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Tuesday, March 29, 2011


Uncle Frank is the storyteller in our family. He loves reminiscing about his escapades. I will let you make up your own mind whether this story is true or false. He always states that his stories, adventures as he calls them, are real. It has been my experience that the stories are more factual if he is not drinking. He repeats his stories but we don’t have the heart to tell him. We love hearing them over and over. They do seem to grow a little larger each time. We never would call Uncle Frank a liar, he just has an over active imagination. Everyone has a hoot when Uncle Frank is around and besides, all it cost is a few Budweiser. Uncle Frank is the king of storytelling.
Uncle Frank drives a truck making late night deliveries as the rest of world sleeps. He makes one late night delivery in the heart of a large city. Uncle Frank recently told us this story.
 I’m making my normal Wednesday deliveries; it’s about 3 A M. This delivery requires me to back into a dead end street between two large buildings in the heart of Indy. I must make this delivery in the basement of a parking garage. My truck’s too tall; I cannot back down into it. It also requires using the lift on the back and a pallet jack to move the pallet to its proper location. I absolutely hate this delivery because I see way too many unsavory characters.  
I walk to the back of my truck and bring my lift gate down. It’s at this time I thought my eyes are playing tricks on me. There’s not one light on, in the garage. I say a few choice words. How am I going to maneuver in total darkness?   I walk down the ramp and into the underground garage. I stand still for a moment and my eyes are able to make out the automobiles, support beams and such. If I’m “extremely” careful I can do this. I was too upset to think about my normal fear of being back here on a dead end. After calming myself, I’m scared as hell and the total darkness is not helping my situation any.
I unload my first pallet off my truck. I now have it level in the underground garage. I pause allowing my eyes to adjust. This is great for my vision but isn’t helping my nerves one iota. As I’m waiting my heart rate increases. I must be careful to not bust my ass, or scratch a car, or run into a support beam. So you see my predicament! I must be careful, while my body’s telling me to get the ????, out of here. My adrenaline’s pumping and has given me enough of a boost to out run a cheetah. In my attempt to complete my job, my imagination absorbs the energy and starts going wild. As I place my pallet in the proper location, I see a black cat on the ledge close to me. Somewhat interesting, but I don’t dally, I have more pressing concerns, like returning to light. I retrace my steps and make it back unscathed, alive but damn sure not ready to do it again.
Now that I’ve calmed down, I’m about to deliver my second pallet. I stop at the bottom of the ramp again allowing my eyes to adjust. I’m in damn near total darkness, six feet underground and that thought did not make my situation any easier! My imagination works against me. I take a few slow deep breaths and cautiously walk through the “TOMB.” I made it across the garage all 100 feet, drop my pallet and gather myself for the return trip. Okay, I tell myself slowly, “I can do it!” I look at the ledge, there are two cats and the new one is bigger! They’re as black as coal and not moving, I return too hastily and my jack hits a support beam. Just a few more inches and I would’ve ran smack-dab into a support beam and that wouldn’t be pretty!
I’m now back at the truck and gathering my nerves for another go round. I am stubbornly stupid as I aim to finish. I tell myself, I have made two trips successfully with one close call. I must focus only in front of me! Once again I’m at the bottom of the ramp and my eyes are adjusting. I make it across the obstacle course and place the pallet. I’m focusing on my breathing keeping calm for the return trip. I’m cool, calm, relaxed, everything is fine, but I can’t help myself, I glance over at the ledge. Oh my! Oh my, another black cat! Oh shit! I want to run. I turn around so fast I trip over my feet. I jump up and put my right hand on the jack and put my left hand out in front of me to feel my way. Somehow I make it to the safety of the light. My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it will pound out of my chest. I set down on the curb and lay back. I stare at the moon until my heart rate is normal. I must control my imagination as I find the strength to go again.
I’m at the bottom of the ramp focusing using all my strength to stay calm, here goes number four. I am very careful, turtle like. I’m doing fine staying focused, I’m the man. I pull the jack away from the pallet, now simply turn around slowly. I can’t help it, I look up and there are four cats and they seem to be staring at me. Oh no! Oh no! My heart rate immediately goes wild. I must control myself, my legs are saying “run sucker.” My head somehow controls my legs. I manage to get back and I’m lying in the grass.
I can’t go through this two more times. I can’t, no way in hell, uh uh!  I’m lying in the grass looking at the beautiful moon. It has somehow has made me feel small so I have a go at number five. Once more I’m waiting for my eyes to acclimate to the darkness. I maneuver the obstacle course thinking you big chicken. I put that pallet in place and close my eyes. I’m not going to look at the ledge I don’t give a shit about the ledge anyhow! I make it to where I damn near hit my head on the support beam. Suddenly I turned around. I gotta know how many of them damn cats are there. I count five of them suckers. I let go of my pallet jack and run like hell. I ran all the way to the convenience store half a block away. It was good that a policeman didn’t go by as I was running. If I was black or from south of the border I would have been shot for sure. I get coffee, hell I don’t need no f#$&ing coffee and M & M’S, I need a six pack.
I walk back to my truck as calmly as one can that has had the shit scared out of him for the umpteenth time in the last couple hours and I still have one to go. Plus I left my jack in the Tomb of hell. I drink my coffee and that big coffee ain’t a steadying my nerves none. I decide to try gazing at the moon once more. After a while I have enough nerve to go for my jack, keeping my head down and not looking anywhere else. Whoo, wee! Five down and one to go, but it will be the hardest one!!!
I listen to the radio, oh yeah singing along to I Can’t Get no Satisfaction from the Stones and Born to be Wild of whomever. I’m feeling stronger as I see Mick Jaggers strutting and picture myself riding a big ass Harley Hog. I ain’t gonna let no black ass kitty cats keep me from finishing my job!!!
So I’m strutting my stuff and singing as I’m at the bottom waiting. I sing and strut and place the last pallet down. I feel swollen up on myself as my singing becomes rather weak and I ain’t doing any strutting. My eyes are trying to force my head up, but I’m thinking if I don’t look I’m home free. Oh no my heart is beating so fast I will soon faint! I know the proper return exit by now. I turn my body around and line myself up. I glance over my shoulder and count five cats, then one jumps on the ledge which makes six and I’m out of there like a rocket. I’m sweating profusely lying in the grass waiting for my heart to jump back into my body. I have lost track of time. How long I lay there? It doesn’t matter, I’m “ALIVE.” My heart must be good since I didn’t have a heart attack. My lifetime supply of nerves, are completely shot. But there was one unanswered question as I start to pull away. I have to know about them cats. I pull my tuck headlight at such an angle to shine where those cats should be on the ledge. There was six cats still sitting on the ledge and they didn’t look the least bit scary now. I‘m laughing as I drive away. I’ll never forget this night!!    
THANKS FOR VISITING GLEN VIEW. THIS STORY IS BASED ON SOME TRUTHS. The underground garage & the delivery are true. The kitty cats are a figment of my imagination but damn it was scary delivering them pallets!    


