A totally "un-biased" childrens guide to politics.

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, a ship carrying large amounts of Europeans crashed onto the shore of a basically uninhabited land, forcing the survivors to remain in this new land indefinitely, as their ship was basically "totaled", and "Carnival Cruise Lines" wasn't scheduled to be in operation for at least another two hundred years! Armed with this knowledge, the people branched out all over the land, learning how to grow crops and hunt animals for food, and how to build things from raw materials such as rock and mud and trees. Many of these people thrived from their hard work, acquiring huge amounts of land to grow their crops on, but unfortunately there were equal amounts people who chose to do very little for themselves, and spent most of their time smoking "doobies" and listening to old Beetle's albums on their I-pod's, which caused a certain amount of dissent among the population, forcing them to eventually create a "government" with which to SERVE everyone "fairly". In order to form this governing body, the people knew that they would have to have some of the sharpest minds among them write up some sort of "Constitution", which would not only give everyone an equal opportunity for a successful life, but also become widely ignored by future generations of politicians. It was finally decided that a young man named Ben would do most of the writing for the Constitution because not only was he intelligent, but he only had to put in a forty hour week at the post office anyway, and therefore had more spare time than many of the others! It is also widely believed that when Ben wrote the Constitution he was listening to "Rush Limbaugh" on his I-Pod! Several years went by wherein most of the people basically got along with each other pretty well but didn't always agree on everything, forcing the country into a "two-party" system. The people who worked very hard to build up wealth for themselves and their families decided to call themselves "Republicans", and chose the elephant as their political symbol, as the elephant was the biggest, strongest animal known to man at the time and reflected well on their work ethic. The people who didn't work very hard, and often times showed no more signs of ambition than a frozen beef patty, decided to call themselves "Democrats", and chose a jackass as their symbol of recognition, which I think is also very reflective of their ethics, or whatever! Using the two-party system appeared to give everyone a "voice" on all matters handled by the government, (which were very few back then), with people from both parties having somebody to represent their particular beliefs! This system is apparently no longer in use today, being replace by the more "modern" system of "I'm the Politician, and we'll do things my way"! For a few more decades, the Republicans continued working hard and amassing large amounts of personal wealth, stopping only briefly from time to time to fight a war and make their country and economy stronger. The Democrats would always help in the war efforts, but aside from that basically spent their time ensuring that new laws would be made in which any Republican who had amassed " enough" money would be forced to share it with the Democrats. The Democrats seemed to always be giving money away to people who didn't really deserve it, but that's ok, because it wasn't really their money anyway! In time however, the Democrats had managed to give away more money than their country had, and ended up borrowing money from foreign countries, such as China and Chad, (of course I know), which basically gave the "title" of their own country to that of a foreign nation! As if that wasn't enough, they also made a laughing stock out of their own Military in a way which I will not go into detail here. Yes kids, the Democrats have a whole slew of accomplishments to be given credit for, among them are taking Jesus out of schools and anywhere else that a foreign killer may be offended by His presence, paying people who are ABLE to work NOT to work, which forces a society of people to rely on government programs for their very existence, and how about giving civilian court trials to known terrorists who seem to have not much better to do than to try to kill their own citizens? What about allowing protesters from a so called "church" protest at funerals of their fallen hero's, paying no attention to the rights of the grieving families? Eventually, the country became so divided that it made no difference who they voted for anymore, Republican or Democrat, they all were seemingly in politics for their own personal gain. The people knew deep inside of their heart's that it was too late to save their beloved country, at least by measures as civil as voting. For a time they thought about fighting back against the monster that had became their master, but unfortunately they were un-armed due to a recent vote against their second amendment right to keep and bear arms by people who were concerned about the safety of their country and their personal way of life. At this time the people decided that maybe they should just share a cigarette and a few beers together and decide what to do about their out of control government, but then sadly remembered that both smoking and drinking had also been "outlawed" by the voters who were much better people than they were. Eventually, the Chinese took over the country, treating everybody that they didn't kill outright equally, giving them all the same portion of rice to eat each and every day on the dirt floor in a community tent, but only after their sixteen hours a day of forced labor was over! Finally things were coming together for the Democrats! Everybody was being treated the same, eating the same healthy foods and working the same long hours, even though many of them were surprised to find that even the wealth that they had built was not enough to get them "special" treatment from the Chinese. Sure, they tried, but apparently the Chinese had little respect for people that would sell out their own country to others for personal advancement. Sometimes I think it's strange that some countries still have systems in place which reward "honor" rather than preaching about such farces as "Global warming" and a "carbon footprint". In any case, this is how this great "fictional" nation fell from being the most respected "super-power" of the world into a state of slavery and welfare! Sounds fun doesn't it kids? I'm damn glad that it wasn't the "United" States of America that I was writing this story about, but it WILL be someday if we continue to let our elected officials blatantly ignore our wishes! We are truly living in a "police state" right now, wherein citizens of our country are given the choice to be either fondled or have nude pictures taken of them before boarding an airplane by a TSA employee! To all of you friends out there who are reasonably close to my age, I want you to remember that our fathers and grand-fathers never had this problem! They wouldn't have put up with this problem. They wouldn't have put up with many of the problems that we now face. Knowing that we have the tutoring of some of the best parents in the world, why do we? Have a great weekend friends, and know that I love you all.

