Dear john Kerry

I want to be clear about this. Unlike you, I know words mean something. I will not blame the Republicans, or Rush, or anyone else when I say my deepest thoughts. We all know you said what is in your heart, like a man who uses the N word in private.

We know what you think of the fine men and women who fight for America, you proved that 30 years ago, and you proved it again this week.

Here is what I think:

Fuck you John Kerry

Terrible Tuesday

What are your Halloween plans? I intend to try and find a really sincere pumpkin patch and wait for the Great Pumpkin.

I sure will be glad when this week is done, I love to watch movies on TV, but I hate scary movies. I blame Otter and he knows why. If you want to know the scoop -- you will have to find it in the archives, I do not have time to look (hint: The Legend of Bogey Creek is NOT a western).

I am not a smart man, but there are people at my work who are stuttering morons. Well, just one guy in particular. He is increasingly sticking his nose under my customers tent, and nothing good is going to come of it. I am about to be a victim of political infighting way above my paygrade. BOHICA.

Doesn't anyone throw corn (shelled) as a mild Halloween prank anymore? It makes a cool noise on windows and especially aluminum awnings.

Be safe, and come to my house. I need to get rid of this candy. I have nearly eaten my way back to the size 38s. I had lost about 10-15 pounds over the last couple of months and now I cannot quit snacking. Hey Hey Hey here comes HB. I have to get back to the walking and exercising again. I walked around the neighborhood and smoked a fine CAO cigar yesterday at lunchtime. It just made me hungry.

Episode Six -- Nightmare on My Street.

My front Door is a fancy thing with cut glass decorating the top half. You enter the door and are in a small vestibule that leads to the living room. The computer is right at the junction of this hallway and the living room. If I look right while typing this, I can look out the front door.

I have mentioned here before that I rarely dream, and if I do, I can never remember the dream. Last night was an exception.

In my dream I am sitting at the computer looking at blogs, keeping up with my ethernet friends. My pants are around my ankles and I am watching "squirter" videos at Big Dick's Place. The doorbell rings. I can see a young woman looking in through the glass. I jump up, trip over the jeans wrapped around my ankles. She is looking right at me and she can see my erect manhood saluting her. I crawl to the adjacent hall and pull up my pants. The underwear are bunched around my thighs and beneath my ass cheeks. She rings the bell again. I open the door and there stands a petite brunette. Her cheeks are rosy in the cool autumn air. Mine are red with embarrassment. I am sure she can still see my erection. She tells me God sent her and offers me the Jehovah's Witness magazine. I tell her thanks but I am busy. She does not protest and beats a hasty retreat. I do not think this encounter is the stuff of porn legend.

Doctor Freud, please call your office.

Whaa Whaa Boo hoo

Geez, I will sure be glad when Halloween is over. I hate scary/horror/monster movies and that is about all you can find on TV during October.

The Colts do not play until late again this week. I cannot believe they are the underdogs against Denver. One analyst actually believes the Colts will fail to score a touchdown. The current Colts have one of the most prolific offenses in NFL history, no one has stopped them in the last several years. I will allow the possibility the defense will give up more points than the Colts can score, or that they will allow Denver to stay on the field so long that Manning and company cannot score, but I do not believe that Denver can prevent the Colts from reaching the end zone -- several times. I read a stat the other day, the Colts have won the last 25 regular season games when they had the starters on the field and something to play for (ie; playoff spots/home field etc.).

Now that the trees are losing their leaves, I can actually see the neighbors behind me. One good thing is the wind blew all of the leaves away from the yard -- no raking for HB! Those big old sycamore leaves are a bitch.

What the hell is up with blogger? I do not like to complain about a free service, but the last few weeks it has been very difficult to post. Has anyone tried the new Beta version?

Have a good Sunday.

edit. I have now been trying to post this damn thing since 9 am this morning -- 12+ hours.

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weekend cartoon

Friday Five

I had some serious heartburn last night. I was up from about 3:15 until 6:30. I got up for work before 8:00. Since I went to bed after 1:30, let's see, I had...well, I was a history major, so the answer is...not much sleep.

What? You ask why was I up so late? I was reading. My wife bought me the last of the Sharpe Books (except for the one that just came out in hardcover)by Bernard Cornwell. Can you believe this -- I only had about 30 pages to go when I went to bed? That knowledge alone is probably what made me sick to my stomach.

In that vein, here is your challenge for this week's Friday Five:

Name your five favorite literary characters.

Here is my list in no particular order:

1. Jake Grafton from the novels by Stephen Coonts
2. Richard Sharpe from the Sharpe Series by Bernard Cornwell
3. Huck Finn
4. Robin Hood
5. Serge from the novels of Tim Dorsey (these are hilarious)

If I do not post again today, have a great weekend. I hope you get laid.

Just like Willie

I am on the road again today, just like Willie, only without the drugs, drink, and groupies. I am taking the Really Big Boss and his entourage to see more of my customers. I hope this buyer does not do what a customer did to me once. We were on a similar PR visit with my new boss and the customer shook my hand and said "It is nice to finally meet you after all these years. I would think you would visit at least once before you bring in your boss pretending to know our company." He kept a straight face and only told my boss the truth after the meeting. I visited this customer EVERY Month, even though they were in South Carolina and I was in Indiana. This same guy once told a new receptionist to throw me out, he would never buy from my company. I told her I was not leaving, he had to pass the door sometime. She sat there open mouthed in shock. Barry came around the corner laughing his ass off. I miss some of my old customers.

Oh well, just a day trip. Back tonight. So far the answers to the post below are great, but I need more. Ask yourself this: "What have I done for the Hoosierboy lately?" You will know what to do.

LOOK

I have questions.

