Tag Archives: comedy

Tales From The Trailer Park

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Well, it’s that time of year again. A time when little Timmy wanders around the trailer park with nothing on but his dirty little underwear. And you’re a bit surprised when you step out to go to work in the morning and see little Timmy squatting in your flower bed, digging down in the dirt with his little precious arm buried up to his sweet little elbow in your eight-dollar-a-bag soil looking for “fishinbait fore his paw.” Ain’t. that. cute.

Yes, it’s a time when the mullets venture out of doors baring their chest (and back) fur. They’re always doing something under that 1973 single wide Cavalier mobile home of theirs. Maybe a bit of a plumbing issue to correct? One can only hope.

Of course, you nod politely on your way to the car if they notice you and you hope to god that they don’t. It’s possible that they’d want your opinion as to what in the world is that funny looking fuzzy growth all up under their home. Well, one, you don’t like to look under your own home because it reminds you that yes, you made a poor decision years ago and you live in a home that was pulled, fully constructed, down the county road from a sales lot next to the Wal*Marts and then leveled and set up on bricks. And two, you sure as heck ain’t going to look under someone else’s home that may or may not have 3 and a quarter generations of the same family (which you suspect the family tree does not fork. much.) living in it.

Ah summer! The season of the very small plastic kiddie pools in yards all across the trailer parks of America. And maybe Earl will finally work on that junker car he towed into the park 8 years ago with hopes of restoring it and having him a sweet ride to take down to the river on weekends.

Southpaw, Natural Lite and other fine beers, once enjoyed on a sweltering summer night, their empty carcasses have now been discarded without care in yards and strewn into the road. Women, a banana clip, not seen in stores since 1986, in their hair and with a youngun on their hip, talk to friends on the phone about their eczema and the day’s episode of Ricky Lake. Honey, you better believe I’d know if my man was dressing up like a shellfish and meeting other crustacean-dresser-uppers for some weird hanky-panky. He couldn’t hide that from me. I keep my eye on him, I know everything he does, sister.

Oh glorious Mississippi humidity. Seeing the pit stains on your neighbor’s “You might be a Nascar-lovin-redneck if…” shirt (if he’s even wearing a shirt) is enough to make you stay inside all weekend with the AC set to 33. Just looking out the window coats your body in a lovely sheen of sweat.

Dogs, cats and other unidentified furry animals scurry under and around your car, being sure to leave their piss mark on your tires and their poop in your yard, preferably in the flower bed or the walk way to the porch where you just might step in it.

But it’s not without some good points. There’s always some entertaining drama going on and you can listen in on it because the trailers are so close together and you can hear everything going on next door just by sitting on your couch with the TV turned down low.

Well, like the time Jerry Dan found a full grown raccoon in the garbage dumpster and knocked it out with a shovel. He thought it would make a good pet so he brought it home to show Linda Sue. She was not thrilled with the idea of a pet raccoon and she told Jerry Dan so. He argued that it was a cute little critter and that he heard you could train them to fetch you a beer out of the refrigerator and stuff like that. They went round and round about it and we heard them stamping to and fro all the while yelling at each other.

But that noise didn’t hold a candle to the absolute ruckus that raccoon created when he came to. If you thought Linda Sue wasn’t happy about having a raccoon in the house, well ol’ Mr. ‘Coon was extremely upset at having his dinner interrupted and then waking up in a slightly-larger-than-average shoe box with a wicked-huge headache. The raccoon tore the ever-living hell out of Jerry Dan, Linda Sue and their impressive collection of Nascar nesting dolls before he escaped out the door and to freedom.

We could’ve heard that racket with the TV and radio all the way up to eleven.

Sigh.

That’s how it is ’round here in Tales From The Trailer Park.

Behold: Totally Awesome Sound EFX

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Surely you’ve seen at least one Police Academy movie. If so, then no doubt you remember Cadet Larvell Jones (Michael Winslow). This was the dude that made the really cool sound efx. He could mimic any sound with his mouth/voice/etc. And because of him, I was inspired to develop this skill.

Yes, for the first time ever, I will demonstrate what has taken me years of practice to learn. You may think it’s easy to make the sound of a door creaking open but to do it so that the public can not tell the difference between the real thing and the sound effect is a highly sought after skill that only a few are fortunate enough to master.