"Yay"! (Even more welfare)

Do you ever just sit back and ponder the changes in America that have taken place just since you were a kid, or am I in this alone? Many of the changes have been good, at least as far as I'm concerned, such as "power steering", "fuel injection", and not having to trudge outside of the house at four o'clock in the morning in December to "do your business" in an out-house. I think (at least for me) that it's some of the OTHER changes that get me stirred up on occasion, such as government programs that reach out to the "under-privileged" members of our society ensuring them that they will never have to work for a living due to an unfair affliction that was handed them at birth, such as a pimple. Is this really fair? Why do the rest of us have to give a portion of our earnings to people who are just generally too lazy to work? "Maybe we're not all afforded the same opportunities", I think to myself, but then I'm reminded of a conversation I had with a good friend (David Devine) about a year ago, during which he assured me that each and every one of us have the opportunity to do about whatever we want to with our lives, no matter your background, it just takes ambition. I believe in what Dave says, and not only did he build his own company, he also won the right to pay the bar tab if we ever meet again! Just joking, Dave, which I will illustrate here by inserting several "Ha ha's" into this story! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Seriously, friends, were any of you raised by a family that didn't work for a living? Probably not! Is our government attempting to breed a group of citizens who will do nothing other than depend on it for existence? Probably! For me, it makes it kind of hard to imagine that this is what our parent's and grandparent's wanted for us, especially after surviving the "Dust bowl" in the thirties and wearing clothes made of flour sacks. In their spare time, our grandparents managed to save the world from evil tyrants in World War II. I'm thinking that we have few people left that would do that. At what point in our lives do we decide that a decent living is "owed" to us by GOD and country, regardless of our work ethic? At what age (short of retirement), do we become fixated on what our government can do for us, rather than what we can do for ourselves? Do we no longer have the pride in ourselves necessary to pave our own way, or do we simply lack ambition? Have so many of us actually came to the conclusion that we have enough already, and feel no real need to "push harder" in life? Maybe the efforts of our service men and women are all in vain! Maybe we figure that our grandchildren won't need many of the rights that we now have, and that a whole slew of people died for, and will willingly let them go. Maybe our founding fathers are rolling over in their graves in an attempt to get out and show us all how to live and preserve the way of life that they secured for us! Maybe we just don't have enough faith in GOD, or just don't follow the teachings of the Bible closely enough! Maybe I have too little faith in my fellow man, especially the ones who chant about "hope and change". Maybe I shouldn't care about the country anymore, but I fought for it, and my sons did too! Maybe I shouldn't write this weekly column, but I do. It's still America friends, and we should all remember where we came from and try our best to leave a great country for our children and grandchildren! We should also be grateful that this will be my last post for a while. Goodnight Friends, and please go to work. Grandpa Guy would be proud of you if you did.

