite dessert, or a pile of snacks like Spam-and-Velveeta canapes. Here's what Ol' Hoss told every one of them suckers to bring:

"Graham crackers, marshmallows and Hershey bars."

People who went to the reunion said just about everybody told the organizer of this thing: "Up yours, and here's one for the horse you rode in on."

I don't know. I didn't go. I hate s'mores.

+ + + + + + + +

My buddy Oz of Australia keeps finding these one-liners that make me giggle:

"Don't be sexist. Broads hate that."
"I used up all my sick days, so I'm phoning in dead."
"Five out of four people have trouble with fractions."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is radiator. N., smellier than thou. Def.: The gentleman in the elevator with a body odor so vile it is safe to let go of a seeper.

Would You Like to See Some Justice Done?

Somebody done wrong by my buddy.

This, for once, is not about me. It's about my buddy John, The Muzik Dude. He's a stand-up guy who sometimes sounds tough but melts when his family and friends ask him for anything. He's the kind of guy you want living next door. I ain't got any higher praise than that.

What has gone down is that a newly large phone company, Cingular, has screwed my buddy John over more than somewhat. Go read it about it here: Muzik Dude. This will get your dander up.

Then go to one of the sites of GENUINE Jim: Jim Turner, where you will see, in part:

"I'm talking about the nightmare my friend John had recently with his cell phone provider. Now we have a movement, and momentum grows to the point of a grass roots level that is beginning to poison the company's reputation..

"Can this happen? Is it possible that a little voice in the blogosphere can start a storm the likes of which could cripple a business? I for one would like to see that happen."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is smile. Adj., more like a grimace. Def.: Pretending you don't have a hangover.

I Believe Everything I Read

This story makes sense, but it might not be true.

Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French expected an easy victory over the English. The French decided that they would cut off the middle finger of every captured Englishman so they would no longer be able to draw the renowned English longbow, and thus be incapable of fighting in the future.

The famous longbow was made of the native English yew tree, and the act of drawing the bow was calling "plucking the yew." In the battle, much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won. And they then began to taunt the French by showing their middle finger and screaming, "I can still pluck yew! PLUCK YEW!"

The spelling of the words has been revised over time for some reason, and the words used in conjunction with the one-finger salute are mistakenly thought to have something to do with an intimate encounter.

It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows used with the longbow that the symbolic gesture is known as "giving the bird."

+ + + + + + + +

A buddy of mine, Lightning Bug's Butt, has written a book, titled "What's Shakin' in the Men's Room." It is comprised of pieces from his site and some previously unpublished stuff. Hoss has sent in his order. You might want to mosey over and find out what's what.

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is inconsistent. Adj., let's call it art. Def.: Descriptive of people who wouldn't dream of urinating in public but who delight in placing a representation of the Manneken Pis in the goldfish pond on their front yard.

Blame It All on Me

Ol' Hoss never knows which of his schemes will be the money-maker he so sorely needs, so he just goes on thinkin' up new diddles before anybody else can get to 'em. It is especially satisfying to beat my buddy Bill Gates to the finish line.

As you know, I always get a copywilburwright and/or a patent leather on my ideas before I spring 'em on my readers. So don't be botherin' to steal today's idea, which is:

Ol' Hoss's Shoulder the Blame Megacorp.

Here's the premise: Hardly anything hurts the psyche like having to admit guilt. You know how you feel when you have to confess you didn't get the kids the right present, or you're late to work because you slept in, or you've peed on the toilet seat. It's an embarrassment, is what it is. People point fingers at you and say, "Shame." The story about your misdeed is told over and over into the next generation. You never live it down.

Get it off your back. For a fee, you can blame it on Ol' Hoss. And I will admit guilt! I am used to apologizing. You should have seen me carry on when I knocked Hilda Moonbuckle down the stairs here in The Old People's Home. I got all red-faced and whiny, got a beat look on my face, did some world-class cringin' and promised to go and sin no more. Apologia is my middle name.

"Mike*! You pissed on the toilet seat again!" "Nope," says Mike. "Hoss did it."

"You promised to be here at 3:30!" "Hoss stole the car."

See, you just send me a quick message from your fancy phone so I'll know what I'm confessin' to, and nobody needs to be the wiser. Just be sure to specify whether you need a Class A snivel or maybe only a Class D "I'm plenty sorry about that."

I bet you're feeling better already, considering how much guilt you're carrying around.

+ + + + + + + +

A place on the Internet has been pointed out to me that is sort of fun. It's called the Sloganizer. Type in a word or two and it makes slogans for you. I like slogans:

"Feel the magic of nursing homes."
"I lost weight with cremation."

