I wrote this back in 2008 also.
At the time I do not think it garnered a single comment. I enjoyed writting it any way.
From March 20, 2008 (avery great day):
March 20, 2008
One April Morning
He opened his eyes and for a moment and did not know where he was. It was the grey twilight of predawn. The dew was heavy and there was a thin veil of fog drifting from the river. He heard the snap of twigs and the hard breath as someone blew on the previous nights embers. A few more huffs and he heard the pop of the wood as the fire caught hold of the kindling.
He rolled from his blanket and made his way through the thick underbrush behind the camp. He unbuttoned his fly and relieved himself. He pulled up his suspenders and buttoned the top button of his shirt. As he walked to the fires he picked up a few sticks for fuel. He stopped at his blankets and pulled on his jacket and wide brimmed hat. He shivered a little as the eastern sky grew pink. Jacob Hoffert offered a prayer of thanks for the new day.
Steeling himself, he reached for his haversack and moved toward the nearest fire. He saw Jonathon there. Jonathan was the last of his original mess. His pard Isaac had gotten bronchitis and was left behind 12 days ago. Seth had simply disappeared. Along with Jonathan, the four had been childhood friends back home. Jonathan had always been kind of a bully, teasing him about his size. As Jacob approached Jonathan said something to the man across the fire. The man turned to look at Jacob and rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. Jacob dropped the armful of wood next to the fire. "Watch it runt" said William Hazlett, who was even bigger than Jonathan. As Jacob squatted next to the fire the wind changed, blowing the smoke from the green wood into his face. Jacob tipped his canteen into the lidded coffee boiler and set it near the flames. Matthew Walker joined the others around the fire. He stirred the embers and knocked a large piece of wood into Jacob's mug, knocking it over. "Hoffert, you are just a Jonas" Walker said, shaking his head.
Jacob reached deep into his haversack and found a cotton poke. In it was a handful of coffee beans he had roasted the previous evening. He had taken the beans and placed them in his rubber blanket, then pounded them into rough grounds with his rifle butt. He righted his cup, added some more of his precious water and dropped in a scant handful of coffee. Jacob noticed the others' envious looks and reluctantly offered the bag. He knew these men, who treated him so badly, would not hesitate to use his whole stash. When the poke was returned, only a thumbwidth of coffee remained in the bottom of the bag.
Walker placed a skillet on the embers and began slicing some salt pork. Jonathon was breaking hard tack into pieces to fry in the grease of the pork. In the distance they heard the sentries fire off the charges from the night before. A few more shots sounded up and down the line. They all looked toward the Southwest as a few shouts were heard, but the call was too far off to make out the words. Motion and more shouts were moving up the line as the firing began to grow heavier than merely the pickets clearing their Springfield rifles. The firing grew into a steady roar as the sound of the long roll was heard. More and more drums took up the call. The soldiers snatched up their accoutrements as their own drummer beat his skins. The officers echoed the shout of "Fall In" as the men raced to the stacked arms, breakfast forgotten.
The bullets began to crash through the branches as the men fell into a rough line before the stacked muskets. "Take arms" was followed by a hasty "load" as the shouts and shots of the Rebel soldiers became clear to their right and front. At the far left of the line --the 'short' end -- Jacob felt the First Sergeant at the left end of K Company move in line next to him. Everyone was loading in haste as the men in butternut erupted from the treeline 30 yards away. They stopped in a rough line and fired a volley. Half of Jacob's own C Company and all of K Company turned and ran. Jacob hastily brought his rifle to full cock and fired a shot without aiming. He turned and ran towards the ridge behind him. The hungry Southerners stopped to loot the camp and pluck the burning bacon from the fire.
The company reformed and fell back to the treeline. A clearing was before them. The armies stood toe to toe, the shots buzzing through the trees and undergrowth like a swarm of hornets around their nest. Jacob fired. His shoulder ached and his face and mouth were black from the powder as he bit into the cartridges. Constant curses and shouts of "dress center" and "close up" came from behind him with numbing regularity as his comrades bled and died in the line. After a few hours there was a lull in the fighting. The shots and killing did not stop, it just became less heavy. Ammunition was brought forward and Jacob took a drink from the brackish water in his nearly-empty canteen. He could see the Rebels rolling artillery into place across the clearing. The sound of battle was so loud he was nearly deaf. He heard a thump like a dropped melon and saw Matthew Walker's head explode in a red mist.