A "Modern" Christmas story. (Peace-out, dude)!

It's Christmas again, which is the time of the year that even though all of our radio stations are playing songs about "Peace" and "Brotherly love", we are far too busy fighting for a good parking space at Walmart to really get the message anyway. I spend alot of time at the Walmart in Hays, (sometimes as much as three hours per calendar year), and if I've noticed anything it's been that it doesn't really matter WHAT season it is, Walmart will always be busy! I've generally always thought that a good reason to not go "inside" of the store would be to assess what was going on "outside" of the store, which is total chaos! Even though there are hundreds (if not thousands) of parking spaces available just a scant few hundred feet away from the front doors, it turns out that in America, almost everyone is handicapped in one way or another, and requires a parking space extremely close to the front doors, leaving them with no other choice than to continue circling the parking lot (sometimes for hours) waiting for that special space. A lot of the shoppers leaving the store to return to their cars are followed by these types, who tend to keep their front bumper only a few inches behind the walker, giving the other patrons the impression that this particular shopper is probably armed and dangerous, and may be requiring a "running over" with very little notice. When I look for a parking space, I generally use the same method as Chevy Chase did in the movie "Family Vacation" when he parked several thousand feet away from the front entrance to Wally world, even though the parking lot was void of other autos. Finally, after a brisk and somewhat hair-raising walk through traffic, we can enter the store, giving us the opportunity to promote peace and goodwill to the other shoppers by glaring viciously at them for stopping their cart right in front of something you want to look at. You know the kind. They just stand there smiling at you, giving you the impression that they only had enough functional brain activity to get their shopping cart to that particular spot before it expired completely, leaving them with no other choice but to stand there with a stupid look on their face, as if they were waiting on a bus. I notice that the other husbands who have been forced against their will to go Christmas shopping tend to lumber slowly around the store looking confused, while the wives are shopping at speeds which cannot even be recorded with current models of radar, and with the same "fiery" eyes often seen in movies produced by Stephen King. When one of us guys is studying a particular toy for a child or grandchild, it can be extremely hard for a passer-by to tell if we're contemplating the actual horsepower produced at the wheels of a remote control toy truck or if we're seriously close to solving some horrible crime that had perhaps been featured on "Unsolved Mysterious" the night before. The truth is (for me at least), we're trying to remember the grandchild's personal information, such as name and age, and in some extreme cases, geographical location. The wives already know all this stuff, which makes shopping for the small children considerably easier for them, giving them ample time to yell out "Merry Christmas" to total strangers as they skid by them with the wheels of their cart producing actual smoke trails. I'm not so much for spreading "Good Will", especially to some of the types I encounter in Walmart, but I do tend to watch them closely. Especially the ones who have earrings plastered at approximate one inch spacings all over their head, making their face look as if it were actually a miniature mine field, or perhaps a small metropolitan area for their head lice to dwell in. I realize that it is the Christmas season, but I would like to think that barely any of the three wise men dressed in this fashion. Now that you've successfully managed to fill your cart with toys and such, it's time to contact your wife (via cell phone) and inform her that it's time to meet at checkstand number 21, where you will not exactly be frisked in the manner that a TSA agent would do to you if you were actually considering boarding a plane, but the checker WILL fondle and abuse your wallet, leaving it feeling empty, and perhaps lacking self-esteem. All that's left now is to maneuver yourself and your purchases back through the parking lot to your car, keeping in mind that there will be a line of cars directly behind you, prepared to run you over should you fall. IF you make it safely to your car, you now only have to get yourselves back onto a major highway, in which case if you're not sure of the proper direction to go, other Holiday travelers will be more than happy to encourage you along, using their car horns and many sweeping arm and hand gestures! I'm not REALLY a Grinch, but I am glad that this part of the season is over until next year. I'm also happy that in case mankind ever seems desperately lost, we can all find hope and direction using the same technology that the three wise men used to find Jesus, which I believe was "On-Star", or at least something close to that. Have a great week, friends!

It just ain't funny anymore!

