Meet Miss Perfect

Because April 1 is a Saturday, Momma K and Lucinda decided that the Perfect Posts for March should be announced today. Only the most flexible of us will be able to get this done, I imagine.

Perfection, a la Hoss, was done on March 13 by Vicki Bennett, a.k.a. OutsideIn. There, Vicki reports on the family attending the death of her mother in a Marquette, MI, hospital. And, bless her, she finishes up this tale with a little story at the expense of her cat, McCloud.

Take a trip and see what she has to say. Give her some back pats. And, if you have one on you, throw her a funny bone -- help her get over the sads.

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In my comments section yesterday, Karla pointed out that I had been nominated for Sexiest B**gger Alive. I went over to that site and found 72 persons (of 94) had voted for "Mr. Fabulous." Five had voted for Mr. Hoss.

Please do not vote for me. I think Mr. Fabulous is George W. Bush, and he needs all the votes he can get.

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My favorite phrase today is ow, ouch, damn! N., boy that smarts. Def.: Things I say while frying bacon in the nude.

Don't Bury the Survivors

Murphy has his son take him to the doctor, where he discovers he has cancer -- and not long to live. "Let's just go to the tavern and hoist a few pints," says Murphy.

After three or four pints the two were feeling better. There were some laughs and some more beers. They eventually were approached by a couple of Murphy's old pals, who asked what the two were celebrating.

"Ah," Murphy says, "you know the Irish -- celebrate both the good and the bad. The truth is, me boys, that I am dying of the AIDS." His pals give him their condolences and return to their seats.

After his friends left, Murphy's son leaned over and whispered his confusion. "Dad, I thought you told me you were dying of cancer. And you told them you are dying of AIDS."

Murphy says, "I am dying of cancer, son. I just don't want any of them sleeping with your mother."

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If I keep on walking around, I can save on funeral expenses.

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"Where else but in America could a poor black boy like Michael Jackson grow up to be a rich white woman?" --Red Buttons.

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My favorite word today is problems. N., I'll huff and I'll puff. Def.: Why you need solutions.

Life Is Like That

At the Jo Richardson compre-
hensive school in England, students are prohibited from raising their hands in class to keep those not called upon from feeling victimized.

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In the Upper Nile state of Sudan, a Mr. Tombe, as punishment for having sex with a goat, was required to care for the goat as if they were married. Australia's New Limited's website reported the story with a file photo of a goat, adorned with a black bar across its eyes to protect its privacy.

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"Doctor, I think I'm getting Alzheimer's."

"Why is that?"

"I keep forgetting to zip up."

"No," said the doctor. "Alzheimer's is when you forget to zip down."

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"Look, Paddy, there's a men's clothing store with men's suits for only $4.50!"

Paddy looks, and adds, "And look at that: Shirts for only $1. Let's go load up."

Paddy and Wilbur go into the store and order some clothes. The attendant says, "You guys are Irish, right?"

Paddy says, "Well, yeah, but how did you know?"

"This is a dry cleaners."

(The two previous items are from my buddy Peskie.)

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My favorite word today is perplexive. Adj., oddly cuddlesome. Def.: Descriptive of the charming guy who spreads HIV -- infectious, but nice. --Tisha.

I Am Not Here Today

I am not here because I am supposed to be over to the site of Follow That Star. I just checked, and damned if I ain't.

(My apologies to those of who tried to go to Follow That Star from the link above prior to 8:50 a.m. PST. It was a bad link. But thanks to Lois Lane, it is now perfect!!)

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Before you go, enjoy this piece of brilliance from Susie:

"Maybe wrinkles are the face's way of blogging."

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My favorite phrase today is wax job. N., you will love this, maybe. Def.: What happens to Chianti bottles in an Italian restaurant.

Old and In the Way

I saw Mabel Allgood tearing around the place the other day. She is going up to people, flipping her gown up, and saying "Supersex." She comes across Marvin Toosane, and says, "Supersex!" Marvin thinks, and says, "I'll have the soup."

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Passing by Millie Smith's door the other day, I hear her say on the phone to her beloved Herman: "Be careful out there, Herman. The radio says there's a car going the wrong way on Interstate 5."

Herman: "One car? Hell, it's more like hundreds."

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An elderly babe calls the cops. "Can you help me please! Somebody's been in my car and stolen the stereo, the steering wheel, the brake pedal, and even the accelerator."

A cop arrives, investigates, radios in to headquarters: "Disregard. She got in the back seat."

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My favorite word today is satyr. N., writer of a bodice ripper. Def.: A person whose heart is in his pelvic region.