                                                                        C LOWNS
I have never been fond of clowns. You probably figured that out a few days ago from my post Circus. I
wish to expound on them bozos some more.

Who in their right fricking mind ever thought that someone with stupid hair, a painted face, a big nose, a goofy ass smile, a goofy ass outfit and big ass shoes was funny to young children! Certainly not me. Children have never seen such idiot-laden craziness? Young ones are terribly upset and scared out of their tiny wits. They believe this monstrosity of bright colors is the Boogey Man. Hell yes! that is what I was told at a young age if I wasn't good, the "Boogey Man will get you." Just look at a Clown from a child's view. You're extremely short looking up and all adults look alike. Now you witness a hideous creature wearing more make up than ten old movie stars and hair that is redder than anything you have ever seen.The goofy ass smile is made to look even goofier because of the make up. The nose is horrendous as it looks like an infected booger has swollen it several times its size. Everybody including your Momma is looking and laughing at you. The young child is thinking it ain't funny at all to me, its scary as what you thought the Boogey Man to be!!!

Once you could say the F-word and get devilish grins with silent oohs and aahs from the audience. I remember as a young man listening to Red Fox recorded live in Las Vegas on an eight track tape. For those of you not old enough to remember, Red Fox had a television show in the seventies called Sanford and Son. Oh my, I've given away my age and I. Q., so I may as well continue, I have nothing to loose. Red Fox was before Richard Pryor. You say, you have never heard of Richard Pryor, where the F have you been? Sorry, I temporarily forgot the times before Video Games and 1,000 channels on the boob tube. Sorry once again, bOObs today is slang for parts of the female anatomy, some larger than others also referred to as hOOters. There is a national chain called Hooters, I wonder if there is any connection between the tOO!!! This is going to be harder to explain than I originally thought, SEEMS MY MIND IS VISUALLY STUCK ON... Red Fox played Las Vegas during its golden years. There I go again sometimes these damn words have hidden meaning or a double meaning or a double negative. Shit! I never understOOd that damn F@#$&ing English terminology crap. Oh my, oh my, and here I have been trying to clean up my act; however I wanted to give you a little sampling of Red Fox and I damn sure ain't going to get into the racial stuff, huh ah no way Jose. I personally like Red whether he was cleaning up his language or doing his Vegas act.

Seems Las Vegas is trying to clean its own act up. It's trying to become a more family oriented attraction. I can't see Las Vegas as Disney World can you? They can make the biggest most out of this world @#$&ing spectacular buildings they want, we remember the beginnings of Vegas, it was $$$ & OO's.

I'm into my Alzy years so I might be right or half right or not right! Now where was I. I must reread the article, to make some sense of, what I'm trying to make some sense out of. (If you understand what I just said then YOU need as much help as I do and I recommend the help you need, can only be found one place. Here on GLEN VIEW, Doc View as always is accepting new readers.) Now after that commercial I'll return you to the article.

Gambling, sex, sin, you go see a show in 1960 Las Vegas, you want raunchy, bad guy entertainment and that's what Red gave them. He was black and made fun of all people and used all the political incorrect words and slang. He was raunchy funny, he had to be, do you think gun carrying types, drinking, gambling having fun want to listen to a Sunday Sermon, I don't think so!!! GOODNIGHT, SLEEP TIGHT AND I'LL HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT ENGLISH CLASS. Your friend here at the Sanitarium GLEN VIEW.   

Sunday, March 27, 2011


          Simplicity is a simple state of mind. That is me! Also freedom from complexity, hallelujah, I'm in the last act of a play called "life" if I don't get it right GLEN VIEW will be no more. All of life's experiences, challenges and self-inflicted chains have taken a grave toll on one old soldier from fighting a lifetime war, that can't be won. You know exactly what I'm saying, don't ya. I have pressed myself not to suceed, but to simply survive. The complexities of life, along with the lack of skills needed to overcome pressures have brought me to near extinction. My life force grows dim at times but somehow I muster up the courage to continue. My goal is to simplify, no matter what... Everything must be reduced to its simplicity...
          I have told myself more than once, if I ever had the opportunity to relay my message, it would be done so heartfelt and humorously. I never envisioned myself writing; however I have been given the opportunity to do so with the encouragement of a friend. We are opposites but that is good. He represents the conscious of hope. I wish to offer my stories/comments in their simplest form. We are opposites, he represents the John Lennon of our generation and I am The Andy Griffith Show. Both needed now more than ever.   
          To understand me a bit, I grew up experiencing the hell and damnation side of religion. I could never comprehend a God making souls come to him out of fear. I witnessed too many Martyr's controlling that way! It simply does not work for me, it pushes me away. That type of leader or God I don't wish to know. For anything to be true, it must feel right from the heart.
          While attempting to string words together coherently, I confess to not knowing the proper techniques. I absolutely loathed English class but that is another story, I'll someday write. I now challenge myself to learn with each new post. I enlist the much appreciated and needed support from family and friends as I peck away with what my mind tells me to say, aided from the heart. I wish this blog to be simple, give a chuckle, a tear or passing thought makes it all worthwhile. We need places to get away from life's continual drainage of spirits and hearts. Bring back the child we once knew in all of us is my vision. The simplicities of a beautiful sunset, instead of warping our minds through the everlasting news cast headlining slow death. To enjoy one of our earliest treasures as we learn the joy and happiness in reading a good book and the pleasurs of unleashing the imagination within, so that we could ride shotgun along with the Harry Potter's of our time. Those were the days my friends and I want that back one more time before the last page of my life.
          This is my vow to any one who reads my simpleness. This goal I'll work on diligently, I promise! I may slip away to the dark side occasionally as evil entities slip in under my radar. I search for simplicity of life and hope it becomes my fountain of youth mentally and spiritually. AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR VISITING THE MIND I CALL GLEN VIEW.       


Saturday, March 26, 2011


I'm so appalled at everything, I must write about it. I am listening to the radio as I'm driving my truck, usually I turn the sound down because I just don't want to hear the news, it's always bad and they ain't one damn thing this old man can do about it. For some unexplainable reason I didn't in the early A M of the morning. I listen to the world news all death destruction and worse than that, political!!! I listen to the local and it was the same shit around here. To add insult to injury even the weather report was guess what? Bad, snow in the forecast after I thought springtime was here after them early spring time flowers were a-blooming and the trees was about to bud out. I said to myself, "self what the ???? is going on here." Out of 10 stories both world and local all the sons-a-bitches are BAD. I must of known somehow I was going to write this story "Appalled" caused I counted them sons-a-bitchin stories. There ain't no wonder were all frenzied and disjointed all the time, cause all we hear is Bad shit. Look at  the front page of any newspaper across the country and what kind of news is it "BAD." Uh huh!!! What do you think gonna be on the front page tomorrow, yep! Before a Politician even opens his mouth what-ta you think they gonna say, bad you betcha. We have been brainwashed soo much, we have forgotten what is good and what is baaad! We ain't damn goats are we? We are being led to slaughter and we don't even know it! Well I make my delivery and get me some M & M's to make them appalling feelings go away. One bag didn't even take the edge off. I reckon maybe one pound might of helped, maybe, I'm not sure of anything anymore. I get back to work only to find out I must work over. Hell yeah I'm so frickin appalled at everything now just hang my ass. I leave work my ass is dragging and I can't shake the appalled thing. I go home and read a few Blogs to calm me down, but nooo, it wasn't meant to be. I see this video called "F ya all" and a fuse blows in my brain. This is the most appalling thing of the day, woo wee, I am mad as hell and I ain't a churchgoer. This is absolutely the over the top type of mental mayhem that is destroying the very fabric of our society, and it is being done in the name of God!!! Man oh man I'll have to take a nerve pill to sleep tonight. 