Unfortunately, there is not one single "iota" of humor bouncing around in the empty confines of my head this morning, and once again, it's due to "politics". I really don't believe that what America needs now is for the Republicans and Democrats to get along with each other and try to find some middle ground. I don't believe that the Republicans should have to "compromise" with the Democrats in any way at all, especially the LIBERAL Democrats, which have over time proven that they have about the same IQ scores that could be expected from any randomly selected bag of potato chips. Don't take me the wrong way! I LIKE potato chips! They have a useful purpose in life, unlike liberal Democrats. I think that instead of trying to compromise (or even understand) the liberals, we should just round them up and ship them all (parcel post) to some far away foreign country, such as Algeria, Nigeria, or California. Basically anywhere that ends with "ia", excluding Pennsylvania and both Virginia's. "That sounds a little harsh" some of you are thinking, but I assure you that it's a much more "humane" punishment than my original plan, which was to repeatedly kick Nancy Pelosi in the testicles. Recently, the libs have come to the absolutely brilliant conclusion that the economy will grow and jobs will be created as long as the unemployment benefits for people who have been abusing the system since O'Bama was elected are allowed to be extended. Incredible! Who but a Liberal Democrat could have ever thought that jobs could be created by paying people NOT to work? Pelosi, who obviously gets her orders via satellite transmissions from her home planet of Zork, also says that people who receive unemployment benefits really help the Nation's overall economy by putting the money "back into the system" every time they shop. "It would ruin Christmas for about two million Americans" is what the libs are touting, along with the help of the state-owned media, about the threat of the Republicans threatening to let unemployment benefits expire in two weeks. Seriously? Christmas? You "panty-waste" liberals haven't called it "Christmas" for years now, and have all but made it illegal for any of us to do so! Now that it's part of your agenda to destroy the world's greatest nation through bankruptcy, it's ok to call it what it is, giving that extra little tug at the heartstrings of the good people who are struggling to keep the rest of us working. I guarantee you that if the Republicans "cave" and extend benefits before Christmas, it will quickly go back to being called the "holidays" again, so as not to offend anybody that shouldn't be here anyway! Where does it end? O'Bamacare, offshore drilling halted (but only for us, the U.S.) , over-taxing businesses and corporations to the point that they HAVE to move their companies overseas in order to make a profit, and paying able-bodied men to NOT work! When you put all of this together it sounds like a recipe to destroy a country, rather than to help the needy (which often have about the same amount of ambition as a frozen bagel)! I hope that things change for the better after the first of the year, when many of the people we voted in assume control! If not, I'll still be here bitching. I'm tired of the constant fighting it seems we have to do anymore to keep our government aware of who they work for! I think that my life would be alot easier if I just refused to concern myself with political activity altogether, but then I remind myself that I'm not really living my life for myself anymore, but more for a group of "hoodlums" with a combined weight of less than a "miniature" pony, all of which call me "Grandpa"! Have a Great day, Friends!

And now, a few minutes with Rany "Rooney"!

Sometimes I think that the modern day world is totally "preoccupied" with sex! Everywhere I look there is either a "spam" e-mail, television commercial, or office "sticky note" that has something to do with sex! Television commercials use sex to sell everything from lingerie and lipstick to beer and blue jeans. There are so many commercials being tossed around on tv that many of them contradict each other. "Viagra" for example, promises that you can be ready to "go" in just a few minutes, (I assume this would be in case you caught your wife off-guard, doing something extremely sexy such as scrubbing the toilet in her bathrobe), in case that special "moment" arrives. Viagra also promises that it can keep you going "all night", yet advises you to call your doctor if you have an erection lasting more than four hours! There's several things wrong with that claim, at least by my way of thinking! Firstly, unless your doctor is female, you are not going to call your doctor describing the nature of your problem, and if your doctor actually IS female, your affliction will probably go away soon after you get into the back seat of the squad car that was sent to pick you up for sexually harassing a woman over the phone. Secondly, I have little sympathy for those "slackers" who tend to take all night to do something that most of us men can do in just a few scant minutes! These are the same kind of people who rarely get promotions in the work-place, showing the same lack of drive and ambition on the job as they obviously do in the bedroom. Thirdly, why take a little blue pill to keep you going all night long when you can get pretty much the same results from consuming vast quantities of beer? This is a seriously proven method, and both my wife and myself can readily admit that when I practice this particular method I generally have to "go" several times a night, sometimes even waking her up on my way there! Don't get me wrong! It's not like I'm against sex or anything. I remember it well! I just think that there should be LESS of it on our television sets, computers, and office furniture! I think I'll be taking more of a "Purist" type of stand in the future, and will only watch television shows that air wholesome, clean commercials, such as "Tide" or "Folgers", or basically anything by the "Go Daddy" girl! I will also try to only watch country music videos featuring Laura Bell Bundy. We have to start somewhere, friends, and I'm just doing my part! My wife says my Sunday column is too "short", but that's ok, I've heard it all before, and I've got work to do! "See" you next week, Friends!

