Bring your wife along; no extra charge

Well, here it is October, the eighth month of the Roman calendar. Until the politicians started fooling with the calendar. And, among other things, October celebrated old men and, and, well, young ladies of a sort.

Of course, we old poots are like old bankers. Old bankers never die, you know, they just lose interest.

As far as men are concerned losing interest is the number one killer of retirees. They do a Bear Bryant, retire one month, die the next. Of course, you and I don’t fall into that category.

Computer uses have a much more varied range of interests. More than most of us can afford and most of them harmless, but not all. I knew a feeble old guy who smiled at a sweet young thing and five thousand bucks worth of wining and dining later had something that was hard to cure.

A young wife who liked to be wined and dined in all the most expensive spots. And to hear his tale of woe he didn’t even get enough snuggling to make it worth the first date. But we better not talk about that!

One of our European allies don’t seem to respect our President. Polish President Komorowski got his knickers in a wad, you know. Bush, I mean Obama, called him Merkel. Komorowski called Bush, I mean Obama, a pantywaist.

And Germany’s Angela Merkel said the American foreign policy can be summed up in three words. Grovel and apologize.

The practical Czechs are making money out of political disaffection, though. They have a gallery in downtown Prague with pictures of the world leaders and Czech legislators up on the walls. For a few cents each you can shoot them with an air rifle. Some of the least popular politicians pictures must be replaced every day. Twice a day in Obama’s case.

But you know, we should offer politicians at least sympathy. It must be tough, trying to create a legacy. The presidents who actually left a legacy did it without trying, by doing the good that came naturally to them. The rest? Every hear of Warren G. Harding? Outside a history book?

Not to change the subject, but we have snow snowing in places it has never snowed before.

Speaking of weather of a sort, Ol’ Sol has been remarkably free of any freckles or other disturbances lately. The 10.7 mHz solar flux is up slightly, but that is the only sign of an uptick in Solar Cycle 24. Hopefully solar smallpox will begin just any day now, but there is no guarantee of that.

And some boffins say the Earth’s magnetic field is about to flip so all the compass needles will point to the South Magnetic Pole. And the South end of the needle will point north. Which will be a good excuse to emulate Doug Corrigan and take the short way home. Around the world.

Now, one thing to watch out for is if this cycle turns out to be a dud. It will be cooler than normal until solar activity turns up again. And if solar activity stays low long enough we will have another Maunder minimum. Or an ice age. Depending on the length of time solar activity is depressed.

Which is what the generation of boffins before Maunder called “the little ice age.” And what the folks who lived through it called frozen hell. That was when the northmen abandoned Greenland and half the population of Europe starved to death.

A bad time to live through. If the sun does not break out in spots pretty soon it would be a good time to lay in seven years provisions. Or seven times seven!

And if we don’t get sunspots, propagation and DXing will stay poor. Speaking of DXing, are you thinking about a DXpedition? A bargain cruise outfit put a FAX on my office machine advertising Caribbean cruises that cracked my sales ladies up.

Among other things it claims “A typical day might start with a genital stretch-and-tone session on the Sun Deck.” I suspect this masterpiece was written by a congenital idiot or a newspaper editor, but I repeat myself. Anyhow, I have been waiting to see if any of the ladies in my crew takes their hubby on that cruise.

For another thing to worry about, the paper sez that in Kent, England, planners are running out of burial plots in Gravesend.

Out in Nevada the good residents of Tuscarora are proving insects have good taste. Musical taste. The town gets invaded by Mormon Crickets every year, so the Tuscarorans retaliate with boom boxes. Tuned to a rock and roll station. The crickets don’t like the Dead, LED Zeppelin or the Stones. They leave when the “music” starts.

And Wal Mart has been busted. At least, the drivers who deliver prescription drugs to their pharmacies have. Illegal aliens. On the road at up to 97 MPH with a half million bucks worth of prescription drugs. I guess that’s what you call “containing costs.”

Of course, Janet Napolitano, the ex homeland security head and groper in chief for the Obama regime, says it’s not aainst our laws to sneak across our border.

Janey also says Christians, veterans, and hunters are terrorists. As is everyone else except Muslims and Al Qaeda members. According to Janey.

Oh well, closer to home I see the local police have arrested some professional ladies. The worlds oldest profession. And from the pix in the local fishwrapper, the HPD nabbed six of the worlds oldest professional ladies. A hundred years ago, the press referred to those women as “soiled doves.” Looks to me like that bunch were spoiled doves.

Speaking of the ladies of the oldest profession, I see the economic downturn has hit the ladies of the evening quite hard. Up in British Columbia one of the girls has taken up residence in a dumpster. She was arrested – for talking trash to a Mountie!

A stripper impersonated a woman at a party. No joke! That’s what the headline says!

A Los Angeles soiled dove has staked out a cote in four units in a Porta-Potty farm. One is her private wardrobe, one is her private bedroom, and she entertains in a third. The fourth? She has a fridge, a hotplate, and a microwave stashed in the fourth. That makes it an in-and-out diner.