Friday, March 25, 2011


          What does a Circus make you think of ? I remember watching The Greatest Show on Earth, only this was a movie about a Circus. A very good movie as I remember it and had a cast of stars. What is it about years ago, everything was bigger, better! Quite possibly the movie theatre itself make it seem larger than life!!! There's flair to the old time theatre, it possesses a magical, larger than life aura. A huge lobby with spiral staircases, the decor was pure Hollywood. Down stairs was huge and up top was a large balcony for the love bird type. The mood is pure entertainment and the show has not started.  
          Ah, the smells, how do I do justice to the smells? It's a 90 degree summer and I've just ridden my Schwinn to the only movie house in town. I wipe my brow as I dismount my bike, my throat is dry, I could go for a large coca cola with ice about now! I purchase my ticket at a real ticket booth outside the theatre. I go through large wooden doors. Walk five feet and there's identical doors, then the overwhelming smell of freshly popped popcorn hits me. I can't wait to try some as my mouth starts to water. The coolness welcomes me with open arms. I purchase a large drink, popcorn with real butter and a chocolate bar. Now I'm all set for larger than life entertainment. As I'm walking about halfway to my favorite seat, the smell of the old movie house fills me, an ever so slight smell of mustiness. It's the smell of a building that never gets opened to the outside world. That smell gives it, that uniqueness. I sure as hell don't want that outside air anyway today.


          Circus is an amphitheatre in ancient Rome. A traveling show of acrobats, trained animals, clowns, etc. A place or event regarded as being frenzied, wildly entertaining etc.
          I wish to write about the last definition today. It sums up my place of employment. Sometimes frenzied and always wildly entertaining. You either learn to laugh at all the Clowns or visit the Sanitarium. As in GLEN VIEW, yep that is where the name comes from. I'm the Ring Announcer and will introduce the acts. Quite possibly in more detail than you care to know but that's my job, you see. We have more Clowns than any Circus needs and I personally have been negotiating frantically to trade for a Fat Lady, Sword Swallower or a couple Midgets. Damn these are tough times we're in right now! We have an old Elephant that eats peanut butter, not peanuts. We have a real Tall Thin Man, not someone walking around on stilts. We have the worlds "Strangest Man", that's correct strange not strong. We have all kinds of Furry Critters, some are so furry we don't know what they are and I ain't getting close enough to find out. I have been searching for a Bearded Lady, will trade three Clowns for one. Our Lion will miss today's show. We are having minor difficulties. We're forcing cod liver oil down him so we can get one of our little people back. We have Acrobats that are afraid of height, so they mainly run around doing flips and acrobatic stuff on the floor and off the Elephants. The old Elephant that prefers peanut butter got back at Juan, the main Acrobat the other day, receiving a standing ovation from the crowd. Skippy as we call him pooped just as Juan was doing a hand spring off Skippy's back and landed in a mess of poo-nut butter. Old Skippy did a hop, skip and a jump, have you ever seen a Elephant laugh? The crowd laughed so hard, as they believe it to be part of the act. I have been negotiating with Juan and Skippy to make it happen. Skippy is all for it but demanding more peanut butter. Juan is holding out for more money and demanding dollars instead of pesos.
          A fan took a video of Skippy poo-poing and laughing on Twitter has received millions of hits. We used to be a three ring Circus until the I R S TOOK TWO OF OUR RINGS FOR BACK TAXES. THE STARTED THEIR OWN CIRCUS!!! Ha ha ha! I was once the Knive Thrower, after stabbing 16 of them damn Clowns they come to me and said "maybe you ought to retire or put your glasses back on." Damn Clowns and here I thoght I had figured out a way to get rid of a them!!! I punctured Bozo there 16 times and never hit one major organ. YOU CANNOT GET RID OF THEM DAMN CLOWNS!!!

          SiLLiNeSS sOmEtImEs HiTs Me AbOuT bEdTiMe. ThAt'S wHaT hAppEnEd HeRe SoRRy.   


Wednesday, March 23, 2011


          Humility, I look it up in my old, New Webster Vest Pocket Edition Dictionary "1980" copyright. I absolutely love that little gem of another era. It takes me back to the time when my teacher was explaining to my class how to use the dictionary. I cannot remember for the life of me what grade it was or the teacher. The teacher is showing us and I'm thinking, how can I look it up if I can't spell the dang thing? I look around the classroom and apparently I'm not the only one that doesn't understand. You can see the confusion in all their eyes except for Elizabeth the brain. My good friend Charlie is sitting next to me and I swear I saw question marks in his eyes.
          If I knew how to spell the word, most likely I would know the meaning! Teachers sure know how to confuse the class, except the brain, of course. "Let's start with simple words,"  said the teacher. The whole class knows them simple words but when it came to my turn the teacher turns it up a notch and gave me a two syllable word. I'm shaking already as I walk to the front of the class. My word is moisture, I get to mo, I find most, then my mind decides to take a break. I'm stumped my finger won't walk, all that learning has failed me. I feel the sweat forming on my forehead. My mind flashes to Moe of the Three Stooges, I've got it now, the words go from mod to mog, there ain't no moe. I sense the whole class heating me up from their burning eyes. I feel moisture running down to my face (I can sure make it but I can't spell it.) I see Moe again, only this time I think Moe is sure funny. I look down a few more words in the dictionary and find moire. That ain't the way to spell more, and I'll be dang, right below moire is moist, then moisten and guess what was after that, you're right, moisture. I made it through my first challenge of the dictionary thanks to Moe of the Three Stooges.
          English from that day on was my most feared class. I have never comprehended all them dad burn rules, tenses and such nonsense, they make me tense. Those adjectives, verbs, pronouns, nouns make my skin crawl with the he-be-ge-bees. Now that I 'm attempting to write proper I can feel myself in front of the class with all eyes causing moisture to run down my face as if it was only yesterday. Only at my age you add stress, moisture running down my face, somebody may mistake those signals as signs that I'm having a heart attack! I would feel foolish if I ask my Doctor for nerve pills to calm me down so I can write. He would probably inform me that I need to find a new hobby. Unlike a friend of mine who took creative writing classes. I created many excuses to get out of English classes. One would think think since I loved to read growing up I would learn proper English growing up, wouldn't ya! wrong. I would get away from the tension of English class by immersing myself into an adventure book like Journey to the Center of the Earth or laugh at Huck Finn.
          Humility is the state of being humble. Humble means modest, low in rank. My little dictionary has very small print, remember that! It must be the lowest in rank of dictionaries. I was focusing my bifocals on humility and the definition was "moistness." Suddenly I'm having flashbacks and sweat starts to form on my forehead. I'm back in grade school and tense. Moe, please help me once again, I move my finger down a mite and adjust my bifocals, dang it I was looking at "humidity."



