Showing My Colors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Short Shrift Sunday No. 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

Short Shrift Saturday #10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should I Sell My Dung Beetle Farm?

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

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

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

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

Damnation. A great ol' homily bites the dust.

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

Do You Remember When I Was Funny?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy B**giversary to Me!

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

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

It's a Cakewalk

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

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

Activity Director: "With what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Got a Disease We Can Make Fun Of?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Remember Mama (and Burma Shave)

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

Ol' Hoss's Traffic Cone Ads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Short Shrift Sunday #9

What if animals were in charge (Part 2)?


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

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

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

Thanks to Milt Bogs for the link.

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

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

Short Shrift Saturday #9

What if animals were in charge?

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

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

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

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

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

Life in a Test Tube

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flowers That Bloom in the Spring, Tra La!

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

Going on the offensive:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The year’s best headlines of 2005:

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

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

I Shoulda Been a Scientific

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

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

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

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

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

Unknowns like that keep me awake at night.

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

Date Checks 2006; Make Them Out to Me

From my pal Judy, an oldie but goodie:

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

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

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

This was her entry:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Catching Up on a Few Things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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According to Oz:

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

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

She: "What's that?"

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

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

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

Short Shrift Sunday #8

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

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

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Waxing lyrical:

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

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

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

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

Short Shrift Saturday #8

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

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

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

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Here are my New Year's resolutions:

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

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

I Keep Trying to Become Famous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7. How does b**gging benefit you?

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

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

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

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

I'm So Happy I Could Spit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Cheers for the Red, White and Hoss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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