The ladies are finding the economy tough in Europe, as well. Der Speigel says the German Johns are getting really tight. Customers who used to come by three or four times a week only come by once or twice now. And clients demand all the extras for no extra charge. Several German houses are offering free shuttle buses, discounts for seniors and taxi drivers, a free round of golf with every visit, plus loyalty cards.

A Hamburg establishment offers a special day rate of only Eu 38.50. And a Berlin house is advertising a really special deal. Eight hours during the day for 70 Euro. Nine to five, with a catered dinner, for about $100 American. And you can bring your wife along at no extra charge.

Twofers in a cat house! What is this world coming to?


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I’ve Spent All Me Tin

A few minutes that could have been well spen in a Dublin Pub;


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Tomorrow Is The Start Of The Eighth Month…

In the Roman calendar, before a couple of rulers named Julio et Augustus decided they needed to declare their godhood with months named after themselves. So they shoehorned July and August in the calendar and the dog days come a couple of months early.

And now we are almost in the tenth month of our modern, illogical, politicized calendar. It should be getting cool, but but most of the coolth is still up north.

At least it turned cool enough early enough to keep the late season him and her-icanes away. Which was very good. Durned if I am not tired of those things. I don’t know which is worse. Hurricanes or blizzards.

Given a choice between being frozen to death or blown away – I pass! Tornados are bad enough but they don’t tear up a whole state. Hurricanes do! And blizzards can sure freeze a whole state. Been there and done that. Both, or all three, actually, but on the whole I think I prefer tornados. Blizzards are for the birds.

Where I come from, one minute it’s bluebird weather and the next the snowflakes are flying, and the ducks are frozen into the stock pond. A a few minutes after that the power goes off and stays off for the duration.

You better know some good card games and have plenty of coal for your cannonball heater. Because you are going to be there for a while, so unless you have plenty of fuel, plenty of food, and some good companionship you will be in trouble.

Reminds me of Pike Williamson. Pike and his bride celebrated the big 60 years of living together back in ’52. Somebody asked Pike why their marriage had lasted that long.

“A prairie winter is a good time for a honeymoon. You stay cooped up in a ten by twelve shanty for five months with a woman and you will either stick with her for life or never want to see her again.”

The only thing worse than waiting out a blizzard was waiting on a pay telephone. You remember telephone booths. Those wooden boxes that were always arranged so the door was on the other side from where you were. I always figured they built them on swivels, with an automatic gadget to make the back point in your direction. So you couldn’t tell whether they were occupied.

Whether they were occupied! They were never occupied unless you were in desperate need of one. And when you needed one they were always occupied. Of course, the occupants were not always putting the booth to it’s intended use. But they always seemed to get relief, one way or the other.

I suppose that’s why they had those aluminum contraptions by the side of the street, instead. Now, the old rotary pay phones almost always worked. But those new style punch button phones were on the Civil Service plan. Only about one in five worked.

I think that accounts for the popularity of cell phones. Pay phones are hard to find, and they mostly don’t work. And you aren’t out of trouble even if you do find a phone that works.

Some folks claim the art of conversation is dead – but they have never seen a teenage boy talking to his crush on a pay phone. You need to make a call, urgent, gotta call the office or you got a customer waiting on you.

Find a telephone. Teenager grabs it before you can get to it. Drops a quarter in the slot. Dial. Leans against the booth. Waits. Then it’s talk, talk, talk. The only break in the action is when he scratches his behind or pops a pimple or two.

You know that drill. Kid reaches up and squeezes one of the acorn size lumps on his cheeks. Pus sprays all over the receiver, but he’s oblivious. If he notices he’s left anything on the phone he just rubs it until it doesn’t show.

But you drove twenty miles and spent the better part of an hour finding this phone – so you are going to wait him out. He can’t talk forever. You think.

Thirty minutes and he finally moves something besides his jaw. He shifts the receiver from one ear to the other. And it starts all over again. After another half hour he shifts back to the other ear.

I will have to admit cell phones have their place. But it gets mighty scary when you meet a Lincoln Navigator on your side of the road, and as you sail into the ditch see the driver has a cell phone stuck in her ear.

Oh well! The British edition of news of the weird says a British comic has come to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Railroad employees put a 75 year old woman on the wrong train to the right place – and the conductor demanded she buy a $230.00 ticket or get off the half empty train and wait by the track for her proper ride.

The comic quickly passed a paper sack around and collected enough for the fare. Proving that no good deed goes unpunished, the comic was apprehended for begging.
And if you have found 21,009 lost cattle, the British Home Office would like a ring up. Whitehall has lost them and cannot seem to find them anywhere. Do you suppose they are with Bo Peep?

At any rate the Nanny State cannot even properly cow sit. I suppose they never heard of a round up, either. Maybe because it’s so hard to take your dallies on an English saddle. No horn, short stirrups, and darn near no cantle!