Sunday, March 20, 2011


Grandma's not allowing any type of meanness from that old Devil to gain a toe hold in her grandchildren. There is no way, uh! uh! When all the grandchildren were babies she seen to it that all were baptized and as we got bigger took us to Sunday school, at the one room church that was once a one room schoolhouse. She was making sure we got our learning early and proper.
                She’s a fiery woman when need be, even at the age of 50. She’s five foot tall, plus a smidgen and weighs in at 120 pounds soaking wet! My dollars on Grandma especially, when it comes to us grandchildren.
                Now let me tell you a little about Grandma according to what Grandpa tells us grandkids. She certainly has spunk, that’s what Grandpa calls it. He has told us many tales about Grandma, when she was younger “My! Oh! My! She use-ta get mad”, Grandpa would say. He’d leave the house and get away, way out of her way. He’d hide out beyond the outhouse and give her time to simmer down, then tippy toe back and watch her for a spell. If she was singing hymns, the coast was clear, if she was sharpening knives, or chopping a chicken’s head off, He’d tippy toe right back, way beyond the outhouse once again.
 “She might be as happy as a lark one minute and then one of her brothers would lite her fuse and she would take out after him. Whoo-wee, what in tarnation has gotten into her I would be thinking. She takes no guff from noo-body. I have heard many tales of women with red hair, plenty of spunk they always said. I can tell you children first hand, Grandma has plenty! Three young-ins of her own, she still has plenty of spunk! She’s mellowing a mite in her old age, but she’ll have that spunk till the day she dies. That is what I love about your Grandma.”
                “She took a worthless lazy man like me, who loves drinking and beat some sense into my noggin more than once with a cast iron skillet. She took me to church and we worked on our own demons. I hear her fight every night for her children as she prays for their souls. She places her heart and soul in them prayers, but not for herself, she prays for everyone else and asks for nothing for herslf.”
      Grandpa tells us this story. “One day after Sunday school we’re driving home with 4 grandchildren. As I drove around a corner on my gravel road about a mile from home, a big Cadillac was headed straight for us, on our side of the road. I swerved in the nick of time, or we would have hit that Cadillac head on. That car was traveling way too fast and we were extremely lucky to miss it. My old Chevy ends up down in the ravine and glances off a tree. Grandma hollers my babies! Check, my babies! We pull all 4 children from the back seat battered, crying and bleeding just like us.
                We were sitting on the ground and Grandma’s looking the children over, “nothing serious” Grandma says “thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus”. My thoughts exactly!
                Piercing shrill laughter is heard, beyond my Chevrolet, we all look and there stands a seven foot tall, 400 lbs of ugly, monster of a man in black walking slowly towards us. His gait is purposely slow as he was saying with his whole body I’m the man. He was all swollen up on himself, exaggerating his torso movement side to side like one of them Sumo Wrestlers. His head was three times the size of mine. His face was red with yellow hair, he was smiling and growling. His voice reverberated through the trees and I saw birds fly away. He says laughingly, “I come for the young ones.” Grandma jumps in front of them. “I don’t think so” she says with determination on her face and let me tell you I have seen that look many times before. That Devil done brought the hellcat back in her that she had worked so hard to keep down. There stood, a five foot tall 50 year old Grandma with flaming red hair becoming redder by the second as she brings up enough rage to fight the Devil. The children are hollering, crying, shaking; my legs will not move from fear. We were scared to death, except for Grandma and she had one weapon!!!
                Well there stood Grandma looking like David fixing to go to work on Goliath. She looks down and there lays her Bible. Now, I‘m not talking normal size Bible here. Grandma may be a little woman but she doesn’t do anything small. When she prays, she prays big! When she reads the Bible, she reads a big Bible! The Devil is coming for the young ones with cocky arrogance; no hurry at all. He is full of himself, thinking, nobody’s going to mess with me!!!  I’m the big bad Devil, well that over confidence is about to be his undoing.
                Faster than greased lightning, Grandma in her Sunday school dress, with four kids hanging on for dear life, jumps for that big Bible. In one brilliant swoop she smacks the Devil right good in the knee cap with both hands hanging onto that Bible and he lets out a scream of pain. Now Grandma has the Devil at her level and she shows him that he is in her court and that she is in charge at that particular moment. She hits him in the head numerous times with that big Bible. All I could see was Grandma wailing on the Devil and her arms moving so fast they were a blur. The power of the Lord filled Grandma and that big Bible. Every time Grandma hit the Devil, it sounded like thunder rolling. I couldn’t move but I had the best seat to see Grandma work him over. There is the Devil getting thumped repeatedly, from the hellcat that Grandma has been holding in for so long. That was one determined Grandma whacking on the Devil.
                From my view, I watched the Devil crawl back to the Cadillac, licking his wounds and in shock as Grandma scored a knockout in the first round. He drove out of there spinning gravel lickety-split. The Cadillac swerved side to side and disappeared into the ashes of hell. I betcha he is not the cocky big monster/man he was a moment ago, no sir! The Devil was thumped to smithereens by a Grandma with four crying children latched onto her as the power of the Lord worked through that big Bible and a tiny spunky God fearing Grandma.     

Friday, March 18, 2011


I spot an advertisement in the local newspaper for "Occasional Chairs." Immediately my mind starts humming and a gigantic "WHAT?" It's my version of the stress relieving bath oil commercial, where a  woman who's had a horrible day at the office, comes home and sees her husband. That turns her light headache into a killer migraine, she starts smiling as the thought kill the S O B flashes 100 times in her mind. She shakes her head vigorously until the flashes stop and takes a soothing hot bath in Bad Day Be Gone bath oil beads.

While at work I must keep my mind active to relieve boredom. I read the newspaper or write anything and everything that might creep into my head. My silly stuff always seems funny at the time. I must allow my mind to wander so I don't think #$&%*** the S O B's. My mind's in a fog as I try writing humorous stuff, I'll let you be the judge but then you might just say crazy @#$%.

Occasional chairs, does that mean they are only chairs on certain occasions? The next thought is, what are they on the other occasions? Maybe an occasional lamp, desk or who knows! I seem to be befuddled, please help!

On occasions, I think I am smarter than on other occasions, so am I occasionally a wise person? Probably not! I might occasionally have an intellectual moment, but I assure you it does not make me wise.