You have answers.

Why don't you put a few of them in the comments section?

I gotta get one

The lovely and perfect Chou (my blog cousin)had this picture posted on her site. It is sublime and full of life's universal truths. Even though Noah left behind the gentle and perfect unicorn, the beast has the good sense to hate the despicable mime.

Why I outta...

Sorry for no post yesterday. I am sure the trail of tears and soggy Kleenex stretched the nation. I would like to claim Chicago construction traffic was getting better. It seems to this reporter that a whole summer of work achieved exactly nothing. I am just saying...

I titled a post some time ago "Pygmy Sex". I get two to three google hits on that a week. There are some weird folks out there.

What do you say to someone who tracks gum into the carpet of your 6 month old car? What if the then proceed to smear it in about three different places? What if the perpetrator is the president of your company? Technically I guess he did it to his own car. Now how do I get the smashed gum out of the carpet?

Have a happy Wednesday, I have other plans.

Are you dressing for Halloween?

An old couple who hadn't celebrated Halloween in a long time decided to dress up and go out.

The old woman went into her bedroom, stripped naked and tied a lemon between her legs.

When she came out, the old man cried, "You can't go out like that!"

She said, "I can go anyway I like and so can you."

Whereupon he retired to the bedroom and came out stark raving naked with a potato tied to his tallywhacker.

The old woman says, you're going out like that?"

And he replies, "Yep, if you can go as a sour-puss, I can go as a dick-tator.

Where are all of the bunnies?

So, it has been a week since I eyed the evil killer serpent in my backyard. I have tried in vain to catch another glimpse. Now I must face the real questions. Can I go into the yard at night without fear? Will I be able to walk the lawn in the late evenings barefoot as is my wont (next summer mind you, it is too cold now)?

Here is a list of issues I must face:

1. Did I really see the snake?
2. Did the hate vibe and evil looks I sent in the snake's direction scare it off?
3. Has it burrowed underground for the winter?
4. Is it slowly trying to dig under my house trying to find a means to hide under my bed?
5. Is the snake plotting to come in through my window on a rainy night like I once saw in an unnamed movie where this cobra slithered through a window to kill the unsuspecting sleeper? I think seeing this scene in a movie as a youngster help fuel my fear of snakes. Does anyone know what movie this was? I turned the channel in terror.
6. Is the snake now sending out weird snake signals to encourage his buddies to infest my house as in the article found at Goldbloom's place?
7. What made all of the holes in my yard, and am I facing an infestation of reptiles next summer?
8. How do I kill the son of a bitch when I cannot find it?
9. How do you kill a snake when you are terrified of them. I live inside the city limits so shooting it (my first choice) is not an option.
10. Will the terrifying dreams about snakes ever stop?

At my old house I had birds and ducks and geese and bunnies and frogs. Here I have snakes. I am not sure I made an upgrade. I have yet to see a bunny here. Is that a bad sign? Maybe that is because of the ferral cats roaming the neighborhood. BTW, if I decide to shoot the now invisible snake in the event it decides to again reveal itself, the damn loadmouth tan cat is getting it too. Shitting on my sidewalk is not amusing.

Watch some football and have a happy Sunday.

Indiana Evening

I took this picture out my car window with a camera phone last night. Not bad for 50 mph.

A post where Hoosierboy becomes a liar

In memory of Chase Hubler...


I know I said I would never post a youtube video. This is my son's friend, who died in a car wreck a week ago. He was a very talented magician who had invented some illusions.

Finally Friday

Thank goodness it is Friday, what a long lousy week.

I went out to do my afternoon snake hunt yesterday. The basilisk was hiding due to the rain and cold wind. I am sure he is inching closer to the house, plotting my demise. As the grass is shorter, and dying, I have noticed a number of holes all about one inch or so in diameter near the storage barn and brook. Some are on the house side of the water. This is a bad omen. Did the previous owner poke holes in the yard at random? Is it rodents? Could it be crawdads? Is there a veritable herd of black mambas twisting and twining their evil bodies in a huge underground warren beneath my property? Am I going to have to burn the house and move?

In the spirit of my snake infestation, for the Friday Five:

What scares you?

Here is my list:

1. SNAKES
2. Spiders
3. Heights -- this is strange as I used to be a roofer, and there was nothing I would not try to climb in my youth. Heck, I have jumped out of airplanes.
4. Bridges. This does not bother me so much anymore.
5. Failure

And I should mention, I am afraid of snakes.

Common you lurkers, play along. Give me your comments -- What are you afraid of? Do it for the chillrin, do it for the little kittens and puppies at the animal shelters.

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The Drain is Now Clear

I wrote the pitiful "poor me" post below yesterday afternoon. I did not post it until this morning, because I could not decide if I should. I may delete it later. I have already deleted two posts this week, the first posts ever.

I was sitting at the table this morning checking Emails and working a little when I realized I have, to quote a song from one of my favorite movies, "Plenty to be thankful for" (come on, anyone know what movie that is from?).

I am thankful I could make blueberry muffins last night. There are plenty in the world who are hungry and do not have the ability to stir up a couple boxes of Jiffy mix on a whim.

I am thankful I could have bacon and Cherry Pepsi for breakfast this morning. There are some who want to impose laws against the eating of pork. Personally, I think that is one reason the Islomofascists are so crazy. They do not get to enjoy the wonderful taste of bacon or barbecued pork chops. Plus they do not get beer or the opportunity to see nubile young women in tight jeans and T-shirts at the mall.

I am thankful the nutjobs mentioned above think so little of Indiana they did not even threaten top blow up our stadium this week. Having the team from the Nation's Capital was not even enough to get us noticed. Fuck em -- I will not target any of their cities in retaliation.