A butcher in Barking, I suppose that should be a Barking Butcher, an interesting mental picture, has been cited for excessive noise while chopping his wares. The cleaver and saw disturb his neighbors. Who moved into the area knowing of the noise from the shop. The chop shop owner says he’s emigrating.

An Islington (Lunnon) fish n’ chip shop owner is outraged at the parking po-leece. He has leased a private parking spot and the meter maids keep ticketing him for parking in his leased space. So he’s charging the parking wardens an extra ten percent – and making them wait 30 minutes extra for their order. It has not affected his business, parking po-leece are paid by the hour, whether they are parked or not. Nice work that, if you can get it.

And a 12 year young London kid has been fined 100 pounds for sick in the street. He says he was too far from the dustbin to make it before he had to – the parking coppers say it was only a few steps. So he has to pay – and Mama is checking out jobs and housing in Brisbane. At this rate there will be no Brits left in England.

On this side of the pond, the Lone Star Towing Company of Dallas is accused of hiring parking attendants to collect ten bucks and flag Texas State Fair-goers into various private lots until they were full. And then erecting “no parking” signs and towing the vehicles. That’s pretty good work, ten bucks to park and another two hundred to get your car back. With a five hour wait in line for the paperwork.

Which reminds me that there are four kinds of homicide. Murder, manslaughter, self defence, and commendable. Seems like that park n’ tow scam should come under commendable.

Back in 1948, Hugo Gernsback’s Radio Craft published an article about rockets. One of Von Braun’s cohorts wanted to give rocket fuel a high negative charge, attracting the charged fuel toward a positively charged screen, resulting in MUCH higher exhaust velocities than conventional rockets. As in 3 to 5 Km per second up.

Since thrust is the product of efflux mass X efflux velocity, such an engine could deliver much more thrust with much less fuel. A Canuck outfit has just demonstrated the first working model. Maybe we will not need that space elevator after all.

Also on the science front, a new bacteria has been found. Candidates Desulphorudis lives 3 Kliks down in the rocks of a South African goldmine – and is unique in that a DNA check finds it has no terrestrial relatives. Plus, C. desulphorudis is completely alone in its alien environment. T’ boffins claim it’s DNA is so strange it might be an alien life form – or a model for one.

Another new deep rock bug, D. Auxivator, gets its energy from radioactive decay in the rocks around it. It converts CO2 into oxygen and carbon, and leaches nitrogen out of the environment. This tough bug has the capacity to make everything it needs to live from the rocks it lives in.

Oh, the Tranquility Lodge of the Free Masons is discussing a meeting. The Tranquility Lodge has been meeting at random Lodges across Texas, but they want to meet in their own lodge. Located spang in the middle of Mare Tranquilitis, the Sea of Tranquility.

And yes, that Tranquilitis is on the Moon. Buzz Aldrin claimed the Moon for the Texas Lodge back in 1969, so other lodges that wish to stake out a satellite territory will have to take it up with the Big Hat boys from the Lone Star State.


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A Midsummer Night’s Dream



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Monitor Lizard Fails To Explode

Well, here it is almost October again. Same old same old, election year is here and if you believe the political commercials there’s a polecat running against a weasel for every elected office in the country.

Kinda’ ‘minds me of the fellow who was way ahead of the Guv in the polls. So the Guv’s campaign started the rumor mill going full blast. One of the leading candidate’s campaign workers wired his man “Rumor here your children have not been baptized. Please wire denial, soonest.”

“I regret to inform you rumor is true. I have no children,” was the reply. And telling tales is typical of how poly-ticks is played in the You Ess of Aye.

Truth be told – as long as they are out of office most of the candidates are pretty decent folks. Once they get elected they become typical politicians, and you know how those are. Before the election they work their gums and after the election they gum up the works.

Some of the candidates have really strange opinions, though. Many of them think there’s no wrong time to raise taxes and no limit to the amount of taxes “the rich” can pay, “rich” being defined as anyone with a full belly and a warm place to sleep. And that crowd thinks the best way to put Americans back to work is to export their jobs.

Unfortunately, the people with the weird ideas are in charge of MY political party. I haven’t changed parties, but my party has moved off and left me. Thanks to a combination of “internationalists,” ivory tower Marxists, assorted drunks, roues, overage boy scouts, fellow travelers, fifth columnists, and children of wealth and influence who have wormed their way into control of the party. Some of them are all of the above, by the way.

Not one of that bunch of buncombe artists has ever done anything, but every last one of the herd thinks nobody knows anything about anything except another card carrying Fascist.

‘At’s all right. What goes around comes around – and they will get theirs sooner or later. Probably just as soon as the poor discover their supposed champions are miring them in perpetual poverty.

Jim brought me a church bulletin that pretty well explains the difference between the two parties, though. According to this a woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost.

Looking around, she saw a man in a boat, so she let out hot air to lower her balloon. When she was low enough she leaned out of the basket and shouted at the man. “Excuse me, can you help me? I promised my friend I would meet him an hour ago but I don’t know where I am.”