Occasionally the weather is good and occasionally it's bad.

Occasionally, the Congress, the House of Representatives and the President make sense!!! (I wish to have that statement stricken from the official record.) I occasionally make goofs because I do not think, sorry about that!

I write on occasions. I do it for fun and as a hobby.

I never owned a computer, but occasionally thought about buying one.

I bought a older computer that occasionally worked.

So occasionally, I practiced typing.

While typing, I occasionally type one whole sentence without an error.


JUST A GLIMPSE INSIDE MY MIND. HOPE I DIDN'T SCARE YOU TOO BAD, HERE AT GLENVIEW.   You certainly don't want to miss my next post, cause it gonna scare the ba-gee-bees out of ya. It is Grandma Whips the Devil. Coming this weekend to a blog near you, whoops this here blog, occasionally I f---k up.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011


I began a friendship in grade school, his name was Occa Onally, a most unusual name compared to others, but children do not dwell on such trivial matters such as names and the color of skin, they talk and play like the children they are, they put on no airs, If only children ran the world!!!  Occa and I soon became best friends. In the dark and cold of winter we build models together, Occa possessed a fascination for airplanes. Especially the older ones of the 1920’s, ones like the Red Baron flew. He was always the great Baron because the Baron never lost, he was my friend and I understood his imagination. I always played the poor pilot that was shot to smithereens. We read our 10 cent comic books, traded baseball cards, boy stuff you know! Summertime was playing basketball, baseball, tetherball, walking, just hanging out at the local mom and pop store drinking a bottle of soda pop with other neighborhood children, riding bicycles, anything to occupy our time. The simple pleasures never an idle moment, always on the move looking for childhood adventures anywhere we could imagine it, the type of adventures only children can create. Occa and I both get paper routes at the age of 12, another common interest or rather a way of making money, since we must buy anything other than our necessities. I believe it to be more, we had adventuresome spirits we actively played out in keeping busy, thus always inflaming our imaginations. We were more alike than different, closer than brothers.
                We become masters at making a buck. During delivery of our afternoon newspapers we kept one eye out for soda bottles. The overly sized baskets made us a fortune over the years. Wow! wee! We would make a buck. Don’t laugh, that was enough for an afternoon movie at the Grand Theatre.
We rode our bikes on the country roads close to town; however our favorite route to look for bottles was not the most productive because Occa always wanted to ride north of town to see the Air Force Base. We sat for hours, not looking for soda pop bottles but guess what, yep! you guessed it. Gee whiz, those jet fighter planes were beautiful to Occa. I certainly found them entertaining but I rode with him on this side of town because he was my best friend and he loved to watch them fighter jets. I want money to go to a movie and he wants to indulge in his dreams. Friendship sure takes precedence over a dollar. Well the route began producing dough, as we called it. Too many Gangster movies at the Grand I reckon! The Air Force M. P.’s was saving bottles for us, so never say your dreams don’t pay off. Occa’s infatuation with airplanes paid for many movies and bought popcorn and drinks. Golly! those were the good old days. He had his mind made up as a young man he was joining the Air Force.
                While I loved to read Occa was never fond of studying. He was born with a fantastic memory. I heard a teacher say that he had a photographic memory. I asked what that meant, “the ability to remember everything after seeing or hearing it one time”. That explains why he’s so smart. Where I made average grades, Occa breezed right through school. He always persuaded me to tell him a brief summary of all the books I read. He had me believing I was a good story teller; however that sly fox pup was destined for glory, I just knew it! Even if Occa never read his homework, he made better grades than me. We always arrived at school early and met in the cafeteria for a slug of milk and to study our lessons, for me I could never study enough but Occa simply listened to me read out loud and always received better grades than I did.
                We remained close friends all through our school years. After graduation Occa goes on to follow his dream. He enrolled in classes during high school that would better prepare him for the military. The Air Force base recruited many fine men and gave our high school students help to better prepare them for the jump!!!
                While Occa is actively pursuing his dream, I’m working in a factory making money to pay for my car, dates and of course I still love my movies. I never possessed the insight or dreams of knowing what I was destined to do. I grow jealous of Occa and I’m sure it was evident in our correspondence over the years. I marry and raise children, the Norman Rockwell life. Since I never dreamed about a career I was proud as Occa continued with the Air Force and received his wings.
                 I was present as he received his coveted wings. After the ceremony we hug and briefly talk. He invites me back to the party that was being thrown later. I decline saying I did not wish to intrude, he has new friends and I would feel out of place, he completely understood and after all he said, “we, will always be best friends no matter what, right”. I answer “absolutely and assure him that the tone he possibly interpreted in my letters was not my true ones”. Occa answered, “I never once questioned our being the best of friends”. We share brotherly bear hugs and slap one another playfully on the back. I get on with my life which I began to love as a husband and father.
                Occa and I lost touch with each other. I would see his mother and father on occasions and discuss Occa. He was stationed many different places around the world. He was flying high all over the planet serving his country and doing what he loved. We never saw each other after he earned his wings. We simply were busy going in different directions. Our mail correspondence simply seized we had nothing in common anymore.
                I am now 44 years, old I get a phone call from Occa’s sister. Occa died not in a plane crash but in a military helicopter crash as he was headed home from serving 20 years as a fighter pilot. Ironic as he flew thousands of times in his life. Many months after the military funeral I’m visiting Occa’s parents, when Occa retired from duty he shipped all his belongings back to their house. Only recently they began the painful task of sorting through his possessions and they came across a canvas bag of hand written notes, letters, a diary and several notebooks of his adventures around the globe. A letter addressed to me was found inside. His wish was that bag of hand written biography of should go to me. He never forgot my love of reading.
                Many more years have passed and my life has slowed down. I work on his biography and never grow tired of reading his scribbled notes. His zest for life and living it to the maximum is an inspirational story of achievement. He dreamed his life as a young boy and his dreams became reality. I’m going to retire someday, learn about computers and writing and such that have blown by me at the speed of a jet fighter plane. 
                I never had a childhood hero. Occa’s fittingly was Chuck Yeager. I now have a role model a real life hero. I had imagination maybe more than the average child but I never had the right stuff that dreams are made off and never possessed the determination, the all-out- stick- to- it-ness that would make me excel in anything. Occa has given me that in my old age and as you are reading this simple story about best friend you now know what my late blooming quest is.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