Suddenly the late morning was split with a mass barrage of cannon shot and shell. Branches fell from overhead killing the lieutenant. Pieces of wood flew from the trees as parts of bodies erupted in fountains of blood. The smoke hid the carnage as Jacob Hoffert loaded and fired, loaded and fired. The big guns spurted flame as if the gates of Hell were opening, men died calling for their mother and a few crawled to the rear and hopeful safety. With a blood curdling yell a wave of men in grey and butternut uniforms erupted from among the canon. With bayonets fixed they charged the Union line in the treeline. Jacob Hoffert felt a stinging blow across his side as he was grazed by a musket ball. He did not notice the blood crusting his head from a falling chunk of wood, blasted down by the case shot of the Confederate guns.
The line fell back again. This time to the river. A short heavy officer with a dark beard directed him into line with other troops he did not know. Units were mixed, makeshift regiments formed from individual companies and soldiers. Jacob was hungry and thirsty. As darkness fell, the firing to the front slowed and finally ceased. He fell into a restless sleep born from exhaustion. Suddenly the night sky blazed in red as the gunboats in the river began firing on the Confederate lines.
A body dropped down beside him, it was Jonathan. "God, I am glad to see you" Jonathan said. "I thought we were all gonners". Jacob Hoffert could only nod his head in the dark. He hurt all over and the pain in his skull only seem to intensify the burning crease on his side. Jonathan handed him a damp piece of hardtack. It had a bitter taste, from mud or blood, he did not want to know.
"What happened?" he asked his childhood friend. "The Rebs were supposed to be in Corinth."
"I guess they was here instead. They must of not got the message". deadpanned Jonathan.
"And where is here?" Jacob spoke the words so softly he was barely heard.
"Well the sign on that little white church back by camp said Shiloh Meeting house. I guess that is where we is". Jonathan looked at his scrawny friend, sighed and rolled his eyes.
May 12, 2010
Tuesday reruns, Wednesday edition
I am not sure what inspired this, or what drugs were driving my brain at the time.
From February 2008 I offer this rerun:
February 11, 2008
Do you know me?
I am the smoke from your campfire dissipating in the leafy branches of the trees. I am the dream that makes you smile in your sleep. I am the shadow on the lawn you see on a moonlit night. I am the moan of the wind on a springtime morning. I am the ache in your heart for what you never had. I am the pain in your gut for all you miss. I am the cloud that shines red-gold in the setting sun. I am the butterfly that flutters from petal to petal. I am the drifting snow. I am the smell of corn and fresh mown alfalfa in the fields. I am here and not. I exist on the peripheral of your vision, a shape, a ghost. I am thunder in the clouds. I am the magic you feel at Christmas. I am the tremor you feel in your soul walking a dark street at night. I am the goosebumps on your arms, the tears in your eyes. I am the lingering smell of your wife on the pillow. I am the frost etched on your windows, only to be melted by the winter sun. I am the nuzzle of your man on the back of your neck. I am summer lightning over the horizon. I am a lingering kiss goodbye. I am neither here nor there. I am the lie that tells the truth. I am the pain of childbirth. I am the joy of a first kiss. I am the white heat of betrayal. I am the cold touch of loneliness. I am the kick of a gun. I am the thrill of a roller coaster. I am nobody. I am here and gone. I am real and imaginary. I am Hoosierboy, and I do not exist.
From February 2008 I offer this rerun:
February 11, 2008
Do you know me?