I really think Ralphd00d is right, there is just not much to post on these days. If I ain't interested how do I expect you to be? In any case, am I the only one sick of the political commercials? Good G-d, does anyone really buy the crap that the local Republican Representative is unfit for office because some crazy homo-pervert sent text messages to a page? How can the Democrat National committee produce such an ad with Stubbs, Frank, and Clinton in their ranks? Besides, I thought sex was none of our fucking business? Man, I hate hypocrites. In the same vein (you have to be local for this) does anyone really believe foreign countries are asking and begging for Dick Lugar to come and blow up their missiles? Besides, he is running for re-election to the Senate unopposed, why is he running ads anyway?

After I mowed on Sunday I was standing on the bridge looking at the creek and I saw a snake on the other bank. If you are new here I should explain I am wet-my-pants-scared of snakes. I hate them even more than Arabs who are trying to blow up football stadiums. It was curled up and looked to be about nine foot (or maybe about 12-14 inches) long. It was gray with darker gray patches on its side. The head had a little yellow tint. The serpent was maybe an inch or so in diameter. I am sure it was poisonous. I tried to look up pictures of snakes on the internet and I could not find a description or picture that fit this giant python living in my backyard. I am equally sure it is now plotting a way across the creek and into my bedroom, so it can hide under my bed. I threw a stick at it. I went to get my hoe (the garden tool not my wife -- hah!) so I could chop it up. The snake (king cobra?) was gone when I got back. I have warily searched for the little bastard every day since, but it is not to be found. I covered and filled a couple of crawdad holes with logs and sticks in case he is hiding there. I contemplated pouring Drano down the holes, but what if the poisonous snake where to jump up and wrap his anaconda sized scales around my neck while I was hunched over the hole? Did I mention I hate snakes?

Viva bacon, down with snakes and terrorists who want to ruin football. If you know how to get rid of the damn rattlesnakes in my yard let me know. I have not slept for a week without dreaming of killer serpents and it is getting to me. The evidence is the crybaby post below.

The toilet is clogged

I sit here, willing words of wisdom and insight to spew forth from my fingertips through the keyboard to the world wide web in a desperate effort to entertain, educate and amuse you. Do not move to the edge of your seat, it is not going to happen today.

I find myself in a serious funk. I think back at the course of this year, 2006, and realize I have written this post many times. This has been the toughest year of my life. So many bad things have happened ( I have not related the half of it here), and we are but three quarters through the pages of the calendar. Each day I get out of bed, cringing like a beaten cur, dreading the kick I know is coming. I try hard to remind myself that for each bad event, good has followed. Then another calamity strikes. Knock me down and I get back up -- it is just a little slower with each passing day.

I am worried about my oldest boy. He has few friends and the senseless untimely death of one of his few comrades has left him devastated. He has shut out the world, he will not eat, refuses to talk with family or counselors. I recognize the stages of grief in him, anger, denial, etc. Finally last night he talked a little, remembering some good times, but this morning he was again grim. I feel a complete failure as a parent because I do not know how to reach him, to ease his suffering. Part of me is just afraid he will not wait for time to heal his wounds. Even committing such a thought to the Ethernet terrifies me, the very utterance could make it come true. Yesterday he faced the emotional battering ram of the viewing, the visitation. What a horrid tradition. Today he lies the body of his 17 year old buddy to rest. He does not want his mother or I to accompany him to the funeral. I grieve for my son. I pray to God to ease his pain.

Already, he is like me, he is pissed at the phonies who are pouring out their tears for a person they hardly knew. I am still pissed at the phonies who did the same at the funeral of a friend who died in a similar accident when we were both in high school -- more than 25 years ago. I hate that kind of shit. Hypocritical bastards.

My son is like me. We do not discuss feelings, emotion is a weakness, crying a shame. That is the other burden I shoulder, I am scared it is I who taught him to bottle up his emotions, prevented him from a healthy release. "Be tough", always my words when he was hurt. Sometimes you just cannot be tough.

Each of you is a complete stranger, and here I sit pouring out my concerns like the gossip at the beauty shop. You are like my friends. Most days I spend more time with you, my virtual friends, than I do my family. I enjoy reading of your lives, your work, your jokes and opinions. When you do not post I miss you. So I guess the whole point of this post is to thank you for being there, for reading this drivel, for sharing my life and yours.

I am not the first to ponder why we do this strange hobby. 99% of our friends, neighbors and family will get a puzzled look in their eyes when you mention the blog world. Nearly every day I try to pound out something. Some days I think it is good, some days I cannot believe the shit I post. Most days I think the content is in the middle. I know why I do it though. I do it for me. Fat in Indiana keeps the old emotional cork from blowing. I assure you most of you would be disappointed by the real me. I do imagine a bit of my hidden personality reflects from the mythical persona of Hoosierboy. I find much of life amusing. Some of the stuff I post I think is really funny, based on the response, some of your are not quite as amused. Rest assured if I make a joke about you, it is the highest form of compliment. The problem is, I find little in life amusing these days.

Thus ends another session of self catharsis. I should have shuttered this site long ago. It is boring and self-indulgent. For some reason 50-70 of you stop by here daily. I guess you visit for the same reason people slow to see a train wreck or watch skateboard videos of guys getting their balls racked -- you cannot help yourself. I lack the skills to become more popular, the majority of you I think visit from habit. Thanks, whatever your reasons. As long as putting up the old daily post keeps me amused I will continue.

In conclusion, thanks for putting up with the increasing number of these "poor me" posts. I just reread the disjointed ramblings of the preceding paragraphs. I cannot believe you have not quit reading already. Too bad, I am not going to rewrite 20 minutes of pouring out my soul. Link me, give me comments, come back tomorrow. It will all get better. Oh, yeah: don't forget to vote. The thought of Nancy Pelosi in charge would put me over the edge. You do not want that on your head do you?