Short Shrift Sunday #20

I got these dandies from my buddy
kenju. Ain't she nice?

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My favorite word today is spatial. Adj., a hitch in the get-along. Giving the impression of hurrying without altering your pace.

Short Shrift Saturday #20

Every now and then something pops up that grabs me by the short hair and gives me a good shakin'. I think I have seen this two places but can only remember one -- dddragon. So, anyway, go here to see some of the damndest juggling you ever did see.

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An anthropologist visits a native tribe to do some field work. The Chief welcomes him with great respect and invites him to a festive meal in his compound.

As they sit, the anthropologist asks: "This pot, what's cooking in it?"

The Chief, proud of his offering, says, "It's my mother-in-law."

The anthropologist recoils. "Oh, no, no. I couldn't possibly eat your mother-in-law. Please don't think me ungrateful or impolite, but I just couldn't."

"All right," says the Chief. "Then just eat the noodles."

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My favorite word today is circumferential. Adj., get a tongue around it, boy. Def.: What the police require you to say to prove you are not drunk.

I Said I Didn't Like Poetry

A couple of days ago, my Internet buddy Cananopie gave me a link to a poem about reincarnation because of my overweening interest in the subject. It is so good, that I thought I'd reprint it here. Hoo boy.




Reincarnation

by Wallace McRae


"What does reincarnation mean?"
A cowpoke asked his friend.
His pal replied, "It happens when
yer life has reached its end.
They comb yer hair, and warsh yer neck,
And clean yer fingernails,
And lay you in a padded box
Away from life's travails.
"The box and you goes in a hole,
That's been dug into the ground.
Reincarnation starts in when
Yore planted 'neath a mound.
Them clods melt down, just like yer box,
and you who is inside.
And then yore just begginin' on
Yer transformation ride.
"In a while the grass'll gro
Upon yer rendered mound.
Till some day on yer moldered grave
A lonely flower is found.
And say a hoss should wander by
And graze upon this flower
That once wuz you, but now's become
Yer vegatative bower.
"The posey that the hoss done ate
Up, with his other feed,
Makes bone, and fat, and muscle
Essential to the steed.
But some is left that he can't use
And so it passes through,
And finally lays upon the ground.
This thing that once wuz you.
"Then say, by chance, I wonders by
And sees this upon the ground,
And I ponders and I wonders at,
This object that I found.
I thinks of reincarnation,
Of life, and death, and such,
And come away concludin': Slim,
You ain't changed, all that much."

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My favorite word today is pick. N., the night sweats. Def.: The tool used by dentists to hurt you the most.

Scientists Say This Is 'Too Bad'

The Irish daughter had not been home for 5 years. Upon her return, her father swore at her: "Where have you been, you ingrate? You didn't write or call, not once."

The girl, crying, replied: "(sniff, sniff)...Dad, I became a prostitute."

"What??," says Dad. "Out of here, you harlot. You're a disgrace to your family. I never want to see you again."

"Okay, Dad. Would you please just give this deed for a luxury mansion to Mom, along with this savings certificate for $5 million? And give this Rolex to Rodney? And, for you, the new Merecedes convertible that's parked outside?"

Dad says, "Now hold on. What did you say you became?"

The girl replies, "(sniff, sniff) A prostitute."

"Oh lordy," says Dad. "You scared the bejesus out of me, girl! I thought you said 'a Protestant.' Come here and give your old man a hug."

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My favorite word today is bombast. N., can you hear me now? Def.: Talking loudly to the foreigners, hoping they will understand you better.

Yoopee

You all remember when my wife died, last November? Well, this has also happened to a buddy of mine, Bud Avery, who lives in the Upper Peninsula (Yoopee) of Michigan. WAY UP in the Yoopee, almost all the way to Lake Superior, where they still got 5 feet of snow.

Bud is the stepfather of my buddy Vicki. He doesn't b**g, but Vicki keeps him informed. But now Vicki has come up with the sads. And, of course, Bud has it, too, because his wife only died about 11 days ago.

So Ol' Hoss is going to fly to the Yoopee on April 6 and visit with Ol' Bud for awhile. Think of it: Two widowers with nothing to do but reminisce -- and then, maybe, chortle and chuckle. And sleep, which makes time go fast.

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So two Irishmen are the only survivors in a shipwreck. Floating helplessly in a lifeboat they come across a lamp floating in the ocean. Mickey reaches out, grabs the lamp, and after rubbing it for awhile a genie appears. The genie says, "You are granted one wish."