I am the smoke from your campfire dissipating in the leafy branches of the trees. I am the dream that makes you smile in your sleep. I am the shadow on the lawn you see on a moonlit night. I am the moan of the wind on a springtime morning. I am the ache in your heart for what you never had. I am the pain in your gut for all you miss. I am the cloud that shines red-gold in the setting sun. I am the butterfly that flutters from petal to petal. I am the drifting snow. I am the smell of corn and fresh mown alfalfa in the fields. I am here and not. I exist on the peripheral of your vision, a shape, a ghost. I am thunder in the clouds. I am the magic you feel at Christmas. I am the tremor you feel in your soul walking a dark street at night. I am the goosebumps on your arms, the tears in your eyes. I am the lingering smell of your wife on the pillow. I am the frost etched on your windows, only to be melted by the winter sun. I am the nuzzle of your man on the back of your neck. I am summer lightning over the horizon. I am a lingering kiss goodbye. I am neither here nor there. I am the lie that tells the truth. I am the pain of childbirth. I am the joy of a first kiss. I am the white heat of betrayal. I am the cold touch of loneliness. I am the kick of a gun. I am the thrill of a roller coaster. I am nobody. I am here and gone. I am real and imaginary. I am Hoosierboy, and I do not exist.
May 11, 2010
Tuesday Afternoon
It remains cloudy, windy and overcast here in the Hoosier heartland. We had a round of storms come through this morning and it looks like it might rain again at anytime. The weather man says this is what we should expect for the next several days.
I am beleaguered by goofy bullshit at home and work. The boy's ex-girlfriend and three of her friends beat the shit out of his current girlfriend in the phys ed locker room yesterday. He has not dated the old girlfriend for about five months. She broke up with him. Nothing like holding a grudge. His current girlfriend got expelled from school too, since the school policy dictates if you fight back you are guilty of fighting too. I guess she should have let four people beat her until she had to go to the hospital? The boy feels bad. He did nothing wrong, but feels somehow responsible. He has not been able to talk to his current girl. He assumes she is grounded and cannot use her phone. I tried to cheer him up by telling him he is a stud -- chicks are fighting over him. he hates conflict so this is not going well with him. I won't even get into the crazy crap going n with work.
I put some chicken breasts in the crockpot with a couple cans of broccoli cheese soup (and about 1/4 can of milk)and some salt and a few red pepper flakes. Served over noodles or rice it makes an excellent dinner. You can put in 1/4 cup of dry white wine in place of the milk if you desire.
You are welcome.
I am beleaguered by goofy bullshit at home and work. The boy's ex-girlfriend and three of her friends beat the shit out of his current girlfriend in the phys ed locker room yesterday. He has not dated the old girlfriend for about five months. She broke up with him. Nothing like holding a grudge. His current girlfriend got expelled from school too, since the school policy dictates if you fight back you are guilty of fighting too. I guess she should have let four people beat her until she had to go to the hospital? The boy feels bad. He did nothing wrong, but feels somehow responsible. He has not been able to talk to his current girl. He assumes she is grounded and cannot use her phone. I tried to cheer him up by telling him he is a stud -- chicks are fighting over him. he hates conflict so this is not going well with him. I won't even get into the crazy crap going n with work.
I put some chicken breasts in the crockpot with a couple cans of broccoli cheese soup (and about 1/4 can of milk)and some salt and a few red pepper flakes. Served over noodles or rice it makes an excellent dinner. You can put in 1/4 cup of dry white wine in place of the milk if you desire.
You are welcome.
Tuesday reruns
As we head into the spring season, the networks are trotting out re-runs. Always quick to jump on the bandwagon, always a slave to popularity, always trying to be just like everyone else, I present a dose of reruns today.
Well at least one.
Below is one of my favorite short stories. In all, I do not think it is badly written. I also think I am a handsome devil and quite amusing in my way, so there is no accounting for taste.
Anyway, this story was first published in April of 2007. Some of you may have read it way back when:
April 8, 2007
A Day at the Beach
He gasped as he stepped into the surf. He knew the Atlantic was cold, but the chill surprised him every time. The waves were a little higher this time. The ebb tide had turned and high tide was again on the make. His friend and their kid had gone with his son to the outer sand bank about 50 yards offshore where the waves broke just a little bigger. There they could feel the waves crash into their bodies and take turns riding the boogie board on top of the waves for 15 yards or so.