Friday Funny

Sister Mary, who worked for a home health agency,
was out making her rounds visiting homebound patients when she ran out of gas. As luck would have it, a gas station was just a block away.

She walked to the station to borrow a gas can and buy some gas. The attendant told her that the only gas can he owned had been loaned out, but she could wait until it was returned.

Since the nun was on the way to see a patient, she decided not to wait and walked back to her car. She looked for something in her car that she could fill with gas and spotted the bedpan she was taking to the patient.

Always resourceful, she carried the bedpan to the station, filled it with gas, and carried the full bedpan back to her car.

As she was pouring the gas into her tank, two men watched from across the street. One of them turned to the other and said, "If it starts, I'm turning
Catholic."

Holy Crap, Goldbloom!

Mrs. Goldbloom recently posted a picture of her (and her obvious multiple personalities) visit to a carnival. Unbeknownst to her, I was also there! Crazy. I was standing right next to her. Below is the proof, circled in red. Yep, that is me -- a big old teddy bear.

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This is a companion piece to Jerry's at Back Home Again. What can I say, Great minds and all of that...

A parable

A retired corporate executive, now a widower, decided to take a vacation. He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life--that is, until the ship sank.

He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies,nothing-- only bananas and coconuts.

After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore.

In disbelief, he asks, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"She replies, "I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank."Amazing," he notes. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you."

"Oh, this thing?" explains the woman. "I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree.

"But, where did you get the tools?

"Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. "On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron..I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware."

The guy is stunned.

"Let's row over to my place," she says. After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.

As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope,the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please. Would you like a drink? "No! No thank you," he blurts out, still dazed. "I can't take another drop of coconut juice. "It's not coconut juice," winks the woman. "I have a still. How would you like a Pina Colada?"

Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk. After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."

No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. "This woman is amazing," he muses. "What next?"

When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines, strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckons for him to sit down next to her "Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been out here for many months. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?" She stares into his eyes. He can't believe what he's hearing.

"You mean " he swallows excitedly and tears start to form in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you've built a Golf Course!"

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Calling all Attorneys

I know this is wrong, but I need the best kind of legal advise -- cheap.

When my house was sold I told the new owners that a friend would be coming in the next several weeks to get the swingset / play center. The swingset was not a permanent structure. I will admit that it is the kind constructed from lumber and included a tower / slide / and swings.

The new owner did not indicate a problem at the time. Now, when my friend came for the swing set, the new owner claims he bought the swingset. I claim that it is just like my trampoline or patio furniture, it is mine. Of course, I do not want the swingset, I just do not want to look like an asshole to my friend. As you can see, I do not want to pay a lawyer to fight over property I do not want.

What is the status of this swingset, and who owns it?

Please help.

Just ain't funny any more

I went to bed pissed off last night. That is not unusual any more. I was doing some channel surfing and the caught a rerun of Dick Cavet interviewing the great Groucho Marx. TCM followed that show with a bevy of Marx Brothers movies. In my youth I loved the Marx Brothers. Monty Python had nothing on these guys. I imagined what they would have done in modern times without the censors. Their freewheeling comedy always gave the impression a significant portion was unscripted, and if we could see the cutting room floor, no take would be the same.

For some reason, I found very little of the movie funny. Maybe it was the bad editing or the poor sound and video quality. Mostly, the schtick was lame. Maybe it was a function of my mood or maybe I have matured. In any case, I fell asleep disappointed. Next I expect I will turn on a late night oldie and find Errol Flynn and Paul Newman are no longer the coolest, and Esther Williams and Raquel Welch are no longer sexy.

I think I need to give Groucho, Harpo, and Chico another shot. Our heroes should not be knocked down so easily. I will blame it all on my bad mood.

Are you ready for some Football?

Saturday is College Football day and many of you guys tune in for the day. Sunday we get the NFL and even the hapless Raiders have fans who like to watch. Alas, our girls are often left out and forbidden from sharing the fun because the game of football seems too complicated. Here we find an example:

A guy took his blonde girlfriend to her first football game. They had great seats right behind their team's bench. After the game, he asked her how she liked the experience. "Oh, I really liked it," she replied, "especially the tight pants and all the big muscles, but I just couldn't understand why they were killing each other over 25 cents."

Dumbfounded, her date asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, they flipped a coin, one team got it and then for the rest of the game, all they kept screaming: 'Get the quarterback! Get the quarterback!' I'm like...Helloooooo? It's only 25 cents!!!!

Now for the Friday Five. Name five things you like about Fall.