+ + + + + + + +

My buddy Judy told me what Confucious told her:

"Man who walk through turnstile sideways going to Bangkok."

"Crowded elevator smell different to midget."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is :: ::. N., in any dice game, roll them bones. Def.: Your point is 8.

+ + + + + + + +

* I am hoping to drum up business from the two Mikes on my Favorites list, Mike Miller and Michael Ashley.

Be Happy: Give Hoss Your Lunch Money

My buddy Jana recently mentioned that when she worked at a kids' camp she had to unsew the back of a teddy bear to confiscate contraband candy. Naturally, this has given Ol' Hoss a money-making idea. Almost everything does. Here's the way it's going to work:

I will set up shop along several of the most-used routes to high school. Kids will give me their lunch money and I'll lend-lease them some stuff their parents wouldn't, like soda pop and low-rider jeans so's they can show their ass-crack. I better lay in a supply of push-up bras, too. Then when they're on their way home I sell 'em a toothbrush to hide the Coke smell, and give 'em back their corduroys that don't show ass-crack. And make a note to get some bras in smaller sizes.

The Declaration of Independence didn't say that only parents have a right to pursuit of happiness.

+ + + + + + + +

Here are some things I been saving that need to get off my chest:

Church Bulletins:

"Due to the rector's illness, Wednesday's healing service will be discontinued until further notice."

"The Peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been cancelled due to a conflict."

+ + + + + + + +

A stranger walks into a bar in West Virginia. A customer eyes him, walks over, and says, "So, what's your line?"

Stranger: "I'm a taxidermist."

Customer: "What's a taxidermist?"

Stranger: "I mount animals."

Customer: "It's okay boys, he's one of us."

+ + + + + + + +

On the official website for the State of Wisconsin, it says: "Permanent residents: Find a grave." In Wisconsin, when they say "permanent," that's what they mean.

+ + + + + + + +

Double definition day:

My buddy Oz says:

"Circular definition: See Definition, circular."

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is clean. Adj., semi-funny. Def.: The type of joke you mistakenly believe is the only kind you can tell your pastor.

Don't Bury Me Deep on the Lone Prairie

Talk of death occupies a lot of folks in an Old Folks' Home. Not about our own. We only talk about whomever happens to not be in the discussion circle there in the Fireside Room.

Matilda Halfhere said, "Did you have the meatballs yesterday? I bounced one off the floor and it went almost to the ceiling."

Hoss: "Uh, Mattie, we was talkin' about pushin' up daisies."

Matilda: "Old age comes at a bad time."

Unhappily, this energized the House History Freak, Feelgood Haines. You probably remember Feelgood. He has a peculiar spin on every history ever histed.

Feelgood: "Did you know why gunslingers always said to the bad guy, 'You'll be six feet deep by morning.'? Well, a course you don't because you slept through History class. What that means is the bad guy is going to be dead and buried. Now, natcherly, you wanna know, 'Why six feet'?"

Hoss: "Anybody notice whether meatballs is on the menu again tonight?"

Feelgood: "I knew you'd be the first with a question, because you don't seem to know much. The reason is they had themselves the bubonic plague back there in London so the Mayor says, 'Bury them dead suckers six feet deep so the plague don't get the rest of us.' So that's the why of that. Trouble is, the Mayor screwed the gravediggers good and proper, 'cause it was fleas that caused the bubonic. So all that digging was for bullshit."

Hoss: "Did you people notice they're almost done fixing the parking lot?"

Feelgood: "You know some cemeteries has been paved right over? Later on, the six feet deep thing worked out pretty good, what with land shortages and all. They started double-decking the people. One box six feet down left room for another box on top. First two-for-one sale in history."

Hoss: "I think I'm getting a touch of the brain-dead. Anybody know if that's going around again this year?"

Feelgood: "Listen. Down there in California they got a law that says you only gotta cover the casket with 18 inches of dirt and turf. I don't think they're gonna call it to the attention of the Western movie producers, though."

Hoss: "How's that?"

Feelgood: "Think of Alan Ladd sayin, 'Tomorrow, bub, they'll be plantin' you one and a half feet under.'"

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is gag. Adj., get along little stogies. Def.: After a long wait, the only taxi offering a ride is distinguished by the smell of stale cigars.

Songs You Ain't Hardly Heard Of

My buddy Dave Morris has tagged some of his pals to tell the world about "five songs you're currently digging hard." Since I got nothin' to do but belly up to these meme things, I'm just going to list some of my all-time favorites that I play on a kazoo. I can also whistle these, when the TV talent people ask. As Dave guessed, No. 1 on my Hit Parade is:

1. "Take an Old Cold 'Tater and Wait", Little Jimmy Dickens. I get so blubbery when I hear the chorus:

"Now 'taters never did look good
"With chicken on the plate,
"But I had to eat 'em just the same.
"That is why I look so bad, and have these puny ways,
"Because I always had to take an old cold 'tater and wait."