He had made the trip out twice earlier in the afternoon. He could wade out about 30 or 40 feet then he had to swim out to the sand bank where the water was waist deep at best. He had promised his son one more trip out through the surf. When the time came, he begged off. The sun and day at the beach coupled with the two previous swims in the cold ocean to the sand bar had taken their toll; the man was tired. His friend said he would go and with his larger teen aged daughter and the man's small teen aged son they set out, calling him as wuss. The man's wife heckled him to go, reminding him he had promised his son. The man got to his feet with a sigh and followed the three into the surf.
At the sand bar the waves hit with more power than before, coming quicker and stronger with the growing tide. The water was not so cold once you got used to it he remarked. Soon the tide made it time to go in. The water level at the sandbar was now at the man's chest level as opposed to barely waist level a few hours earlier.
The man and his son started back. The son was an OK swimmer so he paddled on top of the boogie board. The man waded along for a few steps then was forced to swim. He would climb the swell with a strong breast stroke. He was forced to stop and tread water to stay with his son. The waves were growing larger. It took more effort to climb to the top of each succeeding wave. The waves came quicker and he urged his son to paddle faster. A wave broke over his head. He saw a large wave coming and swam to the top. In the valley he could feel the pull backward, he swam forward and moved only a few feet against the current. The pattern repeated. Now the swim to shore was fifty or sixty yards as opposed to the thirty before.
He urged his son to go quicker, a little panic creeping into his mind. His friends were far behind him. He swam to the top of another wave, his arms and legs beginning to feel heavy. Again he urged his son to hurry. He was smothered in the swell again, this time he swallowed the salty seawater. His arms and legs felt like lead. He could not swim another stroke. He tread water for a minute to see his son, now 10 yards behind him. Another wave. "Come on" he shouted. Another wave. Always a good swimmer, he could not believe he was struggling like this. Another wave. His legs would not move. Oh God, he thought, I am not going to make it. Another wave. The shore was too far. Another wave. He went under again. He tried to swim, but his arms would not work. Another wave. He rolled to his back, knowing if he could just rest a moment he would be fine. Another wave. He swallowed even more water. He called to his son to hurry, maybe he could rest on the board for a moment and catch his breath. Another wave. His son saw the worry on his dad's face and mistook it. He shouted back he was fine. Another wave.
The man drew on every bit of strength he could find and swam a few yards before he was pounded down by another wave, he was closer. He wife began running into the surf, she could see he was foundering. His friend told his daughter to hurry and they sped forward. The man could not move his arms. He went under to see if he could stand up yet, the bottom still was beyond his reach, maybe an inch -- maybe by feet. The effort to climb to the top of the swell was all he could muster. Another wave. He turned to look at his son, concerned he was OK. The boy was dog paddling with ease over the swell. Another wave. The man went under. Pure panic set in, but he could not move his exhausted limbs. He felt sorry for his family, he was embarrassed, he fought again, but the energy was gone. Another wave. He struggled, he thought his tired lungs would burst. Another wave.
He at last felt the bottom and was enveloped by a warm glow the likes of which he never felt before. He was calm, he was peaceful. He felt another wave crash over him. He was no longer tired. Another wave pushed his lifeless body toward the shore, just a few yards away.
Well at least one.
Below is one of my favorite short stories. In all, I do not think it is badly written. I also think I am a handsome devil and quite amusing in my way, so there is no accounting for taste.
Anyway, this story was first published in April of 2007. Some of you may have read it way back when:
April 8, 2007
A Day at the Beach
He gasped as he stepped into the surf. He knew the Atlantic was cold, but the chill surprised him every time. The waves were a little higher this time. The ebb tide had turned and high tide was again on the make. His friend and their kid had gone with his son to the outer sand bank about 50 yards offshore where the waves broke just a little bigger. There they could feel the waves crash into their bodies and take turns riding the boogie board on top of the waves for 15 yards or so.
He had made the trip out twice earlier in the afternoon. He could wade out about 30 or 40 feet then he had to swim out to the sand bank where the water was waist deep at best. He had promised his son one more trip out through the surf. When the time came, he begged off. The sun and day at the beach coupled with the two previous swims in the cold ocean to the sand bar had taken their toll; the man was tired. His friend said he would go and with his larger teen aged daughter and the man's small teen aged son they set out, calling him as wuss. The man's wife heckled him to go, reminding him he had promised his son. The man got to his feet with a sigh and followed the three into the surf.