Wednesday rerun (on Thursday) part two

The Demons of Camerone Part II
Elements of the Third Company First Battalion of The French foreign Legion were surrounded by Mexican Cavalry. More than 2,000 Mexicans faced less than 46 Legionaires posited behind the crumbling adobe walls of the Hacienda Camerone. Mexican snipers occupied the upper stories of the ruined buildings, while the determined Captain Danjou elicited a promise from his surviving troops that they would fight to the end. A running firefight had erupted at around 7:30 am. At 9:30 the embattled Legionaires refused to surrender. Around 11:00 am Captain Danjou was hit by sniper fire while scurrying across the courtyard. He was rescued by two men, but died less than five minutes later. Shortly after, The Legionaires heard bugle calls and prayed it was a relief column or the convoy coming to the rescue. A sergeant in the Legion climbed to the stable roof. He reported that the Mexican Cavalry was being joined by approximately 1,000 infantry. Local guerrillas swelled the already impossible odds. Still the Third Company refused to surrender. The noon sun baked the interior of the hacienda. The remaining soldiers and the wounded alike began to suffer from thirst. The North Africa vetrans drank their own urine to fight dehydration. Ammunition began to run low. At 2:00 pm the second in command Lt. Villain was killed. The attackers threw smoldering bales of straw over the walls. Smoke, heat, thirst, fear and exhaustion preyed upon the defenders. Repeated assaults brought the Mexicans close enough to batter holes in the ramparts. Still the defenders held. At 5:00 pm The Mexican Commander called upon the remaining Legionaires to surrender. Only twelve remained on their feet. They again refused. Colonel Milan harangued his Mexican soldiers on the subject of their national honor and launched a full assault on the hacienda. After a desperate hour-long fight the Mexicans controlled the entire compound except the stable. Lt. Maudet and and five unhurt survivors were all that remained. Their ammunition was all but gone, they were dying of hunger and thirst, but they remembered their promise to Captain Danjou. Throwing aside the barricades, these six brave men launched a bayonet charge against the massed Mexican infantry! Maudet and two others were struck down in a hail of gunfire. The remaining three brave soldiers formed back to back, bayonets lowered. They were ready to kill and be killed. The awed Mexicans could only stare. Finally the three were convinced to surrender. Unable to believe there were only three survivors Mexican Colonel Milan responded "Pero, non son hombres -- son demonios" (truly, these are not men -- they are demons). The Mexicans treated the wounded. The three survivors and the 16 that were cut off in the earlier retreat to Camerone were later exchanged. Estimates are that the Legionaires inflicted more than 300 casualties. The half company had fought at more than one hundred to one odds for almost 10 hours. Later, the wooden hand of Danjou was found amid the ruble of the buildings at Camerone. Every year the hand, in a little glass coffin, is paraded to the First Battalion of the French Foreign Legion as a reminder of their heritage and the standards they should attain. April 30 remains a holiday for the Legion. Have you perviously heard of the Demons of Camerone?

Turdy Thursday

Blogger has been doing its normal thing this morning and I can not read most of your blogs.

Did anyone read the previous rerun post? Did you like it? Do you know what happens to the Legionaires? Do you care? The two posts that make up this story remain my most "googled" entries.

We had a batch of homemade potato soup for supper last night, it fit perfectly with the fall air. Left overs are on tap for lunch. The temperature was 31 when I got up this morning -- Hello Fall.

Has anyone tried the new Blogger Beta they are pushing? Do you have any recommendations?

I have added some new links and a recent comments section. Peruse at will.

Wayback Wednesday -- a rerun post

This post was first published on April 12, 2005, back when I had two readers, Alli at Ranting Fox, and anyone who happened to accidentally click on the "next blog" link at the top of blogger. This was back when I put time into this pitiful blog. I hope you enjoy this true story, hey -- you might learn something.

The Demons of Camerone Part 1

The French have a well deserved reputation for surrendering in the face of the enemy. Not since the days of Napoleon have they offered an effective fighting force. This is a fact they realized themselves over 160 years ago when they were forced to form the French Foreign Legion. The Legion was the brainchild of Marshal Soult, one of Napoleon's Field Marshals. At the time of its formation most French thought the Legion was a disgrace and were offended that mercenaries had to be used to fight the Nation's battles. The Legion was given the dirty jobs the French regular Army was too soft to handle. They subjugated North Africa, they were rented to Spain, they carried the brunt of the French fighting in the Crimea and Peidmonte Wars. The Legion was only for the strongest. Discipline was brutal. Soldiers from the Legion were separated from their homeland and family. For them, the French Foreign Legion was "Legio Patria Nostra" -- The Legion is our Country. By 1860 Mexico had finished a bloody Civil war. The economy was ruined. The Government could not pay its debts(some things never change). President Benito Juarez suspended payment of all foreign debt. French Emperor Napoleon III took strong exception. He invaded Mexico with the intention of installing his own puppet government under Archduke Maximillian. Wait a minute you might ask? What about the Monroe Doctrine. Well you see the French did not have to worry about the US as we were in the middle of a little altercation already -- our own Civil War. The Legion was given the duty of guarding the supply lines in the malaria zone of the coastal plain from Vera Cruz to Cordoba. Legionaire ranks were soon depleted by Malaria, typhus and Yellow Fever. On April 20, 1663 a convoy of artillery, ammunition and paychests left Vera Cruz. The Mexican army soon caught word and set out to attack the convoy. The French learned of this impending attack and sent the Third Company of the First Battalion French Foreign Legion to scout the route back to the convoy. This reconnaissance in force was to travel down the Vera Cruz road to Palo Verde, a trip of about 20 miles.

The Third Company had a nominal strength of 120. Disease had thinned the ranks to just 62 men when the march began. All the officers were sick, so command was given to Captain Jean Danjou. The Captain was a longstanding veteran who had lost his hand in the Crimea. He sported a wooden left hand held on with a leather cuff. The Company left their post at Chiquihuite around midnight on April 30. They passed an abandoned and partially destroyed hacienda called Camerone. The traveled on a few more miles to Palo Verde even more ruined and deserted. This was the limit to the patrol. Danjou allowed the men breakfast, but they no sooner lit the cookfires when Mexican Cavalry was spotted to the West.