          Time has passed since the old middle school was demolished. I'll always treasure my last visit. Those memories are forever in my mind. No one can understand my love of an old building, let alone believe me! Such foolishness, they would believe that I've gone mad.          
          The old saying "time heals all wounds" hopefully is accurate! Two years later I'm driving near the old schoolhouse. Suddenly thoughts of it fills my mind. Blasts from the past, I laugh at my sentimental silliness, remembering my last time inside and the corniness of saying good-bye to a building. I can't believe I napped peacefully as if lying in my own bed, whatever possessed me to do such a thing! I drive through a large parking lot, where once stood a magnificent schoolhouse. I remember school officials voting unanimously to save the original archway of the main entrance as a tribute, "HEADSTONE" seems more proper!  
          I spend a few moments of reflection at the schoolhouse memorial. I reminisce about my first day of school. I had worked myself into a nervous frenzy before the massive three story structure appeared. What will I do, if I cannot find my classrooms? I was worrying about its size and numerous other buildings. I remember asking myself, why must I attend such a big frightening old school anyway?
          The good times at Mr. Schoolhouse begin to cross my mind from out of the blue, a few days after stopping to pay my respects. Certain smells or certain songs from those years would cause goose bumps. Then one day I'm scanning channels on the television and come across the movie Animal Farm. Immediatly I zoom backwards in time to my eighth grade homeroom class and Mr. Wampler was reading this book to his class. Do they have Teachers like that today, I certainly hope so! If you would of asked me one second before dejavu time, to name one of my Teachers in middle school my mind would of drawn a blank. I'm having way too many instances of dejavu and way too many dreams about the middle school to be coincidences. Is something trying to get my attention?
          Once I address to myself that something quite out of the ordinary is happening I lie down to dream, where my imagination really takes charge. I admit to having an overly active imagination but what happens in my next dream is a leg up, even for me!
          In my dream, I'm back at the precise moment and sitting in back of the auditorium, on my last visit to the schoolhouse. I hear and feel a whispering, breeze blowing through the building. The mild breeze blows through my body and I feel its warmth as I inhale. The full moon acts as a spotlight at that very second, a most magnificent golden aura appears on my right, then slowly dissipates. Visible by the moon's glow stands a man looking directly at me. His eyes are continuously changing colors. It's stature is that of a seventh grader. The little ones clothing seems as if it's a hodgepodge of clothing covering the last century. Imagine items left unclaimed over 100 years. Please tap into your most vivid imagination of when you were a child, now you can see the little wee one can't you!!! The strangely attired one, who I'll call "Wee" has an delightfully imaginative taste of clothing. Every young girl that has experimented with wardrobe searching for her own style, would be brought to tears, from laughter at wee's sight. I give out a belly laugh. One cannot help but laugh at such a humorous heartwarming spectacle. After my laughter subsides and I wipe tears from my eyes, I now see the most beautiful floor length hair I have ever seen. Wee has a beard that is the same beauty as his hair. Wee smells like a school full of freshly bathed students with the light scent of mixed perfumes. The scene is breathtakingly heartwarming.
          Wee says "Eddie I was beginning to think you would never ask the golden question. Until you acknowledged something out of the ordinary is at play, I could not make myself known. I summons you into the schoolhouse on your last visit to judge your willingness to accept me. I am the embodiment of all students who ever walked these hallways. I came to be when the first student walked through the door. I do not wish to leave and cannot go to the new school it is not allowed. I must be near the thirst for knowledge or I cannot survive. You Eddie have never lost that, your thirst will never be quenched. While you nap last time here I look into your heart. I appear to you as your imagination and heart sees old Mr. Schoolhouse, both you and I see him like old friends. You see the school with a heart covered in gold. Riches measured in purity, you cherish the golden age of needful things such as the treasure chest of gold representing the 3 R's. You see students coming into the schoolhouse, yearning for learning! The old school still represents to you Abe Lincoln reading by the golden glow of firelight. We are kindred spirits whose fault is times passes us by. Structures are replaceable but the gold is measured in the lives of the students who have graced these halls. I wish to live in your heart, we are reminders and need such to survive both you and I. Both of us shall be together as friends just like the old schoolhouse and I was. Thanks Eddie".

Hope you enjoyed my story and thanks until next time.       

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


My head continually sags lower as I take my last walk around, Mr. Teacher Schoolhouse, it only seems fitting to think of this building as a Teacher. I found my steps becoming heavier for some unexplainable reason, I could not yet part. I sit down on a concrete bench that is on the main pathway leading to the main entrance, many benches line this area under old shade trees, a popular gathering place for students and I as a former student wish to gather alone here in my thoughts one last time. I look and marvel at the character of this old structure of a hundred years before. Beautiful, magnificent, is the only words that enter my mind. The sun just sit behind the old gymnasium, so if I was going to take one last stroll around this city block of learning, I best be moving. I walk to the east side and decide to go up the side between the main building and its sister building, just as I had done hundreds of times, what now seems eons ago. I would park my bicycle in the old bike rack every morning and take the back entrance. Suddenly I have the uncontrollable desire to touch the same door I used every morning. I attempt to shake the feeling off; however it proves too much. I think to myself "open says me" something I might of said as a child and gosh darn it as I pushed down on that old type, across the whole door handle it opened!!! Gee whiz! The Twilight Zone theme rushes through my mind!

"Come in I recognize you my friend" it seems Mr. Schoolhouse is saying to me. Do I dare! Yes I do! I rather nonchalantly walk right in, like greeting an old friend. The smell of the building flashes me back to an eighth grader. I hear the bell that sounds to signal end of class, hurry to your next class girls and boys we must give you a full day of learning. I take a few steps up the stairwell and see the first floor, wow just as I remember it, creepy crawly shivers go up my back. I walk the length of the only floor with an unobstructed view. It seems the same size. I expected it to be smaller. It has been my experience when growing older, our childhood years always made things appear larger than they really were. I have regressed back to my student years here, fascinating. I take the center stairs to the second floor. Outside lights is giving me a good viewing, as the old school lies in wake of death. Old Mr. Schoolhouse is saying "my lid is not yet closed, look all you want". I do not feel the pain of a funeral, I feel pride and warmth and better off to of walked these hallways, privileged to have done so. I walk up to the third floor and past the old Projector room and smile because I was once a Projectionist.

It seems the old schoolhouse was in charge of me and knows where I always felt the most comfortable, the Auditorium on the very top of the building. It reminds me of the Movie Houses of bygone days, of course much simpler but had that feel, that coziness and I loved those old black and white films. The Classics they were called and I loved them all. I never got tired of showing them as a Projectionist. 

I take a seat at the rear of the Auditorium just as the full moon was setting its sights on the 4 massive original windows. The dim light of evening shadows was becoming a heavens glow. An overwhelming feeling of love, happiness, contentment as well as understanding permeates the very depth of my body as if a timeless wind was blowing through the heart of the old building into me. I had become one with the old schoolhouse instead of pain I felt satisfaction of a job well done. Proud to of served admirably for a century. After all nothing is forever, is it! Time stood still at that moment and I fell asleep in the back of my old school. I relived 3 years of aches and pains of the time spent here and my learning went beyond reading, writing and arithmetic. I had learned about life and leaving the child of grade school and graduated the next step in the school of life.