At the sand bar the waves hit with more power than before, coming quicker and stronger with the growing tide. The water was not so cold once you got used to it he remarked. Soon the tide made it time to go in. The water level at the sandbar was now at the man's chest level as opposed to barely waist level a few hours earlier.
The man and his son started back. The son was an OK swimmer so he paddled on top of the boogie board. The man waded along for a few steps then was forced to swim. He would climb the swell with a strong breast stroke. He was forced to stop and tread water to stay with his son. The waves were growing larger. It took more effort to climb to the top of each succeeding wave. The waves came quicker and he urged his son to paddle faster. A wave broke over his head. He saw a large wave coming and swam to the top. In the valley he could feel the pull backward, he swam forward and moved only a few feet against the current. The pattern repeated. Now the swim to shore was fifty or sixty yards as opposed to the thirty before.
He urged his son to go quicker, a little panic creeping into his mind. His friends were far behind him. He swam to the top of another wave, his arms and legs beginning to feel heavy. Again he urged his son to hurry. He was smothered in the swell again, this time he swallowed the salty seawater. His arms and legs felt like lead. He could not swim another stroke. He tread water for a minute to see his son, now 10 yards behind him. Another wave. "Come on" he shouted. Another wave. Always a good swimmer, he could not believe he was struggling like this. Another wave. His legs would not move. Oh God, he thought, I am not going to make it. Another wave. The shore was too far. Another wave. He went under again. He tried to swim, but his arms would not work. Another wave. He rolled to his back, knowing if he could just rest a moment he would be fine. Another wave. He swallowed even more water. He called to his son to hurry, maybe he could rest on the board for a moment and catch his breath. Another wave. His son saw the worry on his dad's face and mistook it. He shouted back he was fine. Another wave.
The man drew on every bit of strength he could find and swam a few yards before he was pounded down by another wave, he was closer. He wife began running into the surf, she could see he was foundering. His friend told his daughter to hurry and they sped forward. The man could not move his arms. He went under to see if he could stand up yet, the bottom still was beyond his reach, maybe an inch -- maybe by feet. The effort to climb to the top of the swell was all he could muster. Another wave. He turned to look at his son, concerned he was OK. The boy was dog paddling with ease over the swell. Another wave. The man went under. Pure panic set in, but he could not move his exhausted limbs. He felt sorry for his family, he was embarrassed, he fought again, but the energy was gone. Another wave. He struggled, he thought his tired lungs would burst. Another wave.
He at last felt the bottom and was enveloped by a warm glow the likes of which he never felt before. He was calm, he was peaceful. He felt another wave crash over him. He was no longer tired. Another wave pushed his lifeless body toward the shore, just a few yards away.
May 10, 2010
Inside the liberal brain trust
Dave: Der, Josh, it sure is cold this morning.
Josh: Yep, the moving pitcher box says it was 82 on Friday and only 36 this morning.
Dave: That is a big drop off, probably because of global warming climate change.
Josh: Yep, all them glaciers melting puts the cool air into the sky and makes things get real cold like. Dumb fat working 'Mericans insisting on driving their SUVs are causing it. Fat 'Mericans and Fox News is responsible.
Dave: Its cause they is all fat and hates the gays...and Fox News...Hey I was trying to figure how much colder it is now because of global warming. Lemme see, 82 minus 5...there's five more. and then ten...der, uhhh...hey Josh, can I see your toesies?
Josh: huh huh huh you knows you can, I gots on my Birkenstocks, huh huh huh.
Dave: Minus ten more...der...well that is more than 40 degrees colder now.
Josh: I hope the big watery ocean don't swallow up New York City.
Dave: Well ifn it does at least we will have free health care in six years.
Josh and Dave: huh huh huh Huh...Hoosierboy is so stupid.
Josh: Yep, the moving pitcher box says it was 82 on Friday and only 36 this morning.