Danjou moved the men quickly back in the direction of Chiquihuite, using the scrub away from the road as to avoid detection. Just past Camerone, the small column was attacked by Mexican cavalry. The pack mules with the spare water and ammunition fled in panic. Danjou retreated south of the road where he beat off another attack by forming his company into a square. The company moved toward the ruined hacienda at Camerone for protection, and 16 stragglers were cut off. Danjou got his company to the safety of the ruined adobe walls, only to find Mexican snipers have occupied the upper floors. A long fire fight ensued. By about 8:00 am The remaining 46 Legionaires are surrounded by about 800 Mexican Cavalry, snipers cover most of the courtyard where the Legionaires are holed up and an unknown number of local guerrillas have joined the fray. At around 9:30 a Mexican Army officer came forward under a flag of truce. He informed the Legionaires that they were now surrounded by more than 2,000 soldiers. He offered generous terms of surrender. Danjou replied that he had plenty of ammunition and he would never surrender.

Stay tuned for part two.

The first kiss.

I was small as a kid. Really, I was a runt. I was also really shy, especially around girls. I had tried the girlfriend thing in Jr. High, but it was lame, for the pathetic Hoosierboy, having a girlfriend involved riding my bike past her house, or sending a note, and occasionally calling on the phone, when I could muster courage. Often, I would just hang up. Thank goodness there was no caller ID or star 69 in those days. Needless to say, I did not really have a girlfriend.

In the old days, the high school held a big homecoming bonfire in the gravel lot behind the tennis courts. Each class did their best to gather the most wood, and nothing in the county was safe. We loaded a pickup with pilfered railroad ties. The last remaining outhouses found their way to the top of the pile. Construction sites were raided, the neighbor's firewood disappeared. Farmers cleared trees and they graced the pile. Picnic tables were "donated" by the parks department. I remember one year where a rocking chair appeared at the top of the heap. I guess now I understand why the tradition came to an end. The wood was piled twenty or thirty feet high and the blaze could be seen for miles in the flat farm country surrounding the town. Good times.

I had a little crush on this chick (or maybe she had the crush on me) my freshman year. She was cute and was shorter than me. She had short hair, her curves were starting to form and she had small but pert little boobies. As I grow older I know she was determined to bring me out of my shyness. As was done in those days before cell phones and instant messages the rumor was floated by mutual friends; Joni likes HB, do you like her? "I dunno, she is kind cute". In the weeks before Homecoming we made uncomfortable small talk in the halls between classes, she doing the talking, me just turning red in the face. We agreed we might see each other at the bonfire.

The Homecoming bonfire was held a day or two before Homecoming. The big day arrived, I ambled over to the high school from my home a block or so away. The blaze was lit, cheers were heard. The flames were scorching hot, and everyone was forced away from the inferno. The band played the fight song, the cheerleaders did their thing, and I found myself next to the girl, standing in the dancing shadows at the fringe of the crowd. Her lips met mine, electricity coursed through my body. Her tongue shot into my mouth to mingle with mine. Hey, this was cool. Now I knew what I was missing. I squeezed her butt through her jeans, she pressed tight against me. My dick got hard (hey, I was a randy teenager). We made out for what seemed forever. A date was made for the football game on Friday. We met at the movie on Saturday, I walked to the theater, she had her mom drive her. We made out for the whole movie. She let me squeeze her tits through her shirt.

We dated through the winter. By spring, I realized she was a bitch. We broke up, and reunited regularly. By summer I was copping a feel from different girls at the pool. By the next homecoming I was picking up girls at away football games. I was still painfully shy, but I learned how the shy silent type can be attractive to certain girls. "Whoa, I thought you were the shy type" was muttered often. A few beers, a bottle of wine, a little vodka did wonders for confidence.

I saw her again, occasionally. The last time I went to her house, her parents away. She made me dinner, I took off her clothes. We did everything but finish the deed. I realized I did not like her much. I left her there, naked on her bed. She never spoke to me again. Sometimes you really piss off a person for what you do not do.

The view from here

Here are a few more pictures for your enjoyment. The first is my flower beds at the old house this time last year.
Here is a picture of the brook/creek/rivulet/ditch behind the new house.That is my bridge in the foreground. The brook is about two feet across and runs from two to ten inches deep, depending on the rainfall.

How crazy is the weather? It was almost 80 degrees on Sunday. It was 75 yesterday, with highs expected near 70 today. The weather quacks are calling for snow flurries on Thursday. Of course that will be the story and the "Storm Team" will be doing their best to incite over-hype and panic. I guess I better rush to the store now, every time it snows there is a run on bread and eggs. Hoosiers must like to make french toast when it snows.

Monday Musings

I Think:

Spending more than two hours doing expenses is ridiculous. I need to do a better job and get back to weekly reporting. This is not hard, just a pain.

The Colts scare me. Are they bored, just giving enough effort to win, as one columnist has suggested? Are teams bringing their A game every week knowing they are playing one of the best teams in the NFL? Are the Colts doing it with smoke and mirrors? I am sure of one thing, he will not be named MVP, because his performance has become expected, but Peyton Manning is carrying this team on his back.

Is it fair to say I am in a rut when you consider I have had the same thing for lunch at LEAST once a week for more than five years; a Banquet Brand Salisbury Steak TV Dinner? I do not even like it much any more. I bought a Salisbury Steak and a Turkey. Guess which I chose today? HB you are just boring.

Speaking of boring, am I the only one who finds this site boring these days? I started this blog in March of 2005. This will be post 920. I have missed very few days putting up at least one post. Maybe I should start looking for quality in place of quantity. Maybe the old blog is ready to die a natural death. I think I need to make it to at least 1,000 posts.

There was a big, nasty spider on the side of the house the other day. This bastard was huge. Its thorax (hind end?) was as big as my thumb. Here is a picture.

Man, I hate fucking spiders almost as much as I hate snakes. Does anyone know what kind of spider it is? It is a dead one now, BTW. I am sure it, like all snakes, is poisonous.