I am one of those few. It has taken me since childhood to perfect some of these effects. I hope you will appreciate the supreme skill involved in producing these sounds.

I think you will be amazed. Enjoy.

(Ed. note: You may need to turn your volume way up to hear worth anything. Or way down.)

I’ll start with a simple one. A train.

Wow

Next is a ketchup bottle.

Golly gee

Oh man, you know you hate the squeaky chalk.

Everyone’s favorite: the tugboat foghorn.

Simply stunning

Let’s not forget the magnificent horse.

Amazing

The spine-tingling roar of a concert crowd.

Ground shaking

Here’s a string of supertastic sounds:

Big rig slamming on brakes

A trumpeting elephant

The air slowly let out of a balloon

Ho-ly crap

How about a bear?

Scrumtrulescent

At this point, I know you’re saying There’s no way anybody could make sounds that realistic and amazing. I know, I understand your incredulousness but check it out, I have proof . The last one is a video of me doing some bird calls. 2.7MB, Quicktime format.

Close your eyes and it’s like you’re sitting in the woods surrounded by our singing winged friends, eh? I hope you heard your favorite bird in that medley.

Well there you have it. I’m looking into getting some work doing voice sound efx. I’ve got a call in with Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion. They could totally use my skills over there.

P2 / C * (K – 7) = huh?

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Well I made that formula up to convey the following.

Unless you do not have ears and do not have eyes or do not own a radio or television, you’ve no doubt heard of Paris Hilton. See, she’s this really talented actress and…bawahahaha…I meant really talented attention whore. Anyways, she’s dating and is engaged to this dude named Paris. So, together we have Paris and Paris or P2 (cue Simon and Simon theme music). Well, that got me thinking about the time I had a girlfriend way back in seventh grade named Carrie. Yup, Carrie and Kary. In case you are wondering, yes, it was confusing at times.

It’s hard to remember back that far with any details but there are a few things that stand out. She was a year older than me. We were in the “gifted” class together. And by “gifted”, I mean we did things like sit around and think of as many uses for an empty plastic six-pack drink ring holder thing. Yes, stretch those little minds children, what can you do with an empty six-pack holder besides strangle poor unsuspecting birds? Think about that while I step outside for a smoke.

You had to take all these hard tests to get into the class but I don’t remember it being much more than busy work. We did some cool things like design a city and build a model of our design. My group almost failed and I don’t know why. I had to drink alot of lunchroom chocolate milk to have enough half-pint cartons for all the buildings, dang it! But I ain’t bitter.

Right, so this girl, Carrie, was in my class. I don’t remember how we “got together”, but we did at some point. It probably entailed the usual piece of paper with “Will you go with me?” on it covertly passed to the girl by me via one of her friends.

Man, let me tell you, up until about eighth grade, I had tons of girlfriends. Probably a new one every month or so. Of course I wasn’t old enough to drive anywhere and there was nothing sexual or even physical beyond holding hands about these relationships. But. I. was. the. man. I had girls asking me to be their boyfriend and stuff. Then around eighth grade too much self-awareness kicked in or something. And kids started being sexually active and that sorta freaked me out. I just didn’t have an interest in getting naked with girls at that time in my life. I don’t really know what I was into at the time but going out with a girl and maybe her expecting some nakedity along the way was just too scary. Though I imagine most girls felt the same way but what did I know? Nothing.

Right, so this girl, Carrie, was in my class. I had gotten contact lenses for the first time ever in seventh grade. I had worn glasses, big thick coke bottle glasses, since the second or third grade. I was always afraid to try to kiss a girl with glasses, at least that’s the excuse I told my friends when they asked if I had kissed a girl yet. So, sans-glasses, I decided Carrie would be the one.

One day, at the end of class, I told her I needed to tell her something after class. Woowoo, was I ever slick. When the bell rang signaling the end of class, my emotions were boiling over and I don’t think I have ever known fear and apprehension like that before or since. I casually lead her outside and around the side of the building. She’s all So what did you want to tell me? I’m like Uh uh uh uh.

She knew.