Are there peanuts in New Guinea?

Now that the first of the two big Holidays is over and I've had a little time to reflect back on it already, I've come up with quite a list of observations, (which should show those of you who may have still had doubts just how quickly I can piss-away a Saturday morning typing ridiculous stories onto a computer). I've noticed that in the better part of twenty years of having Thanksgiving's together, Kristy and I have NEVER managed to get ALL the kid's and grand-kid's together at the same time, and the older the kid's get, the harder it is to try, (mostly due to "geographical location"), but also in part because they're all young adults now and have their own schedules to keep as they work to "forge" their own way in life. Another reason for this, at least by my way of thinking, is because of the "rash" of failed marriages that started in the late seventies, and is still alive and well today. The way I figure, just in our extended family itself we have enough "ex's" running around to double the population of one of the smaller islands surrounding New Guinea, should they all decide to go there for some reason. It's not as if I have anything at all against New Guinea, it's just that it's the place that most of us would like to see our "ex's" go. Despite all the arrogance and pride we sometimes show as "adults" when we make the decision to become an "ex", little children tend to remain fairly secure in their lives, speaking very little about wars, poverty, or "nationalized health care". I can truthfully say that at least most of my grand-kid's would probably rather spend their time with me checking for "monsters" in the basement or fishing then listening to Rush Limbaugh. Paige 4 was the first grandchild of only four to arrive at grandma and grandpa's house Thursday, which gave her ample opportunity to sort of "coach" me into the state of knowing exactly what she would expect from me throughout the course of the day, which of course was unlimited access to the peanut jar, as well as giving her a slice of pie with "cool whip", even if she hadn't cleaned her plate first. From then, it was only a matter of time before Caden, Braylen, and Kaylee came over with their similar list of demands and expectations from grandpa, most of which involved playing games of the kind where it makes it extremely difficult to watch the football game at the same time. I think that my house is probably the only one in the entire state of Kansas that is often occupied by human beings who tend to stand no taller than an average footstool, yet have a tooth-pick hanging out of their mouths and a jar of peanuts cradled in their arm. I'm very proud of all of them, and I hope that someday we can actually get all thirteen of them together for a full day of fun and games. I also plan on being at work that day, and keeping up with their activities via text messages from grandma. One thing I've learned for sure over the last few years is that grandchildren are obviously armed with some sort of secret weaponry with which no matter how ragged they run you while they're with you, you will still miss them within seven minutes after they leave, (which is about the time it takes to box the toys up and carry them back down to the basement), and the peanuts make it nearly impossible NOT to think of the little ones, as you will still be finding these in chair cushions and under furniture for several days after the kids have gone back home. Sometimes a peanut will get caught in Kristy's vacuum cleaner and have to be dug out with a screwdriver, and I can tell by the look on her face that she's having a "cherished" memory right then and there involving me giving peanuts to the grand-kid's. This happens alot with tooth-picks, too. Sometimes I think that maybe she doesn't really want me to give the young ones access to the peanuts and toothpicks, but I'm not sure. Sometimes her instructions to me come out vague and difficult to understand. Plus I only really pay attention when she starts talking about sending me to a small island close to New Guinea. The way I see it, in time all of the stray peanuts and toothpicks will be captured and dealt with accordingly, leaving us with little more than pictures and memories, and of course the note I found on my computer desk from Braylen, who is always writing me notes with the full knowledge that I can't read them without my "special" grandpa glasses, and even then she usually has to sit on my lap and point to each line and tell me what it says, while I smile, act surprised, and repeat intelligent phrases such as "oh really?" over and over again. This is a good system, and always ends with a big hug! I'll be saving the note for the next time she comes over, and she can read it to me then. She doesn't mind reading them to me anyway. I think she realizes that grandpa isn't really very good with words.