The boat man looked at his portable GPS and said “You are about thirty feet above the water which is at an elevation of 2,346 feet above mean sea level. You are at 32 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 72 degrees, 52.09 minutes west longitude.”

She rolled her eyes and shouted “You must be a Republican.”

“I am,” said the man, “But how did you know?”

“Well,” shouted the woman, “I am sure everything you told me is correct but I have no idea what to make of your information and I’m still lost. Frankly, you have not been much help to me.”

The boater smiled and shouted “You must be a Democrat.”

“Yes I am,” the woman replied, “But how did YOU know?”

“Easy,” said the man in the boat, “You don’t know where you are or where you are going. If you knew where you are you have no control over your direction or speed. You have gotten where you are because of a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise you have no idea how to keep, and you expect ME to solve your problem. You are in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but somehow it’s become MY fault!”

But anyhow, the weather has been right nice. A little cool in the morning and a little warm, up in the day. And the threat of tropical storms seems to have gone away as well.

But turkey day will soon be here, followed by that great commercial extravaganza called Christmas. I sure wish Santa would make his run December 28 or 29. So we could take advantage of all the after Christmas sales for the stuff under the tree.

Or X-mas as they want to call it. You know, the first time I saw Xmas I misread it. I thought it said Xmis and I started looking around for a girl to kiss.

But the snow’s been flying out west, and up north, early. Earlier than average anyhoo. I dunno if that means we are going to have a hard winter or not, but the Old Farmers Almanac sez we are in for a real whiz-bang sort of winter. So maybe this will be the winter we get to go skiing and use the Gulf for a landing spot. Or maybe not.

Hmm, between political commercials I hear somebody lost his cell phone down a subway car toilet. And ran his arm down the hole to retrieve it from the holding tank, no less!! They had to stop the subway system and cut the john out of the john. Took two hours!

I bet the hamburger joints wondered where their lunch time customers were. Stuck on the subway, waiting on the train to move. And if the marooned passengers knew why they were stuck mighty few would have any appetite left for lunch. Imagine USING that cell phone after it came out of the tank! PEEEYOU!

And while I was watching that story in amazement, I noticed PETA is outraged over the South Carolina Fish and Wildlife people’s latest campaign for kids. It’s called “shoot doves, not drugs,” and PETA is livid.

And a quick look-see at the crime statistics in some Aussie papers turned up some interesting headlines. To wit…

“Department of Health Postgraduate Training in Child Abuse”

“Crash Lorry Driver Braked Two Hard”

“New Move to Stop Baptism of Dead”

And one of my favorite headlines

“Monitor Lizard Fails to Explode in MP’s Toilet”

Now, all we need is explody monitor lizards!

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The Boffins Say Watching This Will Add One Day To Your Life

‘S true. The boffins say one minute of watching a pretty girl strutting her stuff will ad a day to a man’s life.

So watch already!


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Every Familiy Tree Has Rotten Limbs

Well – the radio is playing “Fijian Girl” and let’s see what develops here. Well, they have changed to “Two Little Boys” which reminds me of the time Old Man Tom Ott showed up at the quarter horse races with an eight year old paint stallion he called Johnny.

The old horse had never been raced so the bookies gave 100 to 1 odds on him. Old Tom promptly places his whole wad, more’n a thousand, on his stud. Which causes more’n some discussion. The thought of paying out more than a hundred grand on a horse nobody had a line on gave the bookies the jitters.

Come the start of the race Johnny was first out of the box and made it to the finish line about the time the pack was at the half way point. Naturally, the stewards and the bookies were mighty suspicious so they summon the owner to the offices for a conflab.

“You had this horse for eight years,” they wanted to know, “How come you never raced him before?”

“Well, to tell the truth,” sez Old Tom, sheepish like, “we couldn’t catch him until he was seven.”

He collected his money, too. Of course, Tom was another one of those old wolves you didn’t mess with too much. Yessir, that man was off the same bolt as Lane Cooter, Senior.

Although Lane Senior didn’t hold with gambling. Especially on horse races. He used to say there wasn’t a horse in the world that can go as fast as the money you bet on him.

Which is true. I heard a couple of guys in Omaha talking about the races at Ak-Sar-Ben.

“Did you have good luck at the races yesterday?” sez one.

“I sure did,” sez t’other. “I found a dime after the last race so I didn’t have to walk home.”

Of course, it depends a lot on your viewpoint. Elwyn Sproat used to swear he was down in the stables and he heard the horse that won the big stakes race bragging about it.

“And I not only won the race, I got two extra bales of hay. And brother, that ain’t money.”

If you have priced horse feed lately you know there is more truth than poetry to that statement!

Well – the ABC, Aussie Broadcasting, has changed to an interview. They are interviewing a Rupert Murdoch type moneybags
about how he made his fortune in opals.