I woke up with peace in my heart. It was after midnight as I walk down the steps, I was at peace. I never drove by the schoolhouse for years after it was demolished. It made front page headlines at its destruction, hundreds of former students view it as the wrecking ball tore down a piece of local history. I never understood the need to view something as it is being destroyed. Whether it be an old building as the wrecking ball whacks it beyond recognition or shooting an animal. I do not understand viewinga friend or loved one as they lay dead. I WISH TO REMEMBER THEM THE WAY THEY LIVED THEIR LIFE, SO FULL OF THEMSELVES, SMILING, LAUGHING. I WISH TO REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES OF AN OLD FRIEND, NOT AS THE WRECKING BALL DESTROYS WHAT THEY ONCE WAS.  THANK YOU. 

Sunday, March 6, 2011


This old School House built as a High School approximately 100 years ago is scheduled for the wrecking ball this summer. The new and improved architectural version right next door is almost ready for its new generation. The old building has been a middle school for 50 years, yet the charm of the original old fashion gymnasium still carries itself proudly. Original wooden chairs are still intact, the overall size of the gymnasium shows the glory days of early basketball. One can just imagine the late great founders of the early basketball stars and the fans cheering at the big games. I get chills imagining that!
                Attached to the 100 year old gymnasium and built in the 1950’s is a band and choir building. More modern in design but it is a goner also. Seems parking lots for the new version are more important than history after all these are just buildings and no one gets attached to them do they? Another building on what one could call a campus of school buildings really is an Industrial Arts Building. Early craftsmen and soon to be Engineers and Industrial Leaders of when we were an Industrial giant nation, skills learned to be able to more readily adapt when these students joined the workforce of America.
                There is one other two story building built identical to the main building a few years later. It has the original character of the main building at approximately one third the size. So you can see it is quite a campus of learning, actually that is its drawback. It has served its purpose all too well because everything around the mighty old School has changed and been rebuilt, yet old Mr. Schoolhouse is still standing tall. That in a nutshell is its own fault. Built solid, and to last. When Mr. Schoolhouse was built air conditioning was not needed, apparently the school children of today must demand it, a necessity of learning, I suppose. I went to school here for 3 years and never even thought about air conditioning one way or the other, we must have had it rough back the; if it was stuffy the teachers opened the windows. There were shade trees blocking the sun from the heat of the day you merely opened enough windows and outside doors and the old school felt the gentle soothing breeze. The tar paper and pebbly roofs, with glass and metal monstrosities of today require air conditioning, so that the kids don’t cook their brains. What about planting Mother Nature’s own personal air conditioning “trees”.  Those days were certainly rough times, how did we ever survive!
                Now to the Main Building, a magnificent structure built like Midwestern Courthouses of that era. Excuse me as I throw in a bit of irony here. The courthouse in the city I live in is functional and beautifully preserved. Built before Mr. Schoolhouse and is the focal point of our revitalization of our downtown. It was built with the same charm and craftsmanship that has become as antiquated as the School. Erected from Limestone from the heartland of America, built by Craftsmen, using stone, individual red bricks and the finest wood for its wooden floors, whose intention was for it to last.
 I remember the cafeteria, science classrooms and lockers in the basement. The first floor was administrative offices, library, foreign language classrooms and English classrooms. The second floor was Math, History, Study hall and lockers. The third floor was Home Economics and a massive, by the imagination of a young man at my age, Auditorium. By the standards of today it was nothing, but to me it was something special. We watched movies from a real projector that captivated me.
                As I take a tour of the new glass and steel heartless cold building by walking around the multi-million dollar big name designer, builder, architectural piece of “art”. Just like everything it seems overpriced and lacking. I wonder will the kids here, be any better educated by the new and improved. Can we buy education, the willingness to learn to imagine, to do better than the previous generations. Will the first generation going through these sterile white walls be any smarter than any of the other century of students that have walked the stairwells of old Mr. Schoolhouse; that have filled the wooden floors with the music of children walking to their next class? I think not!      

Saturday, March 5, 2011


"Oh no! break out the smelling salts, you might soon pass out from too much blood rushing through your brain, oxygen overdose coming through. Pressure exceeding limits, automatic protection light is flashing, warning, warning"! A disguised voice from within my head has just spoken these words. (I ask myself),

 "Who the hell said that" (I'm aware that sometimes it gets a might confusing to you that a man such as myself can converse with myself. Just think of it this way, everybody has an inner voice I just have a bunch, okey! dokey)! FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE I HEAR NO INNER VOICES... "complete silence" "nothing". I hear a pin drop within my skull and it chimes and echoes as if Notre Dame rang their bells at midday. I now experience the absolute quiet I have waited a lifetime for, soooo peaceful, absolutely no brain activity. If Doctors were monitoring my brain waves it would show_______ a flat line. They would say "pull the damn plug on ol Pop over there, harvest any usable organs".      

I sit down in my favorite chair to relax, bask in the peace and quiet to do some serious thin-kin. I take a few deep breathes and wait, and wait. I look at the clock, 10 minutes has gone by, not one damn thought has crossed my mind. This is plum rediculous, yesterday I wrote about pigs flying, there has to be something in there, just relax! I hear the refrigerator kick on in the damn kitchen, I hear the next door neighbor's dog barking, half mile away. I hear a fly buzzing happily in the basement, "buzzz, buzzz. I can feel and hear my heartbeat, my breathing was irritating the hell out of me! Half a frigging hour has gone by and I am irritated as hell. I decide to get a couple beers, that will relax me. I drink them and lie down on the couch, ah it feels good I am going to do some real thin-kin. The cell phone rings within a foot of my head, I hear a voice breathing heavily, that's all I need at this moment. I lie back down, the moment of relaxation is gone. I drink two more beers and shut the cell phone off. Possibly some music turned down realll low will help. Finally I'm at peace. Two hours have gone by and four beers not one damn thought of anything except irritation" This is absolutely asinine I finally have my brain all to myself and zilcho not one brain wave of any consequential thought oh!, oh! oh! that's a pretty big word maybe a couple more brewskies will do the trick. Yes-sir-ree-bob-a-lou-ie a couple more alcoholic drinks to clear out all the infection of them misfits. I have four beers left that sure as hell ought to do it! I woosily lie down woo-wee my head is spinning, I close my eyes and and and...

I wake up holding my head with both hands, as to steady the room. I'm thin-kin who hit me in the frigging head with a frigging hammer. I try standing up and fall back onto the couch and I am-a thin-kin this is the worst frigging headache I have ever had and I can't get to the aspirins. As I am suffering all alone here on the couch, I feintly hear a voice say "Senor!!! you, drinkee, a little, too, much, Tequila, yes!!!

I answer, "yes Jose, I most certainly did".

"Senor I am the only one still awakee, up here, a wee bit, every body else is taking a Tequila Siesta and I don't think they will not, be conscious until sunrise!!! I gonna join them, until tomorrow Senor.

The next morning I make it to the aspirins, drink a half gallon of orange juice and take a cold shower. I sit down at the kitchen table and hear what sounds like a chorus of people "shivering" and saying "please don't ever do that again, we'll be better and quieter we promise".