Paddy yells, "Make the whole ocean into the best-tasting beer ever." And with a thunderous crash the ocean becomes the finest brew known to man.

With the suds gently lapping against the sides of the boat, Mickey with an angry roar yells, "Oh! That's great. Now we have to piss in the boat."

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My favorite word today is repeater. N., and a-one and a-two. Def.: The person who tells his favorite joke again in the vain hope that you didn't hear it the first time.

How About Some New News?

I am pretty sure I haven't told you about this, but I need to Make My Pile. I guess I haven't really told anybody, because it's a little shameful to be needing money so bad. But I have to tell you, especially those of you who own elephants.

See, what's happening is that I don't have long to live (11+ months, according to the fakir doctor I have), so I need to decide pretty soon what kind of reincarnation I'm going to have. And right now, it looks like the elephant has the upper nose. Elephants grow to be about 100, which is a pretty ripe old age. Bristlecone pines are known to reach about 4,000 years, but that comes without a lot of orgasms.

So, if any of you elephant owners can put me in touch with the reincarnation people, just shoot me an email. Or just put it in the comments: I guess it's not a secret, anymore.

To get the money I'm going to need to Make My Pile, I think I will start an insurance company. And not just ANY insurance company, but one that nobody has thought of yet: Insurance for what you don't have insurance for.

Think of it: Insurance against polio, chicken pox, leprosy and elephantiasis. I know nobody in the U.S. gets these anymore, but that's just the point: WHAT IF? A guy can't have too much insurance.

And not only that, but what about insurance against AIDS? This will look good in the ads, even though to get paid you need to be some kind of strange. See, to collect you will have to prove you didn't enjoy getting it. Take that, homos.

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My favorite word today is ghost. N., woo, woo. Def.: The guy who steals one sock out of your dryer.

No Place Like Home

All the Catholic facilities were full, so they put their Mexican Grandpa in a Jewish home. After a few weeks, they returned to see how he was getting along.

"How do you like it here?" asked the grandson. "Oh, it's wonderful," says Grandpa. "Let me tell you about it.

"We have a musician here -- he's 85. He hasn't played in 20 years, and they still call him Maestro. We have a physician here -- he's 90 years old. He hasn't been practicing for 25 years, and everybody still calls him Doctor. And me -- I haven't had sex for 35 years and they still call me The F**king Mexican."

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Sign in a Plastic Surgeon's office: "Can we pick your nose?"

Sign in a Gynecologist's office: "Dr. Jones at your cervix."

Sign at a Proctologist's office: "Please back in for expedited service."

(All these and more are at Peskie's place.)

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My favorite word today is brilliant. Adj., a regular smart-ass. Def.: Descriptive of a guy who never thinks of the Lone Ranger when "The William Tell Overture" comes on.

Short Shrift Sunday #19

So apologies all around. I have not been able to visit many of you lately because my computer is/was defunct. So I have been going to Dell, MSN, Microsoft, regular daisy chain trying for a fix. I DIDN'T NEED A FIX!! Somebody decided to "upgrade" my system without telling me. I don't hate computers. But that buddy of mine, Little Billy Gates, better watch out...

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So the newspaper guy asks the Spaniard, "Tell me, what is really meant by 'manana'?" The Spaniard says, "Oh, it means many things. It means tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, maybe never."

He turns to the Irishman and says, "Do you have a word like that?"

"No," says the Irishman. "We have no word to describe that degree of urgency." (--Stolen from Mar.)

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My favorite word today is cat (again). N., in a hat. Def.: A puzzle for which there is no solution. (--Hazel Nicholson.)

Short Shrift Saturday #19

Isn't this nice?

I have seen some of these "word cloud" dudes before, but never got mine done until my pal Vicki did one. And the only reason I did it was because she got ALL the members of her family in her "cloud": Bud, snarl (Abby), Rich, Vicki, Mom, Daniel. (I got Feelgood and Vicki in mine; who could want anything more?)

Vicki says she is "well," after the death of her Mother. Probably not, but all of us love her, so we'll give her the benefit of the non-doubt.

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This here is my buddy on Staten Island, Babs (Jen). I am running this picture so you'll know what she looks like, so the next time she refers to herself as a "hag" or a "misfit," you will know she is lying.

But MOSTLY I am running this so you can see her teeth. Babs is, like me, dentureless, and so we got dentures. We both made out real pretty.

Babs also is my epileptic buddy. Scientists call this "too bad." But we love her, anyway.

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My favorite word today is me. N., helluva guy. Def.: Something well worth writing about.