“I nevah hesitate to give full credit to my wife for her invaluable assistance,” sez the mining magnate.

“You give your wife credit for your success?”

“Yes, I was curious to see if there was any income she cannot live beyond.”

I ‘spect that fellow would be easier in his mind if he’d been like Jimmy Ottar. Jimmy takes a gal for a ride, and asks her to marry him. And gets a laundry list of what the gal wants in a husband.

Jimmy takes it all in, turns his car around, and heads for her house. As he lets her out he sez “If I had all the qualities you want in a man I’d have proposed to someone else.”

Jimmy was pretty lucky, though. He was ready to get married so he proposed to Alice Townes the very next night. It was the shortest romance on record. He asked her “wilt though,” and she wilted.

Well, the radio is looking up! “The ladies of the harem of King Caractacus were just passing by.” If that won’t wake you up you might just as well mosey on down to funeral parlor and slide into a box.

Things were different back in King Caradoc’s, to give him his Anglicized name, time. Men were men and ladies were expected to be ladies. Nowadays women are expected to look like girls, think like men, work like dogs, and still behave like ladies.

Which, the behavior expected of ladies has also changed. But you can still find wives who spend two hours every night fixing their husband’s suppers. Some of the cans are tricky to open.

Of course, modern living is confusing. A friend of mine was puzzled the other day. He couldn’t tell whether his wife was coming or going. The only thing he knew was she had not been shopping. And wives aren’t the only family members that have changed.

A friend of mine was telling his college age son off for being just hard down lazy. “Son” he sez, “When I was your age I worked sixteen hours a day learning the machinists trade.”

“I’m very proud of you, Father,” sez the boy. “If it had not been for your ambition and perseverance, I might have had to do something like that myself!”

That boy’s grandfather just turned 88, and you talk about somebody being tighter than the paper on the wall! He was raising Cain about the price of groceries the other day. He insisted there is no reason at all to spend more’n ten bucks a week to feed a family. I remember those days, myself, but I do buy groceries occasionally.

“Can’t you persuade him,” his daughter in law asked his wife, “That he can’t take it with him?”

“Why, dear,” sez his wife, “I can’t even persuade him that someday he’s going.”

Geneology is all the rage these days. I knew an old boy that hired a private investigator to trace his ancestry. A few weeks later I asked him if he had heard from his private eye.

“He uncovered so much,” he sez, “That now I’m paying him hush money!”

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Gallin’ And Cutting Up Dido’s

Well, Red Ingle and Cinderella G. Stump are singin’ “Gallin’ and Cuttin’ Up Dido’s” on the radio. Never heard of Cinderella G. Stump? That’s Jo Stafford moonlighting for fun and money, one of the prettiest voices ever come along; singing hillbilly songs instead of the classic pop that made her famous. Jo Stafford was on contract – Cinderella G. Stump could work when t’ money was good.

Never heard of Red Ingle? Red was the musician who made Spike Jones. You heard of Spike Jones? Well – shucks! Have ye iver heerd of gallin’ and cuttin’ up didos? You have? Have you ever done any? I didn’t think you’d admit it. Like the first verse sez…

“Gallin’ and cuttin’ up didos/ does a man no end of no good/ The daughters of Eve have been man’s undoin’/ since Hades was as big as a gnat/ So when you start thinkin’ of doin’ some wooin’/ just paste these words in your hat/ If you want to be happy and healthy/ stop cuttin’ up didos and get to cuttin’ up wood.”

And the chorus goes “Cut out that drinking/ and cut out that smoking/ and cut out that gallin’/ and cut out that dancin’/ and cut out your heart and lay down and die.”

All things considered, it sounds pretty reasonable to me. I have done a little gallin’ in my time and enjoyed nearly every minute of it. As long as my money or credit lasted anyhoo. The next day was a different story!

Of course, a man is s’pozed to quit gallin’ when he gets to middle age. I been told middle age is when you would rather look at old cars, old guns, or old radios than pretty gals, but I haven’t got to that stage yet. I did give up gallin’ about sixty years ago. But I have fond memories and some of these gals bring it all back!

Shoot, a gal at the accountant’s office the other day might as well been wearing a coat of paint as those skin tights she had on. One thing for sure, she didn’t have any secret flaws in her figure! She got my attention, and a gal looks that good would git a rise out of a week old corpse, I garontee!

Now, a young feller or a good looking feller, he has to look at a pretty something real quick, you know. Because she’s looking back see if he’s looking back at she, and it is still rude to stare. Lookin’ slow will get a young feller in trouble, even if slaps up the side of the head are out of style.

But bein’ old and natural ugly, I get to look as long as I want ’cause she shore ain’t lookin’ to see if I’m lookin’! There is at least one compensation for antiquity. And in bein’ beat real hard with an ugly stick!

But gallin’ does make a boy cut didos and get in pickles. No matter how old the boy might be. And it’s been that way all through history.