Friday, March 4, 2011


I hope, I got your attention with these silly three words, errr that was my goal. As I am working and a-thinkin, my job is so boring I let my mind wander. I have found out it is better or let's say physically better on my limbs as I run a boring simple machine to let my mind wander than actually close my eyes and take a nap.

I don't remember where I heard this expression first but I love it and suddenly out of nowhere it pops into my head and I actually laugh to myself, at the mental image. I see myself as a young boy listening to the older family members after Sunday Dinner and arguing going on as always, over something or another and one hillbilly saying to the other hillbilly in retaliation to a disagreement. "Yeah! When Pigs Fly", aw come on now, use just a itty bitty bit of your imagination I know you have some and put some angel type wings on a little piggy flying up, up, and away it's Super Piggy. If you can't at least get a smile from that picture, then there sure as hell ain't no dang hope fer ya.

When pigs fly is something you might of heard on Ma & Pa Kettle movies, over 50 years ago. You say "you never heard of Ma & Pa Kettle" fer Heavens sakes how the hell can that be!!! Where in tarnation have you been all your life. Shoosh, I found them funnier than watching the Greasy Pig contest at the County Fair. ( Did I hear someone out there in Blogland say you never heard of a Greasy Pig contest). Lord Almighty, there ain't no hope fer ya, lest you be a-readin this here story. Let me give you another "little piggy" imagination story while I am-a-haming it up. (Damn, I must have ham and eggs on my mind, the country breakfast of Cham-pi-ons). In the County Fairs you take 30 pound piggies and put something greasy on them little feisty critters and let young-ins try to catch them, and if-fun they can hold on to them piggies, they win them! It be wholesome family entertainment that will make you bust a gut from laughing. Whomever would want to see 2,000 horsepower tractors pull a wagon of cement a few feet ain't a true Hillbilly! and you can bet my little piggy that went to the market on that!

Pa Kettle might say to Ma Kettle "one of this days I'm gonna fix the leaks in the roof ".

Ma knowing how lazy Pa was would fire back "when pigs fly".

Maybe I should give a little overview to those of you who may never heard of Ma & Pa Kettle. They were poor country folk who had about a dozen young-ins. Ma was a big woman and Pa was skinny as a rail. I am a gonna try to explain this in simple words without a-cursin. Uhh!, let's see now, Pa was lazy and skinny because all he wanted to do!, remember they had a heap of young-ins, from a baby all the way up. Seems the only work Pa would do, was a-push-in "in", and Ma would haf-ta do all the push-in "out". Ah!, ha!, ha!


Thursday, March 3, 2011


A hole in my head, always a pain in my pa-tuu-tee. (Doctor Phil a resident psychiatrist feels the need to address me, since he resides in my head I will allow him a moment, as you can tell I always have a lot going on up top).

"Normally I would not chime in this early, I would take advantage of my $150 an hour but since I am retired and visiting the depths of your hollow core, you call a brain. Ha! ha!, I've out done myself on
that one, "hollow core".
I was about to explain before Doc Phil interrupted. A pain in my pocket, meaning always an empty billfold. Bills, taxes, car repairs, it never stops. I put a-hundred $'s in savings, I then get a bill for two-hundred $'s. It never stops, never, never, never, sorry but I want you tooo feeel my pain!

A hole in my head! I see other people that do not hold onto a job, yet drive a better car than I do! How the hell do they do that??? Is there a money tree, a rainbow with gold, some kind of hidden Masonic wisdom, that me a poor boy, from a poor family, from an even poorer Hillybillish family. There is an old saying "I was sooo poor I did not have a pot to piss in"! All you-ins of today, esss-pecially you fancy pant-sies ones, do not understand a poor mans vocabulary. But I do! I will stoop so low, it will become "clear", well actually "yellowish". Just hang in there I will explain, I don't want to leave you hanging out on a limb.

"Jesus Christ, God almighty, you could make a preacher cuss the way you ramble on son", that would be Reverend Timothy McGillicutty.

You see, back in the days before the pur-tee white cam-mod-eees, there was them thangs, called out houses, now what do you suppose you done in them there ooo-uuut houses? Uuuu-huuu, you guessed it!!! Sooo at night time to keep from getting your red long johns with that there handy flap in back crispy cold! There was this big ol white enamel "POT-TEE" with a lid. I pity the fool that raised that there lid after it had been used a few times Woo-wee mak-a your eyes water!

Sooo I must have a hole in my head cau-sin I have worked my paa-tuu-tee off all me dang life and I ain't had nothing giv-un to me! So all you damn namsey pamsies that #@&* the system are probably the same sons-a-bitches that cheat on test, cheat on taxes, lie, lie, lie and you are better off than this ol backwoods Sunday School goin son of a Preaching man.

THEY SAY IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TOO TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS, I AM-MA READY TO LEARN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


I am a drinker. Finally I can admit to myself, my family, to the world. After all these years. I can honestly can say whole heartedly, I absolutely love the taste of a cold one. It does not matter what day,if it be the heat of summer or the cold of winter. What minute or second of the day I will chug a cold one. A can, a bottle or from the spicket um-um-um, the taller the better, the ones chilled to the point of ice crystals floating amongst the liquid pleasure. Whow-wee, it don't get any better than that!!! Only wooses drink plain ass water. I wish for the drink of champions everywhere, it makes your toes tingle as you drink the first taste everyday. It gets on your whiskers and they cry out more! I know I liikkee it, hell yeah! It gives you a jolt that makes you want to scream out! Who wants mountain glacier run off that penguins have shit in since the beginning of time. I gotta have manmade additives to cheer me up. The drink is mostly water anyway, I want to feel the relaxing pleasure of my mountain fresh water with brisky tangy goodies that men have made generation after generation.

Don't go talking any of that light crap for me. I have worked on getting my stomach this size for fourty years. I want only the full flavor stuff hitting me belly. Hit me with your best shot!!! Oh yeah baby, one is never enough unless it is a bucket size, fresh from that ol spicket. I thoroughly enjoy the sensuous build up of them there wet clouds on top. It makes me oh, oh, yeah!!!

"You damn fool, shut the #&*# up says Suzy Smart Assy, you dummed, damned men, think about only two things. Sex for your sexual appetite and a tall cold one to wet your whistle. Do you think blowing every "thang" out-ta porportion especially your itty-bitty male part and under-developed brain that all of you have".

I'm terribly sorry, I must apoligize for Suzy she somes times jumps right into my thought pattern and gives her un-asked opinion.

She made me loose my frame of reference, ex-cuuse me as I take a drink to remember where I was "BIG BELCH", sorry, it is sooo good! All these years of heavy drinking ain't harmed me none. I save them damn aluminum cans until I get a pick up full and start wringing my hands and a thirst begins developing in me belly. Whew doggy, No ham bone for Rover, no new dress for my woman. I'm visualizing cases and cases of the goood stuff! JUST IN CASE (HA, HA) I HAD YOU GOING MY DRINK OF CHAMPIONS IS COCA-COLA............................................................................................... UNTIL NEXT TIME.