Dave: That is a big drop off, probably because of global warming climate change.
Josh: Yep, all them glaciers melting puts the cool air into the sky and makes things get real cold like. Dumb fat working 'Mericans insisting on driving their SUVs are causing it. Fat 'Mericans and Fox News is responsible.
Dave: Its cause they is all fat and hates the gays...and Fox News...Hey I was trying to figure how much colder it is now because of global warming. Lemme see, 82 minus 5...there's five more. and then ten...der, uhhh...hey Josh, can I see your toesies?
Josh: huh huh huh you knows you can, I gots on my Birkenstocks, huh huh huh.
Dave: Minus ten more...der...well that is more than 40 degrees colder now.
Josh: I hope the big watery ocean don't swallow up New York City.
Dave: Well ifn it does at least we will have free health care in six years.
Josh and Dave: huh huh huh Huh...Hoosierboy is so stupid.
May 9, 2010
Weekend funny
Barack Obama got out of the shower and was drying off when he looked
in the mirror and noticed that he was white from the neck to the top of his head.
In a sheer panic and fearing he was turning white all over,
he called his doctor and told him what had happened.
The doctor advised him to come to his office immediately.
After an examination, the doctor mixed a concoction of brown liquid,
gave it to Barack, and told him to drink it all.
Barack drank the concoction and said,
"That tasted like bullsh*t!"
"It was." the doctor replied, "You were a quart low."
in the mirror and noticed that he was white from the neck to the top of his head.
In a sheer panic and fearing he was turning white all over,
he called his doctor and told him what had happened.
The doctor advised him to come to his office immediately.
After an examination, the doctor mixed a concoction of brown liquid,
gave it to Barack, and told him to drink it all.
Barack drank the concoction and said,
"That tasted like bullsh*t!"
"It was." the doctor replied, "You were a quart low."
May 8, 2010
Saturday
Cold and windy here at the homestead. Highs expected in the 50's. The wind is howling at a steady 20-30 mph with higher gusts. Not a good day at all. The weather man is talking FROST tonight. weehaw. It was 80 yesterday. Frost tonight.
Enjoy your Saturday. here is a little earworm for you:
Enjoy your Saturday. here is a little earworm for you:
May 7, 2010
A very special post for you
Dear person in the car in front of me at the drive-through ATM this morning,
It is a drive-through ATM. There is no need to park and walk up to the machine. I know your window works, because you had it down. The reason you had to bend over to use the machine was because it was designed to be seen from inside a vehicle.
More importantly, if you are over the age of 12, and the controls and intricacies of operating an ATM leave you flummoxed and confused, you have no business handling money. If it takes you nearly SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES to make a withdrawl, you should step away from the confusing machine and re-evaluate your life.
You are a waste of valuable oxygen. You are clearly dumber than a brick. How do you operate your car? Do you need help with the toaster too? Is your name Josh or maybe Dave? Are you angry no operator's manual came with your last purchase of Charmin? Do you need a recipe to prepare cereal? I bet you are a Hopey Changey Obama man through and through.
Go home, find a suitable firearm, and disconnect your very tiny brain.
Your Friend,
Hoosierboy
It is a drive-through ATM. There is no need to park and walk up to the machine. I know your window works, because you had it down. The reason you had to bend over to use the machine was because it was designed to be seen from inside a vehicle.
More importantly, if you are over the age of 12, and the controls and intricacies of operating an ATM leave you flummoxed and confused, you have no business handling money. If it takes you nearly SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES to make a withdrawl, you should step away from the confusing machine and re-evaluate your life.
You are a waste of valuable oxygen. You are clearly dumber than a brick. How do you operate your car? Do you need help with the toaster too? Is your name Josh or maybe Dave? Are you angry no operator's manual came with your last purchase of Charmin? Do you need a recipe to prepare cereal? I bet you are a Hopey Changey Obama man through and through.
Go home, find a suitable firearm, and disconnect your very tiny brain.