Bathtubs Can Be Appealing, I Guess

This is St. Patrick's Day. Big deal. I'm French.

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Here are things I know a lot about: how to spell "February"; gooseberries; some things that you don't care about. Which takes us right to bathtubs.

When I was a kid (circa 1930s) we didn't know about showers. We also didn't know about bathtubs. Living at 736 Florida St. in Bend, Ore., my brother and I would get a bath in a galvanized tub each Saturday. I don't ever recall fighting over who got to go first. Since it was a bum deal, we probably fought over who got to go last.

So, anyway, we moved to a house that had a bathtub. Do you know you can get just as dirty taking a bath as if you didn't take one? My favorite word today is bathtub. N., strange place to be. Def.: Place to redistribute dirt.

Later, houses had bathtubs with showers in them. Too many people cracked their skulls taking showers in bathtubs, so they put some strips on the tub so your feet could get a grip. But then nobody wanted to sit on these things, so bathtubs became extinguished.

So now houses come with no bathtubs at all. This is probably not the best time to be an expert about bathtubs.

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A dog goes into a hardware store and says, "How about a job?"

The owner says, "Nah, get outta here. Go join the circus."

Dog: "What would the circus want with a plumber?" --(Courtesy of Milt Bogs.)

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My favorite phrase today is in conclusion. Adj., wrapping it up. Def.: The audience stirs.

Way Way Back in the Day

Okay, here's what my late Mom says:

"The Maudlins lived in the Northern District (of France), as the people who live there are predominately of the tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed type..."

All you short, brunette, brown-eyed people are probably from Macedonia or Irkutsk.

What my Mom was doing was "Researching the Maudlin Family History," which -- as best as she could figure -- started in about 1550, when some bo peep of ours crossed over to England. But we do not know who what when where why or how of anybody else until we see Ezekiel the 1st settling in North Carolina. For the rest of the story, we will pick up from my North Carolina buddy Judy:

"Hoss, I don't know what the hell you're talking about...."

Moving right along, "maudlin" was a girl's name (Little Maud) frequently used in England in the 16th Century. It derives, as does the family name, from the Anglo-French pronunciation of Magdelene as Maudlin. Somehow, some way, the name got associated with drunkenness, which led Caleb Maudlin (8th generation) to change the spelling to Mauldin. So, Bill Mauldin is a drunk, just like the rest of us.

In the early 1800's, some of the Maudlins moved to Indiana. I am pretty sure that Mamacita, who lives in Indiana, has the rest of that story:

"Hoss, you ape."

In February, 1876, Lucinda Maudlin wed Lawson Hollingsworth. One of their sons became the first Postmaster of Pasadena, Calif., and his brother was the second. Raehan, who lives in California, will be filling us in:

"Hoss, scientists call this 'too bad.'"

From 1916 to 1926, one Lloyd Maudlin served as the first Postmaster of Maudlin, Montana. Today there is nothing left of Maudlin, Montana. Not a brick, not a board. And I don't have a single reader from Montana, so you can just forget the rest of the story.

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My favorite word today is tasteless. V., oh so bad. Def.: You discover -- too late -- that someone used your beer for an ashtray.

I Had a Dream, Dear

This is about the fifth weird dream I have had that is worthy of a Freudian post. See, I will tell it, and you will interpret it:

I am part of a two-man team that has been assigned to find a new Admiral for the Oregon Navy. The Governor did not like any of the obvious candidates -- Gordon "Sinksboats" Scullery and Ransom "Heave-Plenty" Capstan.

(Oregon does not have a navy. But neither does Nebraska.)

My superior is upstairs talking to the Governor when in walks this lady wearing jodhpurs, carrying a crop, and with high-top army boots. I say to my secretary, "And prithee, who is THAT?" He says, "THAT is Big Rear Admiral Josephine Navybrat. She is in charge of our wild horses program."

Hoss: "Has she ever been on a boat?"

Secretary: "Why I believe she owns one -- an 8-footer. I believe it's called a 'punt'."

(Now, you see, in real life Hoss would have said, "What the hell are we doing with a wild horses program?" And my secretary would have said something like, "Well, we don't have any boats, so it gives the employees something to do.")

I don't know if this dream means anything, but upon reflection it has the makings of a pretty good movie. Just think of it: Navy guys mounting horses. (Ho ho har de har har. I crack myself up.)

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So, this Avon lady enters the elevator and -- hoo boy -- she passes big gas. She is well-armed for the event: She opens her sample case and tries to spray away the odor.