You know the deal, he falls, she falls, Niagara Falls. And for a while they are so in love that when he takes out the garbage she carries her half.

The Harri, the Hittites, said “Love is like the ague. We all catch it.” Cicero asked “Of what use is love if you have no one to share it,” while Horace said “Where love is, no room is too small.” The French say “Three things cannot be hidden: coughing, poverty, and love.” Ben Franklin called love a tickling sensation around the heart that could be soothed but never scratched. True pearls of wisdom, every one.

But you take a young’un who has caught the love bug and Plato hit the condition on the head. “Love is a serious mental disease.” And it completely knocks any logic or reason completely out of the afflicted’s punkin’ haid. It will make them do things that get them in all sorts of trouble.

Like proposing matrimony and such. Sometimes offerin’ to trot in double harness is mighty fine. And sometimes even offering is a serious mistake.

Why, I read in the paper t’other day that a woman stabbed a man seven times for trying to hug her. T’ paper said that proved she wasn’t in favor of a free press. I figger it’s a case of floweritis. She’s just a touch-me-not.

Seriously, I never have understood the way marriage proposals work. The woman might as well propose to the man. Whether she does or not, her husband will claim she did! And if she asks him for a date he could be sure his attention would be appreciated. As it is, she looks, he looks, he asks, and more often than not, she slaps!

Yessir, some use the cactus defense. They draw blood if you ask. Of course, that’s not the only danger. Hugh Ellis Wyatt got to kissin’ a gal one time and her dog bit him on the leg. Took a big chunk out of his calf. And Hugh Ellis was so worked up he didn’t notice it until he got home.

Hugh Ellis, now, that single minded boy got around, some. They told a story about him taking Patsy Quillan to see Shane. On the way he asked her if she would like to park for a while after the show. Patsy wouldn’t say yes or no. So Hugh Ellis was doing his best to get on her sugar side before the evening was over.

“Patsy, you’re really beautiful,” he sez.

Patsy sez “Thank you, Hugh Ellis.”

“I never saw such pretty hair, either, Patsy.”

“Thank you, Hugh Ellis.”

“And your eyes are like deep blue lagoons, Patsy.”

“Thank you, Hugh Ellis.”

“And your lips are as red as berries and your teeth glisten like pearls.”

“Well, thank you, Hugh Ellis. But tell me one thing.”

“Yes, Patsy, anything.”

“Can you drive with one hand?”

“Of course I can, Honey,” sez Hugh Ellis, sticking out his right arm and scoochin’ over in the seat towards her.

“That’s good,” Patsy said as she eased closer to the door. “Wipe your mouth, you’re drooling.”

Patsy eventually married an real estate man from Columbus. I heard her tell her friend that he was just the sort of man she had been looking for all her life. “He’s tall, he’s dark, and he has some.”

Cash does enter into the romantic equation at times. Patsy was like that Hollywood starlet who broke off her engagement to a wealthy shoe manufacturer. “I saw him in a bathing suit and he looked so different without his wallet,” she explained.

Patsy had a sister, Jan, who had been going steady with a guy for several months. He took her to Won How’s Chinse eatery one night and asked her how she wanted her rice, boiled or fried.

“Thrown,” sez Jan, looking him straight in the eye. And you know, he still didn’t get it. She flat had to ask him.

Somebody asked the old boy why he went with Jan so long. “Because she’s the only girl who would go out with me,” he explains.

“Well,” asks the nosy parker, “Why in the world did you marry her?”

“Because she’s the only one who asked me.” That’s more common than you think. And it starts young, too.

Jan and Patsy had a little sister, Shirley. Shirley was racing around the yard with Billy Boyles hot after her. So Billy’s daddy told the boy to settle down.

“But she pinched me,” hollers Billy.

Shirley’s daddy called Shirley over and asked her why she had pinched Billy.”

“So he’d chase me, of course,” sez Shirley.

That thrown rice reminds me of the time I was a short order cook at the Toddle House on Yazoo Street in Jackson. I was second cook on the graveyard shift, and when I came on one night the first cook was darn near hot enough to fry burgers on top of his head.

Tom thought he was making time with a pretty librarian from the Main Library, which was across Yazoo, and fronted on North State. He’d picked the gal up when the library closed, walked her three blocks to the Lamar theater for a late feature, and walked her two blocks to her rooming house. Got her there about eleven.

They get to the front steps and the gal pulls out her key and starts inside without much more than a real short goodbye. So Tom hints he’d like to come in and chat for a while.

“Sorry, my roommates home,” sez the gal, like she’s not sorry a bit.

“What about this mat that says `Welcome?” sez Tom.

“I don’t think there’s room enough on that for both of us,” she said as she closed the door behind her. I heard that gal tell the head librarian a man wouldn’t get inside her door unless he spent at least twenty bucks on entertainment and fed her besides. But a good looking woman makes a man deaf so I kept my gob shet.

Tom was another guy who got around. One night the district manager came in and I was the only human in sight. So the manager gets all het up, starts hunting around and finds Tom and Kathy the
waitress plastered to each other in the ladies room.