All about "Big-busted" women! (So sue me)!

It's funny to me how some of the old "sayings" that were tossed around at an alarming rate by the older folks when we were children no longer have any real value in today's society, because our children and grandchildren most likely wouldn't have a clue as to whatever message we were trying to convey anyway. I think that this is largely due to the advanced technology in the washing machine industry, who, by modern designs and engineering, have made it nearly impossible for young housewives to "get your tit in a wringer", which was an extremely important cliche to the generation that my particular grandparent's belonged to, yet is out of date today. In the interest of "investigative reporting", I have talked about this issue with many of the local fire department volunteers, all of which assured me that they have very few calls requesting their assistance in removing a tit from a wringer. Also, in the interest of honesty and fairness, I should probably admit that I just made that last part up. This is only the "tip of the iceberg" though, when it comes to cliche's! What about "being caught between a rock and a hard place"? Try THAT one on any of today's modern, "sophisticated" youth, and they will likely immediately produce a "concerned look" (as well as an aerosol can of "pepper" spray, if they're of the female gender)! A hard rain was always a good way to get a cliche or two out of the older generation, even though some of them apparently took at least two people to say, such as grandpa Guy would always tell me that "it's raining like a tall Indian pissing on a flat rock", which would inevitably be followed by a quick and rather loud ( "Guy"!), from my grandma Irma, who preferred to refer to it as "raining cat's and dogs". Grandma Irma would also preach to us kid's that "you can't have your cake and eat it too", but that particular theory never seemed to hold up in her kitchen, largely due to the fact that she would just make us another cake. My late and "great" uncle LaVerne used basically the same technique as grandpa Guy did, though he substituted the word "Indian" with the word "cow", but probably only because he was a dairy farmer. My dad (Joe), to this day doesn't really use cliches or metaphors, but probably coined such phrases as: "don't come crying to me if you need money if you ain't working", and when at a buffet table, "take what you want, but eat what you take"! ( Dad grew up in the thirties, and internet connections were "spotty" at best, same as buffet tables)! I'm thinking that maybe there is some kind of "lesson" in what the older generation is preaching to us about, and that maybe we really SHOULD pass this type of information on down to our future generations, even if they HAVE long since taken the wringers off of washing machines. Maybe there really is a huge number of people who will only learn lessons from getting their tit in a wringer or being caught between a rock and a hard place! Is it possible that the metaphor's for a hard rain can be likened to the troubles of people who refuse to make their own lives better through their own will rather than relying on the government to do it for them? Was my grandma Irma right when she said that you can't have your cake and eat it too? Worse yet, is there really nobody to come crying to if we need money and are too lazy to work? When dad says "crazy" things, such as "take what you want, but eat what you take", is there a "hidden" message there? Who knows? Even the Holy Bible leaves a somewhat "vague" impression of this concept, stating something or other about how "we reap what we sow". Who could ever know? But just in case I would like to say a HUGE Thank you to all the people in my life (relatives or not), who have helped me to understand "life" in the way I do today! I would also especially like to thank my dad Joe, Gene Chapin, "Poss" Lorence, Pete Princ, Roy White sr., and a whole slew of resident's who took time out of their busy schedules to help raise me! Also, I would like to thank all the friend's who actually read my blog, even though it's quite clear to many of you that I "don't have all of my dog's barking"! Have a Great day, Friends!

Thanksgiving: A True History of. (sort of)!

