Well, PRM has some gal reading the news. So far her script has been an eclectic mix of circular reasoning, oxymoron’s, and non sequitur’s. The sort of mindless verbiage logicians abhor.
Her script reminds me of the guy in the nervous hospital who was up before the sanity board.
“Ah, Mr. Jones,” sez the head shrink, “What do you intend to do if you win your release?”
“I’m going home, and I’m going to the park and talk up the prettiest girl I can find. And when we get real friendly, when evening comes I’m going to take her down to the lake, and I’m going to hug her and kiss her tenderly, and talk her into taking her clothes off,” sez the inmate.
“You have been here five years, so that sounds pretty normal,” sez the shrink. “Do you have any other plans?”
“Yes,” sez the looney, “When I get her clothes off I’m going to grab her girdle and run back here just as fast as I can. And when I get here I’m going to use that girdle for a slingshot and bust out every window in this dam place.”
Yessir, compared to the script writer passing propaganda as “news,” that fellow was perfectly sane. Those writers have that poor parrot sounding as out of touch with reality as the gal who thought she had a touch of female trouble. She hadn’t “come ’round.” She was nauseous every morning. Her waistband was getting tight, too.
So her Doc scheduled her for a sonogram. After she was through the Doc turned to her and says “Mrs. Smith, you are going to be the mother of twins.”
“Oh, Doctor,” sez the gal, “That’s impossible. In the first place, I’m Miss Smith, not Mrs.. And in the second place, I never double date.”
No, that gal wasn’t too bright. Let me change the station to something, well, there’s Dylan Connerly’s Orchestra playing the “Four Stroke Flying Clog.” No, not what you think, the four stroke refers to an internal combustion engine. But it will do. If you had four fast feet you could even dance to it. At about 360 steps to the minute.
And Kritter K Kat is looking at me like “why didn’t you change stations hours ago.” I must say Kat’s got good taste in music. He likes it loud and fast.
Either that or that look means “I want another can of cat food.” You ever think about what dogs and cats think about people?
Pets are bound to think people are the greatest hunters in the world. We leave every morning and come back with all these wonderful cans full of delicious food! And when they hunt they have to deal with that yucky fur! But anyhoo….
Talking about dullards ‘minds me of a guy I used to work with. Mike wasn’t the sharpest knife in the rack either, not by no means. He ran across Doc Graves at the Owl’s lunch counter one day and braced him about his “trouble.”
“Doc, I got a problem and I sure would appreciate it if you’d give me something for it,” sez Mike.
“Well, if you let me examine you in my office I might be able to help. But what is the nature of your problem?”
“I keep dreaming I’m fooling around with one beautiful woman after another, Doc.”
“And you want me to give you something to stop your dreaming?” asked the Doc, more than a little incredulously.
“Hey-yell no!” exclaimed Mike. “I want something to keep me from waking up in the middle of the dream.”
Which reminds me of Jimmy Muirhead, who was a Cardinals fan par excellence. From April to September Jim ate and slept Cardinals baseball and Sand the Mayun Musial.
Jimmy and Whitey were in the Rexall talking to some of their buddies and Jimmy complained that all he dreamed about was baseball. He said he couldn’t do a good day’s work unless he got a night’s sleep, and he couldn’t get a good night sleep for dreaming about baseball.
“Well, go to sleep thinking about Rita Hayworth or somebody.” suggested Pills Pennington.
“What,” Jimmy hollers. “And let Musial take my turn at bat?”
Talking about Jimmy reminds me of how he got spliced, one night between dark thirty and daylight. It came on him real sudden, like.
Jimmy was sweet on Lois Parker, and Lois liked the idea a lot. So late nights Jimmy would park his Model A at Johnson’s line fence and walk a half mile to see his girl. That was so he didn’t wake the old folks, you know. Lois’d let him in and they would pile up in the parlor settee to do some serious smooching’ and cuddling’, when that was scandalous behavior.
Well, one July night Jimmy and Lois were all wrapped up in each other when Maw and Paw discovers them. So they send Lois to her room and as soon as she’s out of sight Paw gives Jimmy a choice. Take Lois to town and get hitched tonight, or never darken their door again.
Jimmy tries to hem and haw a little and gets kicked out. Jimmy decides to jump the fence at the side of the house and cut across the Parker pasture to his car. But being upset he forgets Parker’s prize bull! Jimmy gets about half way across that 40 and hears a snort. He looks up, and there’s a ton of beef with it’s head down headed his way.