But I just stood there like a dolt for-seemingly-ever. I had my hands on her waist and she had her hands on my shoulders. The setup was perfect, no one was around, JUST DO IT YOU PANSY. I knew time was getting short; the bell for the next period would ring any moment. But I was just standing there with her patiently smiling up at me.

Then, the next thing I remember, her tongue was in my mouth. Not wanting to offend the first-girl-I-ever-kissed, I stuck mine in hers and waggled it around a bit.

The moment lasted forever; time seemed to stand still, spitballs and paper airplanes frozen in mid-air while we did our tongue dance in each other’s mouth. I WAS KISSING A GIRL. w00t! I don’t remember if it was a particularly good kiss or not (most likely not since it was my first one and all). I was just euphoric from actually, finally KISSING A GIRL.

And then it was over and immediately the bell rang and the spitballs and paper airplanes resumed their flights toward their respective targets and we ran off to our next class so we wouldn’t be late.

So that was a high point of the relationship. There were lows, oh yes, there were lows.

Her birthday came up and she invited me to her birthday party. I unfortunately could not attend for some reason that I can’t recall. The big question was What Do I Get Her? From what I remember, I messed around and didn’t have anything but a card on the night before her party. See, my mom was going to swing me by the party so I could drop her gift off and say a quick hello before going on to my previous engagement.

Check it out, I had seventeen dollars to my name. That was it. I couldn’t give all of it to her, I mean, how would I eat? Haha. Anyway, I was going to put the ten dollar bill in the card ’cause I’m a generous guy like that.

Now, I know money is a sucky gift to give your eighth grade girlfriend, but what else was I going to do? It was the freakin’ night before and I had nothing but my seventeen dollars, man. My mom saw what I was doing and she said No, you are not going to give that little girl your ten dollar bill. But Mooom, it’s all I’ve got to give her right now. Well, you’re not giving her the ten dollars. Me, being a somewhat selfish kid, gave in and slid the five and two ones into the card instead. I felt bad, but I just didn’t have any other option. Mom wouldn’t let me give her the ten and I didn’t have anything else so it was the seven or nothing. She wouldn’t care would she? I mean, isn’t it the thought that counts anyway?

We rolled around to the party the next day and I hopped out of mom’s Delta ’88 in search of my girlfriend. I found her by the pool with a bunch of other kids, some I knew, some I didn’t. I felt slightly out of place. We didn’t do a whole lot together outside of school. She gave me a hug and I gave her the card. With the seven dollars inside. Yeah, a five bill and two ones.

She tore into the card, excited to see what her loving boyfriend had no doubt agonzied over to find just the perfect gift to reflect my deep emotional connection to her. She took the cash out, incredulously fanned it open like it might have almost been something and said with a forced smile Seven dollars, thanks. She looked me over to see if I was kidding or had her real present hidden behind my back or something. No such luck.

I felt like a very small idiot.

Oh well, I left and went whenever it was I was going. The birthday gift, thankfully, was never brought up.

That summer Carrie left on an extended family vacation and like I said, I had the womens lined up at that time in my life. I think I broke up with her over the phone. I at least waited until she got back home, it’s not like I broke up with her while she was on vacation, heck, that would’ve been cruel.

So I wonder what the equivalent of my birthday gift for Carrie would be for Paris for Paris. I guess he might get her only one car? Or a ring that is less than eight carats? Or a mansion with less than a double-digit number of bedrooms?

Oh, an eight bedroom, twenty five thousand sq/ft home with a Mercedes in the five-car garage? Uh, thanks.

When Sharks Attack

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So you’ve probably heard about the recent shark attacks in Florida. It’s pretty scary. I just can’t imagine being out in the water and then some big fish happens by and decides that you look tasty and takes your leg off. It would be terrifying and painful. I don’t live anywhere near the gulf, ocean or sea so why am I worried? Answer: I’m taking a beach trip with some old school buddies in a few weeks to Destin, where the first attack happened.

What’s a guy to do? Travel all the way to Florida, rent a condo for an extended weekend and not go to the beach? Heck no! So I’ve come up with some possible solutions to ensure I won’t get my tasty bits gnawed on.

Wear a suit of armor Ok this is the first one out of the gate and I’ll admit, it’s a little weak. Yes, the suit will most likely prevent the removal of your limbs from your body but there are some downsides.