Two floors up, a gentleman enters the car. She, confident that her spray job has done the trick, says to the guy, "Do you smell anything?" And he says, "Yes, it smells like somebody has crapped in a pine tree."

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My favorite word today is Moses. N., the wilderness guy. Def.: The travel agent who warns you about a foreign city's armpit to show you how valuable he is to have along.

Where Have You Been, Feelgood?

I don't get out much -- but it seems like that damn Feelgood Haines knows just when it will be. I put off going for the mail until 4 p.m., quiet as a mouse, when I hear:

"Hold on there, Hoss."

I told him: "Just goin' for the mail, Feelgood, nice to see you and goodbye."

Of course, by now, Feelgood has blocked the path to the mailboxes because he KNOWS I am underfed, historically. (Mr. Haines is the reigning chieftain when it comes to tales historic.)

Feelgood: "Start chanting 'By the shorts of gitchiegummie' and what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

Ol' Hoss: "Thailand?"

Feelgood: "I didn't slow you down to banter. This is good for you to know in case you ever need to know about American history, which I think you know you do."

Hoss: "Okay, Feelgood, lay it on me."

Feelgood: "What you think of is Pocohontas, a.k.a. Matoaka, which nobody uses on accounta it is a slippery word. And the thing is, Poco didn't have a damn thing to do with it. See, she was a Pontiack, and the gitchigummies lived someplace else and drove Hondas. You probably want to know where, so I'll have to look it up for you." (All of these are paintings of Pocohantas -- or none of them is.)

Hoss: "Oh I would be SO in your debt...."

Feelgood: "So then Pocohontas saved Capt. John Smith from being head-bashed, then she got herself captured, then she got religion, then she married John Rolfe, who developed Virginia tobacco. See how it's goin' here, Hoss? Huh? Thanks a lot, bitch."

Hoss: "I don't get it."

Feelgood: "Sure you do. If Poco hadn't wanted to go to England, John Rolfe wouldn't have needed a lot of dough which he got from developing tobacco, which is what is wrong with your lungs, you dodo. And the worst thing is that Pocohontas means 'playful one.' My ass."

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When Slick Willy and Dubya get together, what happens next? Go here. (Stolen from Miss Cellania.)

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My favorite word today is warmup. Adj., wonder buns. Def.: The odd feeling you get when sitting on a seat still warm from someone else's bottom.

To Soothe the Savage Chicken Breasts

It has now been one year since I quit smoking. I don't feel any better. My doctor says that's because I quit too late. Hah, all he knows. I am 75 and 164/365ths, which is plenty past 70, which is what the Bible says you get. So gimme a butt.

Nah. Maybe later.

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I am pretty good at Memes, except music. So, naturally, Boo has laid on me this one about seven songs I am currently jiving. Hah, fat chance. I don't think I have listened to seven songs in my whole life. Let's see:

1. "Take an Old Cold Tater and Wait." We have heard about this one before. It is a philosophi-
cal recita-
tion on a wasted life in the Idaho free-range potato fields. Strangely, it is mostly about chicken.

2. "Three Little Fishies." This monumental work concerns removal of an earth dam on the lower end of the Colorado River. There is never any water where the dam is. I don't know what this song has to do with fish.

3. "The Star-Spangled Banner." This is a takeoff on a British drinking song. It starts out with much ado about rockets and such, then segues right into a paean about braves and other Indians. People without three octaves in their portfolio probably will want to give this one a miss.

4. "Long Gone With the Wind and the Rain." This is a song yet to be written. It will be the theme for a movie of the same name, which I will have ready for the next Academy Awards. The movie is about Darth Vader trying to get into Demi Moore's pants. In Take 5, he is still too short.

There, that's seven.

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"Why is it when folks talk to God it is praying, but when God talks to you, you're crazy?" --Peskie.

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My favorite word today is smooth. Adj., you sly dog. Def.: Descriptive of young men who stand around smiling as if to suggest they know the bride quite well.

Short Shrift Sunday #18

The old man cuts the hamburger in two and gives one half to his wife. He then counts out the french fries, and gives her exactly half. He puts the soft drink between them, and they each take a sip. Then he begins to eat.

A young man comes over to the table and offers to buy another entree for them. "No thanks," said she. "We are used to sharing everything."

The old man finishes off his meal; his wife had not taken a bite. He wipes his lips with the napkin. The young man comes over again and says to the lady, "Um, what are you waiting for?"

"The teeth."

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For a video explaining what amuses old people, go here.

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My favorite word today is cat. N., an unanswered puzzle. Def.: A thing that teaches us not everything in nature has a purpose. --Garrison Keillor.