2. "Amazing Grace." The first line of this song is what gets me:

"Amazing grace, how sweet it is...."

Now I know good and damn well that the line is "how sweet the sound." But I was such a fan of Jackie Gleason that every time somebody would break into "Amazing Grace" I would think of Jackie saying, "How sweet it is!" And then my mind segues right into Jackie sayin' to Alice, "How would you like a trip to the moon?" After I am done breaking myself up, I apologize to God or whomever this song is about, and go about my business.

3. "Classical Gas", Mason Williams. This is an instrumental by a guy with Oregon connections. In 1968 Mason got two Grammys for "Classical Gas" AND an Emmy as the head comedy writer for the Smothers Brothers Show:

Tom: "Mom liked you best!"
Dick: "Lower your voice."
Tom: (Basso profundo) "Mom liked you best!"

This is the ONLY song I have stored in my computer, so I guess you know I like this song more than somewhat.

4. "A Man Called Hoss", Waylon Jennings. This ain't a song but the title of an album. If you have to know why I'm favorin' it, you has missed a lot of posts.

5. "Piano Man", Billy Joel. This is one of the most real non-cowboy songs ever. It tells about people wastin' their time in this bar. This includes the Piano Man himself, who is quite a good player:

"And the piano sounds like a carnival,
"And the microphone smells like a beer.
"And they sit in the bar and put bread in my jar
"And say, 'Man, what are you doin' here?'"

The reason I like this song is because I have known people with fine talent who never got that big break (there are several Internet writers of my acquaintance who are in this category). I am always, like "What are you doin' here?"

Anyway, the only way my 5 songs could be any better is if they included something about prison, pickups, gun racks, moonshine, Momma, rain, railroad tracks, smoke-filled bars, lonely women, little dogies and grits.

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is Godzilla. N., science as fiction. Def.: A motion picture too bad to watch but too interesting to sleep through.

Advertise Your B**g on the Hoss Channel

My new buddy Pointmeister discovered somewhere on the Internet what he described as "The Old Hoss Channel." And if you look at this picture real careful-like you will se Mr. Snake semi-prominently displayed.

Well, I gotta admit the Pointmeister has outted me. I was tryin' to keep it secret that I'm gonna have a cable TV channel until I had a full 13 weeks worth of around-the-clock programs in the can. I won't worry about any more than that, for once it gets started The Ol' Hoss Channel will self-perpetuate -- writers from everywhere will be all over me like a tall dog to get in on my action.

You are probably interested in the names of the programs already on tape and ready to go as soon as the FCC gives me some bandwidth, or whatever the hertz geeks call it:

"Ol' Hoss, the Football Player and His Women: Hoss Goes Long"
"Ol' Hoss, the Softball Player and His Women: Hoss Goes Deep"
"Old Folks at Home: Variety in Organ Bequests"
"Where Elephants Go to Die: The Ivory Soap Years"
"Dung Beetles on the Loose: Elephant Shit Has No Chance"
"Prostates We Have Seen: A Surgeon Goes Deep"
"Religious Experiences: Who Invented the Virgin Mary?"
"The Truth About Botox: Warnings About Home-Canned Green Beans"
"Elders Speak Out: Homilies You Can Safely Ignore"
"Accepting Your Body Shape: The Cellulite Pride Society"
"Does God Care?: Live Chat With Big Ernie"
"The 7 Blunders of the World: The Conception of Donald Trump"

I am still collecting names of potential hosts for what will be my prime-time knockout show: "Why Scientists Say 'Too Bad'."

I wonder if the hits I get on this piece can be used to show advertisers what power I got with b**g readers. I am wanting a 50 rating and a 14.0 share.

+ + + + + + + +

My favorite word today is smug. Adj., sorry about that. Def.: The satisfied look on the face of someone in the express elevator as the doors of the car shut just when you get there.

Hot Damn! Hoss Is Off on a Rant!

I suppose you knew it would come to this. Ever' now and then Ol' Hoss gets pissed and has to let everybody know it. I am hacked about leeches, because:

Leeches suck!

I hope I get over this soon.

+ + + + + + +

My favorite word today is: quaint. N., really outdated. Def.: The name of any shop such as "Hair Today," "10 Penney's Nails," or "Boot Up" that once seemed clever but now seems only insipid.