At the top of the post is a picture of what the flower beds looked like at my old house this time last year. There are no flowers at the new house, but there is a nice little brook in the back yard. I will go take a picture of it for comparison. I have the picture, but asshole blogger will not let me post it. Maybe later.

Is Kim Jong Il aka Big Boy nuts? I guess from his point of view, what more can we do to his country. The people have one of the lowest standards of living in the world, the news is 100% state controlled, and sanctions will have little or no impact. I guess there is a new nuclear player, and we can thank Jimmah Carter for that. Will they take away his Peace Prize since he is pretty much responsible for the world just becoming a little more dangerous?

Groggy mornings

I woke Thursday morning tired and groggy. I would like to blame the hotel, but I only sleep an hour or two at a time at home. I expected more since I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express.

I shaved, showered and dressed. I had on my sharp blue shirt, tan slacks and a tie. I read a few emails, grabbed the complimentary USA Today and headed to the lobby for a free continental breakfast. I enkoyed coffee, and cinnamon rolls while I read the paper. Several people, including an attractive Asian lady kept staring at me. It must be the tie, or the fact I have dropped about ten pounds, I thought.

I got back to the room and went in to brush my teeth and finish packing to head for my 10 am business meeting with big client number two. I glanced at the mirror and realized I had dried my hair with a towel -- like always. I neglected to comb my hair after the shower. I looked like some punk asshole with hair pointing in all directions. Man, sometimes I am a real putz. At least no one knew me and I caught it before my meetings! So much for the Holiday Inn Express advantage.

Yes, Little Jose, There Is a Tooth Fairy

I hate to tackle this issue, after all the loverly Mrs. Goldbloom was an ally in my recent victory in the blogwar against the evil Dragonlady. This post has me in a tizzy and I must respond.

Yes, Little Jose, there is a Tooth Fairy. In all ages there have been small minded people who do not share the dreams of children, of poets, of storytellers, of Pisces. Some people will try and tell you that there is no mysterious figure that sneaks into your room under the dark of night and snatches worthless enamel and calcium structures from under your pillow. They will try to say you are not really paid for the pain and suffering of losing your teeth. These small minded folks will try and tell you that you deserve no reward for your humiliation and degradation of being asked by stupid adults "What happened to your tooth?" You need to be rewarded for not replying " It fell out, you dumbass".

These same narrow minded adults will try and tell you that there is no bogeyman, no leprechaun, no evil clowns, no killer rabbits, no tooth fairy. Some will go so far as to say there is no Hooiserboy. Well let me tell you little Jose, there is a Tooth Fairy just as sure as there are haunted houses and evil spirits and Hoosierboys. Let me add, that not all of the brown acid was bad at Woodstock, so you cannot believe authority figures.

The Tooth Fairy lives in all of us. She is the spark that sets off the fire at the gas station. She is the pinprick that pops your Birthday balloon, the scratch on your favorite CD...no wait that is the April Fools Fairy. The Tooth Fairy is the magic of Disney World, the shiver that runs up your spine as you get your first kiss, the feel of a good pee after holding it too long.

Rest assured, the tooth fairy is there watching you sleep in a sort of creepy way. No matter what your Mom says, the Tooth Fairy knew about those little dog teeth. She may not have paid you, but the Fairy gave that little tail wagging doggie a well-deserved milkbone. Keep up the good work, brush your teeth and keep saving your money, 'cause Uncle Hoosierboy has one kid in college and another starting next year -- he might need a loan. Believe, Little Jose, Believe.

917

It is time once again for the Friday Five. In light of my big whine post on Wednesday the theme for this week is travel. Name five places you would like to visit (or revisit).

In no particular order here are my choices:

1. The Pacific Northwest, particularly the Columbia River Gorge. The picture is of Multonomah Falls near Portland, OR. I have visited here dozens of times and I never tire of the view, especially if you take the old Historic Highway. It is spectacular any time of year.

2. The Baseball Hall of Fame. I have been there, but I would love to take my son.

3. Bavaria. I have some good friends there I would like to see again. I also long for brats and beer.

4. Australia

5. I would like to take a cruise.

6. (hey it is my blog) Alaska, especially the Sitka / Juneau area.

Hello Walls

We had an interesting discussion over pizza last night. My oldest boy said he would like to have a job like mine, he said he likes to drive and travel. Me too, once. Do not get me wrong, I cannot remember the last time I woke up and said "I do not want to work today", but the glamour and adventure is long gone. I am not sure it ever existed.

Look, I realize I have traveled all over the world and seen things most of you never will, all on the company's expense. I have met wonderful people, eaten great food. I have climbed the stairs on the Eiffel Tower. I have ridden a train through the Rhine valley seeing castles and vineyards. I have toured the red light districts of Hamburg and Amsterdam. I have drank beer in the royal cities of Austria, admiring the alpine lakes (honestly, I considered staying). I have seen the magnificence of the Cascades, met the wonderful people of the South. I have been to the great cities of the world, New York, London, Chicago, Paris.

I have also seen the other side, the traffic jams, the long hours of "windshield" time. I have dined alone, stayed in thousands of hotel rooms. It is such aspects that depress me to no end any more. Here I sit, The Breakfast Club playing in the background, bored out of my mind. At least I am staying at a Holiday Inn Express. Tomorrow should be great! Two customer visits and about 8 hours of driving, minimum. It all depends on the vagaries of the Chicago Expressway system. Most of you, if you have been reading here for a while, recognize the "poor HB" post this is becoming. I crank one of these out about every three months. Do not worry, I will have a joke, a funny story, a classic rant in the coming days.

Hey, things are looking up already, I got one of the surveys from the restaurant -- I might win $25K. You never know. Look at the bright side, when I am bored, you get more of my ramblings!