Your Friend,
Hoosierboy
Friday Covers
The Yardbirds version
Zep covers it in a live version
The greg Kihn band takes on the classic
How about Richie Sambora (Bon Jovi) from the show American dreams
Finally a version by Peter Noone from Hermin's Hermits
May 6, 2010
President Obama again proves he does not understand words
If anyone was unclear about President Obama's distaste for the new Arizona immigration law, he cleared it up at his Cinco de Mayo celebration in the White House Rose Garden Wednesday night.source
"We can’t start singling out people because of who they look like, or how they talk, or how they dress," the president said. "We can’t turn law-abiding American citizens, and law-abiding immigrants, into subjects of suspicion and abuse."
'Law abiding'...except that pesky federal infraction of entering the country ILLEGALLY. What a fucking douchebag. If anyone can show me in the Arizona law the requirement to only go after people with brown skin, I will quit blogging forever -- after posting naked pictures of my ass crack. I repeat, what a fucking lying douchebag.
I never thought in my lifetime I would use that term to describe the President of the United States. Obama is starting to make not only Carter, but Buchanan look good. Shit, Wilson was a better President and he was unconscious most of his second term.
A day in the life
The wife, boy and I went to a nearby town to eat at a pizza buffet. It was most excellent.
Across the aisle was an elderly couple. Just after we got our food, they rose to leave. As the old lady got up she let out a monumental fart. This baby was a two to three second long duck quack.
Immediately, one of the true laws of nature known to men the world over was again proven true:
Farts are funny.
The boy and I instantly broke into laughter. The wife even smiled. You would have too.
Across the aisle was an elderly couple. Just after we got our food, they rose to leave. As the old lady got up she let out a monumental fart. This baby was a two to three second long duck quack.
Immediately, one of the true laws of nature known to men the world over was again proven true:
Farts are funny.
The boy and I instantly broke into laughter. The wife even smiled. You would have too.
May 5, 2010
Co ink a dink
Once again, The Obama and Janet "the system works" Napolitano are trying to convince the American public that a potential mass murderer is just a crazy guy reacting to stress.
That once again the fact a potential terrorist has a Muslim surname is merely a coincidence.
Just think, there are some liberal sites that claim I am so stupid I should not be allowed to have children (really), yet they believe that "stressed out guy" bullshit.
That once again the fact a potential terrorist has a Muslim surname is merely a coincidence.
Just think, there are some liberal sites that claim I am so stupid I should not be allowed to have children (really), yet they believe that "stressed out guy" bullshit.
May 4, 2010
Memories
My dad had this big black leather chair and foot stool. Maybe it was pleather. He has not had it for probably 25 or 30 years, but when I think of my Dad's chair, that is the one that comes to mind.
It was more than four decades ago and I woke with a bad dream, or had to go pee, or just could not sleep. It seemed like the middle of the night, but I am sure it was not that late. Dad let me climb up into his chair with him, if I would be quiet and watch the movie. He was eating potato chips and he let me have some.
Dad was watching PT 109. I remember with vivid detail the Japanese destroyer cutting the 109 in half. I remember the men swimming and swimming. I remember falling asleep snuggled with my Dad.
I am not sure how old I was, but pretty small. IMDB tells me PT 109 came out in theaters in 1963. It had to be 1965 or so before it came to TV. I would guess I was three or four at the most. This episode remains one of my fondest memories.
I watched PT 109 Sunday. I talked to my Dad. He is doing fine.
It was more than four decades ago and I woke with a bad dream, or had to go pee, or just could not sleep. It seemed like the middle of the night, but I am sure it was not that late. Dad let me climb up into his chair with him, if I would be quiet and watch the movie. He was eating potato chips and he let me have some.
Dad was watching PT 109. I remember with vivid detail the Japanese destroyer cutting the 109 in half. I remember the men swimming and swimming. I remember falling asleep snuggled with my Dad.
I am not sure how old I was, but pretty small. IMDB tells me PT 109 came out in theaters in 1963. It had to be 1965 or so before it came to TV. I would guess I was three or four at the most. This episode remains one of my fondest memories.
I watched PT 109 Sunday. I talked to my Dad. He is doing fine.
May 3, 2010
Hangings
My office is a home office. That means it is a former bedroom. My office has cathedral ceilings, a ceiling fan and one small window.