Now, Jimmy being young and not at all stupid starts backpedaling. And the bull comes even faster. So Jimmy cuts and runs! All the time he’s setting an unofficial worlds record in the eighth of a mile dash for life, he’s thinking that the pasture fence ends at each side of the house. It’s further to a fence than to the house. If he can jump high enough and grab the kitchen roof he can swing himself up and save his neck.
He gets to the house, stretches to grab the roof, and the bull gives him a shot in the shorts that catapults him over the kitchen roof and through a second story bedroom window. Where Lois is settin’ bawling her eyes out because her folks have sent Jimmy packing.
Lois’jaw drops, and Jimmy, thinking fast, scrambles to his feet, gathers her up and sez he’s decided to take her daddy up on his offer. Lois decides she don’t need a lot of jawing, she needs a lifetime of Jimmy’s holding, and she’s years behind. So she don’t waste any time setting out to catch up.
Now, the old folks thought the racket from the bull hitting the kitchen and Jimmy hitting the floor was their tun of hard cider exploding in the cellar. So they run downstairs, find nothing, run back upstairs, see nothing, so Paw grabs the shotgun and they run up to Lois’ room.
They throw the door open and there’s Jimmy and Lois standing there holding each other. Before Paw can jack a shell in the chamber Jimmy sez “Mr. Parker, I think you got another son in the family.”
The JayPee wasn’t all that glad to be roused out but he did the job none the less. And I don’t know that Jimmy ever did tell Lois exactly how he made that flying leap through her window. After the initial shock was over he seemed happy about the deal, though.
But talking about Dr. Zebulon B. Graves, MD, reminds me of the very stylish and attractive gal who ran Doc Graves down in the Owl, while he was chatting with Marshal Smith and Johnny Cooper.
This partying gal was a pal of Virgie, the Owl’s night cashier, worked at the Vogue, looked good and knew it, and she was so pleasant and attractive Emmett and Ed were absolutely convinced every man needed a six pack of them. Personal, I am in favor of an excess of good things but even one night of getting sugar from six of those gals would have been overkill. But at least a man would be sure to die with a smile on his face.
Anyhoo, the gal thought she was whispering but all us coffee drinkers could hear her embarrassed question. “Doctor, did you find, er, uh, umm, a pair of, uh, oh dear, a pair of black lace step ins in your examination room?”
“Uh, no, Mrs, I have not,” sez the Doc, some surprised.
“Oh dear,” stammered the gal, blushing brighter and speaking louder. “I cannot think, oh dear oh dear, oh MY GOODNESS! I must have left them at the dentists!”
Doc Graves now, was one of several doctors and dentists who had offices in the Carter Building, upstairs over he Evans and Drummond drug store. ZB’s office was down the hall from another quack, er, doctor. Since I don’t know where this guy went I won’t call his name. Although I suspect Dennis Miller could call his name and tell where he went, after a little thought, maybe.
Anyhoo, this duck was more than a little peculiar. He complemented his patients about their looks. All his patients, as long as they were reasonably healthy. The Latins call that “throwing flowers,” like you might be interested in a much closer acquaintance. One of his gal patients told him he was quite a ladykiller.
“Beautiful lady, I make no distinction between the sexes.”
You can take that any way you want. But rumor had it he was the only Doctor in town who examined women’s chests with their bras on. I don’t know about that, but Lothar Hugghhes had tonsillitis and this drake made him pull his pants down.
Lothar said he got a real thorough examination, although he had no idea that a doctor could examine a tonsil from that end. Of course, there were other doctors in town with more conventional ideas.
There used to be an MD just off Hardy Street who kept offices in the front of his house. This dude insisted that every female patient strip at least to the waist. One gal stomped into the disrobing room and started taking her clothes off; fuming that she didn’t understand why she had to strip.
“I only came here because of my sinuses, and the Doctor told me to strip to the waist!” she exclaimed.
“You think you don’t understand,” said a completely naked woman sitting in a chair. “The doctor’s wife invited me over to play her new piano.”
Now, you understand this is Mississippi and our state bar association’s motto is “Jackpot Justice for All;” so I can’t call the names of living people. Or some dead ones, for that matter.
The story went around a few years ago one of the local medical types had a big society wedding in New Orleans, and the newlyweds took the train to Mobile on their honeymoon. When they checked in the hotel the Doc told the desk clerk he wanted a suite.