As I wretch over the toilet

The whole Foley mess makes me sick. The fact that the pervert is a Republican is not germane to the discussion. A sick fuck is a sick fuck. If the Democrats held on to the evidence this guy was hitting on kids for some political evidence, shame on them.

Look, crooks, and dickweeds come in all stripes, democrat and republican, liberal and conservative. The fact Foley longs to suck little boys has nothing to do with how the Republicans run the country. The fact that Teddy Kennedy is a lying murderer has nothing to do with how Democrats run the country.

The fact that when caught doing ( or trying) to do the nasty, Foley resigned, while that lying bribe taking crook Jackson stays in office does say a lot for the approach certain people take to public office and their views on integrity.

To claim that the Republicans are unfit to hold office because of this guy is ridiculous. Arguments to the contrary are welcome.

A scary story

My wife works as an aide in Kindergarten. Some of her duties include periodic recess supervision. Usually there are two teachers / aides for about 60-80 children. The school where she works is a great public school. All of my kids attended that school. The school abuts a cemetery and the playground is adjacent to the maintenance buildings for the cemetery. There is a dead ground (no pun intended) so the kids do not wander in to the cemetery. I mean to indicate there is a clear separation of the properties. This is the setting for our terrifying tale.

Every day the kids go out to play, in shifts, so there is often kids on the playground for several hours straight. At the cemetery works a scary man. He has twice gone to prison. I am sure his options for work are few. You see, he is a twice convicted child molester. He does not live near the school, so he is not in violation of the law, and he is duly registered (that is how the school found out about him). According to the law, there is nothing the school can do. The cemetery will not fire him as he is reportedly a good worker, and they would then be open to various discrimination laws. The real fault is such a person should never have been hired to begin with to work next to a school. As I understand the law, the cemetery was not allowed to ask why the man went to prison.

I understand the man has paid his price, but studies (and this man's history) show that there is little chance of a "cure" for a child molester. That crime has the highest rate of recidivism among criminals. There is no doubt in my mind this creep soought out work at the cemetery on purpose.

How would you like to be a supervisor of several dozen wild, running, active six year olds, knowing a predator is nearby? There, my friends, is a chilling tale for the Halloween season.

BREAKING NEWS

Representative Mark Foley has been banned from the Congressional Library -- he keeps bending over the pages.


ba dump doomt



Oh quit, you will repeat that one before the week is over.

Happy Birthday, Brad

Yes readers, today is my oldest son's birthday. My three kids' birthdays are within two weeks. Yep, if you do the subtraction the winter used to be a jolly time at the HB household. The boys were born a day apart, with five years (less one day) separating. By a strange coincidence I will relate another day, the wife had the same OB doctor for the both boys. Why is that strange you ask? They were born in different hospitals ninety miles apart. Anywoo, my middle child turns 18 today. Because of him I rearranged my family values. This is a story I am ashamed to tell.

I worked like a madman in those days. I worked at least 12 hours a day, often seven days a week. As an indication of this, from Thanksgiving the year previous to his birth until the following April, I had exactly five days off. That would include Thanksgiving, Christmas eve and Christmas, and New Year's day. I worked New Years Eve. I averaged 80 hours per week. All in the name of cash. I was paid very little as a management trainee, and I needed the overtime to survive. During the week, I worked days, often going in at three am and working until 3 in the afternoon. The company hired a weekend shift to help reduce overtime. These people worked 11 - 11 and were paid for thirty hours of work. It was a good deal. Of course there was a need for supervisors and support staff. On Fridays I worked my normal eight and sometimes twelve hours and returned at 11 o'clock pm to be a supervisor. I did the same on Saturday night. I got home at 11 am on Sunday and often had to be at work at three am on Monday morning, that was a big shipping day for the company.

I was a management trainee. I wrote about this before. I learned every job in the place and my only permanent duty was to manage the monthly inventory. Yes, believe it or not we conducted a physical inventory EVERY MONTH. From rags and bolts to raw material. Then the values were added and extended by hand. The results were faxed to headquarters within three days. If you have ever done an inventory you know how crazy that is. We had the system down to a science, we could even do a running inventory while the plant ran.

At about 5:00 am on October first, my wife told me she thought she was starting labor. I did not panic, I did not make a frantic dash to the car or scream about her "bag". I asked how far along, and she said the pains were still minor. I said I had better get to work to see if I could get the inventory started. In my defense, she had had some false labor previously. I told her to call me when the pains got serious or her water broke. A real prince was I in those days. I left her in labor to tend our two year old daughter. I suggested she call her mom or mine if she needed help.

I worked my ass off. I was trying to get as much done as possible. I did call home a couple of times, remember there were no cell phones in those days. My boss let me use the company phone instead of the pay phone in the breakroom.

Finally a little after five in the afternoon, my wife called and said her water had broken and her pains were pretty bad. I jumped in my beater truck and headed home. I stopped by the house and picked up the wife and headed for the hospital. Luckily the hospital was only a few blocks away. She had already called the doctor and we were expected. The baby was born at around 6:30 pm.

I had been there for only the end of the process. My wife suffered 12 hours of labor by herself. I went to work. As I held my amazing son in my arms I vowed that never again would I put work ahead of my family. I asked for a new job that month. I had to do a swing shift, but the overtime was reduced. I was home on the weekends. I finally landed a better position in a new company the following June.

I work hard. I have had to miss a few things due to travel. But I have not missed much. I have driven through the night to attend a school play or PTO program. I have flown the red-eye to get back for a game or dance recital. Now my job revolves around my family. Occasionally I find myself working -- looking at emails, calculating forecasts at ten in the evening. I look over at the pictures of my kids, and the look on the oldest boy's face reminds me of what is important.

Happiest of days son.