  • It’s heavy so if a wave knocks you over, you could very well drown. End result, you die.
  • It might rust from being in the salty water. No one will want to hang out with you because of how much you squeak.
  • It’s cost prohibitive. Have you seen how much these things go for on eBay? Jeez. Not to mention the shipping costs.
  • The chafing, oh god, the chafing.

Carry a thick stick about a foot in length This isn’t a bad one. You’ve seen this trick before, they do it on the TV all the time, granted in cartoons, but still. You must be alert. When you see the shark approaching, set your legs and body in a strong defensive stance. As the shark opens his or her mouth to chomp on you, wedge the stick in the open orifice. Just watch out for the sharp teeth. Man, that shark will be so pissed! Make sure you get a strong stick or the shark might break it in two and then come after you again. The problem with this one is the difficulty in timing it just right. You might need to practice on one at Sea World first but they may not let you. I’ll look into it.

Attach a handle to a large piece of plexiglass. Think of one of those police riot shields, it’s the same concept. Again, you must be alert, you can’t be caught by a surprise attack. Once again, when you see the shark approaching, take a strong defensive stance. Make sure to get the plexiglass between you and the shark. Hold on tight to the handle and when the shark strikes, shove the Shark Shield in its face. See, he won’t be able to get at you because of the shield. He’ll try and try but he can’t break through. I mean, he can see you right there, Why can’t I get him, the shark’ll wonder. You’ll just laugh and laugh at that stupid shark. Since the Shark Shield is clear plexiglass you can optionally have one of those waterproof disposable cameras for capturing the shark’s frustrating grimaces. Eventually he’ll get tired and leave you alone. Just think of the stories you’ll tell your friends and you’ll have documentation.

Charge up your taser. With nods to Chief Martin Brody. If that danged shark comes after you, let him know he can’t mess with you, cause you’re busy ogling the girls (or boys). It’s simple, with the shark coming at you or if he’s already got a hold on your leg, zap him with your taser. Tasers are portable and you could probably fit it in your fanny pack. The downside is, well, if you’re in the water too, which I guess you would be if you have a shark hanging off your leg, you will get zapped too. I think it’s a small price to pay for keeping all of your appendages.

If these sound too complicated, just poke that shark in the eye. Who in the heck likes a finger in the eye?

If you can think of a better way to ward of the man-eaters, let me know, ’cause I’m going in that water!

Brilliant Idea #16

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Attention PleaseOh man, this is pretty sweet. Feel free to use this idea if it will benefit you if any situation that may arise. I don’t know where these ideas come from and I wish I did because I’d totally sell a map of how to get there so that I could finally buy that automatic kitty litter box thing.

How many times have you been at work or at home or wherever and you’re trying to get something done but people keep bothering you? I mean, dang people, can I get 15 uninterrupted minutes, please? Not likely. So here’s my idea: get one of those little silver call bells and require everyone to ring it before they bother you. If they don’t ring it, you ignore them.

Let me say ahead of time, it helps if the sound of the little silver bell doesn’t annoy you too much. But knowing that it annoys the heck out of other people will hopefully give you enough satisfaction to stand it.

After deploying your bell, I reckon there will be two responses from people.

One, people will like ringing it and try to use it to annoy you. The solution to this one is easy: throw the bell at them. They probably won’t bother you ever again.

Two, the sound of the little silver call bell is very annoying to most people so they won’t ring it very often. Also if they have to ring the bell to get your attention they’ll make sure they really need to talk to you before they ring in. This helps prevent off-the-cuff type interruptions.

Here are other possible uses:

Ring it every time someone says something non-stupid. I know, I know, this won’t happen often, but it’s like training a dog. They learn to associate the sound of the bell with doing something good so maybe they’ll say less stupid things over time. Hmmmm. Well, actually if they learn to associate the sound of the bell with something good, they might bother you more often with questions. That’s no good. So instead ring it when they say something stupid. We’ve already established most people don’t like the sound of the bell. Now they’ll learn to not say stupid things or least when you’re around anyway and that’s the important thing.

Ring it every time you go to the bathroom. This one’s mainly for me, I guess. I drink a lot of water, as I have mentioned. I just think it’d be funny to announce every time I’m going to the bathroom by ringing the bell.