Only eleven more days until Thanksgiving, which is one of my favorite Holidays (narrowly edging out Christmas, but only for monetary reasons) ! One of the best things about Thanksgiving is that it's about the only time of the year that I will find a piece of dead bird on my plate. Don't get me wrong! I like turkey, but I think that other than the gizzard and drumsticks once a year is plenty often enough to enjoy it's flavor, especially if there happens to be a smoked ham in the immediate vicinity, cooked by someone who realizes that pineapples have absolutely no business being anywhere near the actual ham. The Thanksgiving Holiday is rooted in hundreds of years of history, with the first one being in Plymouth Massachusetts, (home of the "Neon", "Roadrunner", and "Fury"). I would like to think that Thanksgiving has evolved into a much "friendlier" type of Holiday than it was in the time of the pilgrims, who were taught many of their survival skills by the Native American Indians, most of whom lived on "reservations" in or near South Dakota. Unfortunately, after the Indians had went to all the trouble of teaching the pilgrims such skills as growing corn, hunting buffalo, and "tweaking" the carburetor on a 67 mustang in a way in which they could get maximum "horsepower" while giving up very little in fuel economy, the pilgrims, (who obviously had "issues" when it came to showing their gratitude), simply shot the Indians, starting a war between them that wasn't resolved for nearly three hundred years, when, at the very height of the war, a peace treaty was signed between Roy Rogers ( cowboy/ war hero) and Chief White Cloud, (major casino owner/warrior). This historic peace treaty (nicknamed the "Warner Brothers Treaty"), eventually turned out to be a "win-win" situation for both sides, giving the white man not only the chance to "piss" his money away at an Indian owned casino, but also at the local movie theater, where he could see history "come alive" in many of the documented movies wherein the Indians would allow the cowboys to win the war in exchange for turquoise beads, whiskey, and Jalapeno flavored "Cheetos". Some of these same treaty concessions remained in effect right up until the late 1990's, at least in the National Football League, where it was no longer "socially acceptable" for any sports team, even if they actually WERE native American Indians, to be called Indians, or any other "slang" term that might suggest that they were actually Indians, thus causing the "Cowboys" to go nearly win-less for the better part of the last decade. (A tradition that they are still keeping today)! Sometimes I have to wonder what topics are on the minds of the REAL American Indians this time of year, realizing that their personal "Promised land" of unlimited hunting, fishing, and agriculture in a peaceful nation was invaded on by a "boatload" of illegal immigrants, whose main agenda is to try to keep illegal immigrants from invading it again. Even our current President is likely not a U.S. citizen, and it's obvious that most of his staff members are not even from this particular galaxy. I wonder how long it will be before the next generation of immigrants take over and put US on reservations, and if so, will we get turquoise beads and whiskey? I wonder if we'll stand together, united, and therefore be strong enough to overcome the blatant attacks on our way of life by "hope" and "change"? I think we all have a lot to be thankful for, and if we continue to make our own way in life rather than be dependent on our government to "subsidize" us, there should be no reason why we can't get at least another two hundred years out of the country we've already got. In the meantime, let's just be thankful for the fact that we have a choice between turkey and ham, and vow to never give up the right to make that decision ourselves! Also, be thankful that this column only comes out once a week, and that you have the choice of reading it or not! Have a great week friends!

Walmart and Wives (should men flee)?