It is small, 12 x 12, but it works for me. It has my cheapo black desk, a small filing cabinet and a printer/fax. On my desk is my laptop, a phone, a stoneware beer mug full of pens and a stack of papers. I brought the mug home from a trip to Germany. It features a drawing of the Bamberg Rites Rathaus. There is a cube of note paper and a very small container of paperclips. A coaster supports my coffee mug. The coaster has the Cubs logo.
The back of my desk has some shelves and cubbyholes. They hold a calculator, some files and a stapler. On top of the desk shelves is a plant, a coffee mug my son brought me from Japan and my awesome humidor.
There is a blue checked camel-backed couch and a 12 inch TV in my office. There is a ladder back chair in the corner.
There is a long dress my wife bought for my daughter's wedding and my daughter's wedding dress hanging on the frame of the closet. A large poster of the famous Beatles crossing Abby Road is above the closet, a remnant of the days when this was my daughter's bedroom. There is a copy of a black and white photo featuring Frank, Dean and Peter Lawford walking down the streets of Vegas hanging near my desk. A date of issue Frank Sinatra stamp is stuck in the frame.
On the couch, waiting to be hung, is a terrific large picture of Wrigley Field my wife gifted me yesterday. She said she saw it and thought I would like it. She was right. Some days it is good to be me.
There you have a boring post about my workplace. This is the place I hang for many hours each day. What is in your "office"?
It is small, 12 x 12, but it works for me. It has my cheapo black desk, a small filing cabinet and a printer/fax. On my desk is my laptop, a phone, a stoneware beer mug full of pens and a stack of papers. I brought the mug home from a trip to Germany. It features a drawing of the Bamberg Rites Rathaus. There is a cube of note paper and a very small container of paperclips. A coaster supports my coffee mug. The coaster has the Cubs logo.
The back of my desk has some shelves and cubbyholes. They hold a calculator, some files and a stapler. On top of the desk shelves is a plant, a coffee mug my son brought me from Japan and my awesome humidor.
There is a blue checked camel-backed couch and a 12 inch TV in my office. There is a ladder back chair in the corner.
There is a long dress my wife bought for my daughter's wedding and my daughter's wedding dress hanging on the frame of the closet. A large poster of the famous Beatles crossing Abby Road is above the closet, a remnant of the days when this was my daughter's bedroom. There is a copy of a black and white photo featuring Frank, Dean and Peter Lawford walking down the streets of Vegas hanging near my desk. A date of issue Frank Sinatra stamp is stuck in the frame.
On the couch, waiting to be hung, is a terrific large picture of Wrigley Field my wife gifted me yesterday. She said she saw it and thought I would like it. She was right. Some days it is good to be me.
There you have a boring post about my workplace. This is the place I hang for many hours each day. What is in your "office"?
Sarah Palin is sure dumb
I cannot believe she claimed there were 57 states. How about her health plan that would save employers 3,000%? And now she has shown her lack of international policy expertise by claiming Europe is a country.
What a maroon..
What?
You say that was not the former Governor of Alaska, but our very own current Commander in Chief, the noob in charge, The Obama, hissownself?
And somehow, in the minds of liberal elitists everywhere Quayle, Reagan, Bush and Palin are all the dumbest politicians to grace the national stage.
Why would we listen to anything you say?
What a maroon..
What?
You say that was not the former Governor of Alaska, but our very own current Commander in Chief, the noob in charge, The Obama, hissownself?
And somehow, in the minds of liberal elitists everywhere Quayle, Reagan, Bush and Palin are all the dumbest politicians to grace the national stage.
Why would we listen to anything you say?
May 2, 2010
Today's earworm
Here is another 1970s/1980s band from Central Indiana. I bet I saw these guys 30 or 40 times. They used to play at my college on a regular basis. They also played a couple of dances at my fraternity.
Bass player Toby Myers went on to play with John mellencamp.
May 1, 2010
Today's earworm
This is one of my all-time favoriite songs. Unless you are from Central Indiana, you have likely never heard it. Give it a listen and let me know what you think.
Happy May Day you commie bastards.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