“Bridal?” asked the observant clerk.
“No,” blurted the new bride. “I’ll just hold on to his shoulders until I get the hang of it.”
But I just glanced at the tube and saw a face that reminds me of Bob Posey’s Uncle Jim. Bob was the oldest’s first born, and Jim was her youngest brother. So Bob and Jim were playmates.
Needles to say, Bob’s mama came from a big family. Nineteen kids in twenty some years. They said when Bob’s grandma went home with Jim the nurse hollered out “We’ll see you again next year.”
Bob’s grandma said “You won’t see me again. Me and my husband have finally figured out what causes ’em.”
Anyhoo, Bob got hitched as soon as he came back from Kaiser Bill’s war, WWI, but Jim bought a store and got busy gettin’ rich. And did. Even the Depression didn’t slow Jim down. It proves the adage that those with money can buy up the competition and make even more money, instead.
But when Hitler started talking war, Jim woke up to the fact he might be drafted, and he didn’t have an heir. So he decided to get hitched and remedy the omission.
But he was a little worried about it. He’d been so busy corralling all the coin in sight his romantic interludes had been a couple of visits a year to those houses with the red lights in front. And he hadn’t set the mattress on fire then.
Today, a man in Jims condition might consider seeing a doctor for a ration of those little blue pills. But in those days a man began to feel puny he visited a “clinic” that specialized in “glands.”
Polite folks said the absent one had gone to get his glands checked. The snide ones said he was after a set of “goat glands.” Or “monkey glands” if they went overseas.
In the spring of 1939 Jim went first class. To a clinic in Lucerne, Switzerland. And it wasn’t a cheap trip.
According to the gal at the bank, Jim paid the clinic nine
thousand 1940 dollars up front, and cabled for two thousand more so he could pick the monkey. Chimpanzee, actually.
As soon as he could walk Jim took the fast train to Calais, ferried to London, and took a liner back to New York. He didn’t want to be out of the country when war broke out. And nearly didn’t make it.
As soon as he could get around good he started looking for a wife. And found one working in his store in Olathe, Kansas. Married her Valentines day of ’40, and took her home to Neosho.
By November of ’41, Jim’s wife was pretty big and having a hard time. So Jim figures he’d take her up to Excelsior Springs Resort to take the water and get waited on hand and foot for a couple of weeks, drive thirty miles to spend Thanksgiving with her family, and then take her home and wait for the baby.
But both weather and babies have their own schedule. Just before Thanksgiving Excelsior Springs was under three feet of snow. You couldn’t go anywhere except slide down the hill on a toboggan and trudge back up.
So the baby decided it was time to come see what this strange world looked like. It was a good thing the Resort was a health spa and had a full medical staff and clinic right there on the grounds.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” sez the manager, “we deliver two or three babies a year and we have never lost a father. There’s a couple of contagious people in the clinic but we will turn a meeting room into a lying in room and everything will be fine.”
So that’s how they did it, and from what I heard everything went just as smooth as those things ever do. Jim was wearing holes in the Resort’s carpet when he heard a baby screaming its head off.
Then the Doc come busting out of the birthing room cussin’ a blue streak and Jim couldn’t help himself. He grabs the Doc by the lapels and demands “Doc, is it a boy or a girl? I heard a baby cry, is it a boy or a girl?”
“I’m going for a ladder,” snarls the Doc, “And as soon as we get it down off the chandelier I’ll tell you.”
And yessir, that politician on the toob was the spittin’ image of his daddy. I just can’t figure out which one. Jim or the monkey. Judging by his behavior, and by his reddish hair, I’m sorta leaning toward the chimp.
Anyhoo, what passes for “news” reminds me of the old joke about the White House staffer who woke the President at two in the morning with an urgent phone call from the Pentagon. That got the Prez’ attention!
“Mr. President, this is General Kozlowski at the Pentagon. I’m sorry to have to awaken you at this time in the morning but an urgent situation has come up. I have both good news and bad news to bring to your attention.”
“Uh, OK, give me the bad news first,” said our now completely awake Maximum Leader.
“The bad news is that we have been invaded by millions of aliens from another planet,” sez the General. “They are colonizing California.”
“Good Lord!” exclaimed the Prez. “And what’s the good news?”
“The good news, sir, is that they eat TV news anchors and pee oil.”
Unfortunately, that’s just a joke, however desperately we need less propaganda and more petroleum. But…