“Explain this,” snaps the manager, “an’ dam quick, too.”

“It’s real simple,” sez Tom. “It’s break time and neither Kathy or I like coffee.”

Tom was about six six, and strong as an ox. Quick on the uptake, too. One night some dude came in drunk as a skunk and couldn’t get his steak cut up. He’d saw at it with the back of the knife, push it off his plate and gather it back up, and all sorts of things. Finally he hollers at Tom that his steak was too tough and he wanted another one. Tom walks over and leans down to where he was eye to eye with the offending sirloin.

“I’m sorry sir,” sez Tom. “We cannot replace this steak. You have already bent it.”

Tom was bad to gamble, too. He and I got off work one morning, just walked out the door at 8:00, when a manhole blew off and went rolling down Yazoo. Tom turns to me and sez “Five bucks it comes up heads.”

He got short of cash one time and took a second job in a flooring warehouse. His second day on the job the boss discovered there was a big craps game behind the stacks of tile. So the boss calls Tom in.

“Git back there and bust up that dice game,” the boss ordered.

Two hours later the boss was taking another tour and found even more men were shooting dice, and Tom was right in the middle of them. The boss walked on and then had Tom paged.

After a few minutes Tom showed with paper money running out of every pocket. “Tom, I told you to break up that dice game,” the boss snapped.

“Boss, I tried to,” sez Tom, “But I only had a dollar when I started.”

Tom didn’t stay a bachelor too long. He finally popped the question and Kathy accepted. So they go off to the jewelry store to buy a ring. After they picked out a set that fit their budget – they size diamonds in karats but this was sized extra small – Kathy asked what the best way to take care of a ring was.

“The best thing I have found,” sez the salesman, “Is to dip it in dishwater three times a day.”

Now, that reminds me of a fellow I worked with in KayCee. Jimmy was obsessed with the idea that you could make money guessing which horse would run fastest today. He had figured out a system where his whole family could live with absolutely no income. The only problem was that it didn’t work. But he tried to make it work. Oh how he tried!

He came to work one morning and braces the boss for a loan. “Boss, I just got to have a hundred bucks. My wife is sick and the doc says if I don’t put her in the hospital she will be dead by morning.”

“Well, Jimmy, I could loan you the money but I’m afraid you’d gamble it away.”

“Boss,” sez Jimmy, “You don’t understand. This is life and death. Gambling money I got.”

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The Ladies Have The Stack Smoking And The Drivers Rolling

A Scots take on a classic harmonica tune, and while the fiddler may be a “well oiled lady,” she’s doing a good job of tearing up the track. Her firelady on the drums is no slouch, either:


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I See By The Ppers October Is National Nude Month

Well, here it is almost October again, and it’s National Pecan Pie Month, along with Apple Pan Dowdy Month, Ice Cream Month, Unlucky for Weddings Month, and National Anti-Boredom Month.

And the second week of October, from the 11th to the 17th, is National Nude Recreation Week. Don’t ask me why they skipped a day, but Nude Recreation Week concludes with National Nude Day on the 18th!

Personally, while the thought of finding a comfortable seat along the Nude Day parade route is intriguing I have no interest in prancing around in the altogether. Besides, I think nude recreation should be shifted to a warmer month.

You could get chill blaines trying to do much of anything nude the second week of October.

Well, this old world is getting weirder and weirder. According to the news ( Swedish police are wondering what to do with a Frenchman with two asses. Reading further the two asses are named Nounou and Toutoune, and Jacques Abdulaziz has been wandering around Europe with his two pack animals. Good French name, Abdulaziz.

Reminds me of the high price of gas, though. You heard about the guy who went into a Wanna Sak and handed the clerk a fiver for gas. She passed just enough to smell and gave him a receipt.

Speaking of just enough, an Oregonian has repeated Lawn Chair Larry’s feat of going aloft in a lawn chair. I don’t think Kent Couch will get to 30,000 feet – but wanted to get to Idaho. To get in Guiness, of course. It worked, he has the record. For now.

Many Left Coasters are concerned this fall. Especially the politicians. Wildfires in Kali and the Big Sur have sharply cut the wacky weed acreage and by November Oregon may have recovered sufficiently to become a red state.

European boffins have taken a close look at the Odyssey and figured out that Octoober 16th is the 3,186 and a half year anniversary of the day Odysseus showed a bunch of suitors how to shoot bow. He gave the boys a demonstration of target practice, then made butts out of them. Butt being the right name for a target.

Yessir, Odysseus, or Ulysses if you prefer, used that mouthy crowd of suitors for target practice and filled them so full of arrows you could have used them for quivers. The hero of Troy strung a bow so stout none of the suitors could bend it. Then he lined up a bunch of bronze axes and put a single arrow through all of them. A mighty man was Odysseus, and if Homer can be trusted he had a mighty ham, too. Two of them, in fact.