–later–

I just read over all this and it’s pretty much crap. I really haven’t thought all this through. See, I just think it’s funny to have a “Ring bell for service” sign with a little bell at my desk. And I have the pictures to prove it. So there.

Please feel free to ring in (ba da bum) with some uses that you can think of in the comments.

Duuuuude!
Duuuude, ring the bell! (Clicken to embiggen)

The FSIEHTIT

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This is a story my mom told me not all that long ago. I do believe it is the Funniest Story I Ever Heard That Is True. Nowadays when I do something stupid, I just think of this story, smile and realize I haven’t topped my parents. yet.

The late summer of 1969 was a tough time for Mississippi gulf coast residents. Why? One word: Camille. It was, as some consider, the strongest storm to hit U.S. land, ever. My parents lived on the coast then. In a trailer. With wheels and not augured into the ground as they do present day.

My parents weren’t really feeling up for a hurricane party so they did what a lot of people didn’t do, they fled. They went to my grandmother’s and weathered the storm there.

After the storm had gone on north to dump inches, nay, feet of rain on the yankees, my parents ventured back to the coast to see what, if anything, they had left. As they arrived at their trailer park, they feared the worst; homes had been thrown about like a child who tires of playing with his toys and, of course, doesn’t pick them up afterwards.

Amazingly, my parents trailer was where they left it! Because of the way it was oriented (the other trailers were oriented differently) it somehow had survived the worst storm in U.S. history unscathed.

Overjoyed at their good fortune, they went inside to check things out. The worst thing they found was some water had come in under the back door. Somebody was looking out for them, if you know what I mean. The second worst thing they found was that due to the power having been out for a few days, the meat and whatnots in the refrigerator had spoiled. The smell was gag-inducing and would make you slap-your-momma-across-the-face-with-a-mackerel at best. I won’t mention the worst.

They set about trying to remove the smell because, as mentioned, the place was next to unbearable, what with the gagging and mackerel-slapping. They tried baking soda, buckets of little pine-tree-shaped-air-fresheners and everything else they could think of but nothing would remove the stank.

When my mom talked to her boss, a dentist, at the office, he mentioned that they should try activated charcoal. Apparently it was good for absorbing odors. My parents hadn’t heard of using activated charcoal in this manner before, but they were willing to try anything.

So they went to the store, purchased some charcoal and went back to their home of noxious fumes. Taking a deep breath, my dad opened the fridge door and put the charcoal in. Hoping for the best, he activated it (wait for it – – -) with a match.

So they went about their business getting settled in after being away for several days. Not really knowing how long the “activated” charcoal needed to sit and work its deodorizing magic, my dad waited about 30 or 45 minutes, then went to check on the progress of smoldering defunkification. He found that, to his surprise, the inside of the ice box had, well, melted. Realizing that maybe activated charcoal wasn’t actually burning charcoal briquettes, he quickly removed it from the refrigerator.

Needless to say, the next day the dentist was rolling on the floor laughing his gold inlays off (rotflhgio) when my mom told him her tale of activated charcoal woe.

I think there’s a reason my parents waited until I was older before they told me this story: so that when I was growing up, I couldn’t throw it back at them when I did stupid stuff. “Well you melted your refrigerator!” The lesson to take away from this anecdote is to learn your parents’ embarrassing stories as early as you can so you have ammunition for a riposte when they come down on you.

Also, try not to melt expensive household appliances.

Instructional Video: How to whistle at a woman

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I’ve decided it’s time to give something back to the community. I have plenty of useless knowledge in my noggin and I’m going to share a bit of it with you. Thus the IMKH Instructional Video is born. Note that there seem to be rules about posting videos on your blog. I stuck to them really well. Well no. No I didn’t. Sorry. *snap* Now pay attention.

I’m talking to the ladies first. You like attention from the mens, right? Sure you do. Certain types of attention are undesirable no doubt; the honking of the car horn, dirty-old-man leering, grunting, panting or Merv the Perv comments. But. The whistle is classic. When a woman is out on the street showing what the good lord gave her and a man shows his appreciation with a good whistle, the woman should be flattered, not insulted. Ladies, if the whistle offends you, well, maybe you should lighten up, it’s not like he grabbed your boob or something. I’m telling you, the whistle is classic.

Ok, men, without further ado…



This is my first video so there could be technical difficulties viewing it. If you can’t view it, either email me or leave a comment with your OS and Quicktime version. Check my profile for email addy.

Yeah, I got own3d by the wind and especially the lawn mower. *sigh* I’ve got to hire a better production crew.

So there you have it. By following my simple instructions, you’ll have women asking for your number in no time. Feel free to practice in front of the mirror until you are confident enough to take it to the womens on the street.

Peace Out.

It’s never too early to start practicing…

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…for being an old man. That’s what I think. I don’t know how much of this will apply to the ladies, so ladies, just make notes so you can point and laugh at your man when he starts exhibiting old man traits.

At what point does one become a (crotchety) old man? I think it is a process, but there are signposts all along the journey. Be on the lookout for these siguls:

Dress socks and shoes with shorts I’ve seen this several times lately, at the mall and the Wal*Marts, for example. Sometimes it looks like they’re wearing their socks and shoes with naught else but a thin, white undershirt and a pair of pee-stained boxers. Really! I did a double-take at one elderly gent the other day. It looked like he started to change clothes after church and then thought better of it. I guess when you’ve got possibly days or minutes left to live, you can’t be taking precious time to completely change clothes; just strip off the suit and leave the socks and shoes, then go re-stock up on Metamucil at the store. Personally, I haven’t been guilty of this one yet.

No one, I mean no one, wants to go into the bathroom after you The bowel movement, for an old-timer, is a sacred time not to trifled with. A time when he can escape from the entrapments of the La-Z-Boy and TV and really concentrate on life and the crossword puzzle. And man, he can stank. it. up. I’ve totally got this one down. One day, after eating Taco Bell for lunch, I went into a building on campus to spend a few quiet moments alone. And alone I was for several minutes until some poor unsuspecting soul heeded nature’s call to the bathroom, opened the door and inhaled. I could hear footsteps outside in the hallway, the door opened and I heard his shoes slide to halt. There was a slight, just-long-enough-for-the-eyes-to-bulge-and-the-mind-to-boggle pause and then a sharp and significant Damn! and him hurrying back the way he had come, looking for another bathroom.

It’s Wal*Marts instead of Wal*Mart I don’t get this one, but I hear it from the gray-haired generation quite a bit. Make Wal*Mart or K-Mart or even Target plural and you’ve got it. This one is easy to spot so feel free to point and laugh at your friends as they show their age in this regard.

TiVos game shows Do you have a season pass for The Price is Right or Wheel of Fortune? Uh huh, might as well start pulling those pants up a little bit higher and trade in that sports car for the 30 foot town car. My grandpa watches The Price is Right religiously and he has the 28 foot Cadillac in the garage but that’s ok because he’s over 80. (I happen to like The Price is Right because of him.) I am guilty of this one, we TiVo Jeopardy!.

Has developed a special, selective blindness to ear and nose hair He just doesn’t see it. Maybe these furry geezers don’t own mirrors. I mean come on! Don’t you think they’re curious about that little fuzzy tickle they sometimes get in their ear? I guess at some point they stopped caring and therefore stopped seeing it; I don’t know. Because of the nature of this one, it might be a good idea to ask someone you trust if you have this old man symptom since you obviously can’t see it for yourself.

Alright nobody wanted to share anything from their life list so how ’bout sharing some signs you’ve seen that means old age might be creeping up on you.

And yes, that is a real AARP card. My AARP card. They sent it to me when I was still in college. I’ve never gotten to enjoy the discounts, though I have tried; nobody seems to believe that I’m a member. Can’t I just look really good for an old man? Gosh!

Bailing to Bucket (pt 2)

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HEY EVRYBODY OUT THERE IN CIBERSPACE! MY NAMES BUCKET AND KERRY WANTED ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT MYSELF. I MET KERRY DOWN AT THE GIT N GO WHEN I WAS BUYING SOME CRICKETS. THEY AINT TO MANY GAS STORES LEFT THAT CARRY BATE NOWADAYS. ANYWAYS SO HERE GOES NOTHIN.