Naturally, our media got it wrong. They claimed that was the date of the fall of Troy, when the Trojan Horse was taken into the city by the victorious Trojans. They really should have put “victorious” in quotes – because the Trojans lost that one, big time. As the “Iliad” explains.

The Odyssey tells of Odysseus’ journey home, the direct way. Around the world, ending with the demise of Penelope’s suitors. Homer used the astronomical events that dated the homecoming as tension heightening devices; the same as the tum de bum tum music and the squeaking door in a hard boiled detective movie.

Nothing new about the media getting it wrong, though. Our media always gets it wrong. In this case by only ten years. A mere trifle in the larger scheme of things. Its hard to say how much the media has declined in the last half century, but I see CBS Evening News has won the Edward R. Murrow award. And that Ed was spinning so fast in his grave his coffin caught fire.

Speaking of doing it wrong, an Aussie airline has been letting pilot trainees rent seat time piloting puddle jumper passenger flights. With the result you could expect. Wrong strip, came in hot, fifteen dead. I think the appropriate song would be “Ain’t gunna do that no mo’, no mo’.”

Well, I see that a few more Americans have discovered what passes for an education ain’t so much these days. You put on a funny hat, tread the boards to get your sheepskin, and whadda ya get? Another day older and still living with your parents basement. Or your grandparents outhouse.

Heck, the toob says two thirds of Americans think our schools need a radical upgrade. “That’s nearly one in four,” according to the talking head. And one of the major reasons is something I have been ranting about for three decades.

Plumb sorry textbooks. Texas had experts vet the schoolbooks the kids were supposed to use this year, and found a student would “learn” 186,000 incorrect “facts” between K and 12. Heck, most kids don’t learn 186,000 facts in twelve years so everything they learn is most likely wrong.

Anyhow, a Denver dude has set a new worlds record. 35 feet into a foot of water. In a kiddie wading pool. With a twelve inch thick memory foam pad under it to cushion the shock. He’s bruised but happy, ’cause he’s going to be in Guiness. Shades of Popeye!

On the science front, Wake Forest’s Dr. Zeng Cui thinks he has found a cure for cancer. All cancers. So far he has injected high potency immune cells called granulocytes from healthy young mice into mice suffering from cancer. Every last one of them recovered. And human granulocytes kill human cancers in the test tube. Next stop, human trials. Starting soon. Can’t come too quickly!

Speaking of health, the Vitamin D Institute webpage says we need 4,000 units of D a day. Twenty minutes of full sunshine each and every day – or ten 400 unit pills. And don’t avoid cholesterol, since D is converted from cholesterol in the skin. Can’t make D without cholesterol. Get your vitamins, or you will have all sorts of stuff you don’t want. Including a lily in your hand.

Speaking of lillies, back in nineteen ought four a young Weatherford Texas feller name of Obadiah Beane paid an Indian Medicine Man a quarter to tell him the secret of living a long life.

“Look at your food, see what you want,” said the Medicine Man. “Eat half.”

Must have been good advice, Mr. Obie was born in 1886, and died in 1994. That was probably a Comanche, although the Comanche were more apt to give white men curses than good advice. But eating just enough to prevent hunger is good advice. Now, if I could just do that!

Oh! Hanny’s Voorwerp is green instead of blue! Hanny is a Dutch schoolteacher, and she found a voorwerp. Like Phil Harris, Hanny found a – rap ta tap – “thing.” But instead of a blue thing, Hanny’s thing has turned out to be a green thing!

This startling news about Hanny’s discovery concerns an intergalactic object that looks like nothing so much as a frog about to gobble a galaxy. A bright green tree frog, with its legs in an odd place. But if it has to kick it’s way across the cosmos maybe that’s the best place. Because space is thinner than water.

Also in the Netherlands, a giraffe helped fifteen camels and an undetermined number of zebras, llamas, and potbellied pigs escape from a circus. Daddy Longneck kicked holes in their cages and they all took a little stroll “downtown.” They were easily rounded up because they all stayed in a herd. Betcha some Dutchers were startled to see a mixed herd of zebras, llamas, and potbellied pigs go by. Some of them probably thought the ganja was extra stout that day.

That reminds me of the day one of Cole Brothers Circus elephants pulled its picket pin and wandered away. About daylight the Comanche County Sheriff’s office got a call from an upset little old lady out Cache way reporting a big gray monster critter in her garden.

“What’s he doing in your garden,” asked the deputy.

“Ain’t gunna tell you, but git out here fast,” was the agitated answer.

“M’am,” sez the deputy, “I can’t send nobody if you can’t tell me why I am sending them.”

“Well, all right,” said the well seasoned citizen. “If you must know, the sumbitch’s a’pullin’ my turnips up with his tail and ramming them up his ass.”

Over on the weird side of the world an Aussie man was pinched for DUI. His blood alcohol content was six times the limit and he was wheeling down the fast land of a major highway. In his wheel chair, with no taillights, that is!

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