I BEN CALLED BUCKET FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEBER. MOMA AND DEDDY ALWAYS USED TO CALL ME BUCKET CAUSE THEY CARRIED MY AROUND IN A 5 GALLON BUCKET WHEN I WAS A BABY. THEY COULDNT AFFORD NO STROLLER OR NOTHIN LIKE THAT. I DIDNT MIND CAUSE I WAS A BABY. MOMA WOULD STUFF BLANKETS AND CORN HUSKS DOWN IN THE BUCKET WITH ME TO KEEP ME WARM AND STUFF.

WHEN I GOT BIGER I ALWAYS CARRIED THAT OL BUCKET AROUND WITH ME. SO THE NAME BUCKET STUCK EVEN AFTER I WAS TO BIG TO FIT INSIDE. I THINK EVRYBODY SHOULD HAVE A BUCKET. YOU CAN SIT ON THEM WHEN YOUR FISHIN AND THEN CARRY THE FISH HOME IN IT WHEN YOUR DONE. YOU CAN SHELL YOUR PEAS IN IT AND IT MAKES A GOOD SEAT AT THE FISH FRY ON FRIDAY NIGHT. DADDY WOULD HAVE ME WATER THE BLUEBERRY TREES AND ID USE MY BUCKET. THE HANDLE ON MINE BROKE A LONG TIME AGO SO I USE A BIT OF ROPE AND DUCK TAPE FOR A HANDLE NOW.

ANYWAY I GREW UP IN PHEBA WHICH IS A LITTLE NORTH OF STARKVILLE. ITS OUT IN THE COUNTRY BUT I LIKE IT THERE. MOMA AND DADDY GOT THEM A NEW TRAILER A WHILE BACK SO I GOT THERE OLD ONE AND I LIVE IN IT NOW RIGHT NEXT TO THEM. MY LIFE AINT TO EXCITIN BUT I GIT ALONG FINE. I GOT ME A GIRL AND I GOT MY BUCKET SO THATS ALL I REALLY NEED ANYHOW.

WELL MY FINGERS ARE GITTIN TIRED AND I GOT TO GO CHANGE A TIRE ON THE TRACTER. MAYBE ILL SEE YOU AGAIN.

Life Lesson #32…

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…sometimes it is better to be messy than sit on your balls.

It’s true. I share this hard-won life lesson with you, the reader, because I care about you and I don’t want you to have to learn this one the hard way.

I happen to drink a lot of water. It’s good for you, flushes your system out and it makes you have to pee. Alot. I try to curtial my water consumption in the evening so that I will not have to get up during the night to pee. Alas, despite my best intentions, sometimes you just have to get yourself up out of bed and go pee.

I do not turn on the bathroom light because, one, I know where the major obstacles are and the location of the toilet and two, because if I were to turn on the light my pupils would contract inwards so fast, my eyeballs would turn inside out. It’s really hard to pee when your eyeballs are turned inside out. So with the lights out, I stumble to the toilet and the question is: sit or stand?

Honestly, I usually sit because I’m barely awake and I’m afraid that in my half-lidded state I will pee all over the floor. Normally I sit and evacuate my bladder without incident, but here’s where life lesson #32 comes in. Sometimes in the stumbling, dark dead-of-night it is better to piss a bit on the floor than come up short when you go to put your cheeks on the seat. If you come up short there’s a really good chance that instead of feeling the cool plastic seat, you’ll feel something warm and squishy immediately followed by searing pain. At this point, clutching the family jewels, you fall off the toilet all together and end up in a heap on the floor. In the intense pain, your bladder control efforts are re-routed to pain control efforts and there is probably a lot of pee on the floor now (and probably yourself), not to mention the blinding, tear-inducing pain in your groin area.

As the pain subsides several hours later, you get up and turn on the light to see the damage. But you can’t because now your eyeballs are inside out. After waiting 30 or 45 minutes you are able to discern that you need towels, lots of towel and a hot shower. After you clean everything up, you fall exhausted back into bed only to realize you have to get up in 15 minutes for work.

The lesson here, gentlemen, is to keep a small towel handy for the occasional errant shot that hits the rim or even the floor. I mean, there’s not much worse than sitting on your own nuts and subsequently peeing on yourself.