So yesterday I made my annual pilgrimage to the local Walmart store with my wife. It's not that I only GO to Walmart once a year, as much as it is that my wife will only let me go with HER to Walmart once a year, as we are not one of them couples who 'shop' well together. This is most likely the result of some type of genetic brain disorder, which forces me, (against my will), to not be able to physically see any parts of the store that are not selling guns, fishing poles, auto parts, or beer, whereas these are exactly the areas of the store that I never see my wife in. It's not as though I'm a big fan of Walmart's store policies anyway, as the last time I bought a shotgun in the store in York Nebraska it had to be carried out to my truck by a Walmart employee. So there I was, walking step for step with a nineteen year old, pimply faced girl, who was carrying MY shotgun, through a parking lot full of people who obviously thought I'd committed some type of major felony and had been caught by this suave, undercover agent, who was dressed as an 'associate' in a clever guise to protect the general public from guys like me. I found this slightly disturbing, and wondered whether this would be a story on the nightly news with a catchy title such as " Kansas born redneck purchases dangerous firearm in Nebraska store outlet"! This segment would then be followed by several experts discussing banning firearms in the entire state of Nebraska, just as they banned smoking. My wife seldom has this type of problem with her purchases, at least to my knowledge. I've never seen an employee have to escort her to the car just because she had bought a new set of cutlery, or a pair of sewing scissors. I think this is "discrimination"! How can they be certain that my wife won't fly into a demonic rage and just start randomly stabbing at people with her new steak knives, or at the very least start running with the scissors. Obviously these people assume that my wife is sweet and harmless, as well as much more responsible than I am. Also, they've never heard the terroristic threats she tosses around in vast numbers at six o'clock on Sunday mornings, when I wake her up to go fishing. But this is not a 'human-rights' story, so let's get back on track! My wife and I seldom shop together not only because of vastly different interests, but also because of entirely different shopping techniques. My wife is what leading people in the world of psychology call a "smart shopper", which means she will read the labels on everything she buys, comparing quality, quantity, and prices right up to the point where the expiration date has already passed on whatever product she's still trying to make a decision on. One time, when we were living in Nebraska, a major war broke out and was fought, ended, and already in the post war era of rebuilding the nation while my wife was studying the nutritional information on a package of 'Pistachios'! This is a major difference from my personal shopping method, which I call the "cart" method, meaning if you want it or need it and you have some money in your pocket, throw it in the cart and move on at a rather quick pace. My wife will study things such as paper towels and trash bags for several minutes trying to determine which box contains the most and what size they are, while myself, (like most men), remain blissfully unaware that trash bags even COME in different sizes! My wife looks at clothing and material labels with the same scrutiny used by crime scene investigators collecting DNA from a murder scene, just to see if it's made from cotton, polyester, or whatever it is they make stuff out of anymore, whereas I can only see the size and color. More than once we've had mild arguments in the sock aisle, where she'll inform me that the bag I'm holding up is full of cotton, when I can clearly see that it's a bag of tube socks! "They'll shrink the first time you wash them", she'll say. "Then I just won't wash them", I mutter, as I throw them in the cart and briskly move on. (I use this same reasoning when I buy undershorts). These are the reasons why we generally only shop together once a year, because that's the length of time needed for us to forget why we don't, and then we try it again, as if all the times before were merely 'isolated' incident's, and rarely turned to major arguments involving 'pepper-spray' or banned assault rifles! Have a Great Sunday, Friends, and if my wife is reading this, I bought you a bag of them little 'booty' socks that you always wear! I went ahead and washed them for you, too! You haven't seen my new bag of tube socks anywhere, have you?

A Halloween special! (Just for kids)

OK kids, you're all set up for a great night of "trick or treating" right? You've already gotten the safety lecture from your moms and dads, you're carrying a flashlight, wearing a pair of sneakers that 'flash' every time you take a step, and your costume is most likely more "angelic" than it is "scary"! You have a pre-planned route that (with the aid of your parents), you must stick to rigidly, and that's if your even lucky enough to be able to go by yourselves, without them idling slowly down the street behind you in the family Suburban, watching your every move in the same way as a barn owl searches for prey. Sounds like fun, huh? I didn't think so, at least not for the more "daring" among you! It's not that your parents don't want you to have fun on Halloween, it's just that your parents don't want you to have FUN on Halloween, like they did when they were young, when "trick-or-treat" was more of an outright threat than a mere request for a miniature snickers bar. Fortunately for you, ( the younger generation), I'm here with my weekly column chock full of helpful hints, (at the very least, my column is chock full of SOMETHING)! If you want to be able to go trick or treating without the same amount of supervision commonly seen by inmates in a maximum security prison, the first thing you need to do is form a trusting bond with your parents, showing them that you are indeed capable of making intelligent decisions on your own, and that you're mature and responsible clear up to the point where you're actually worried about THEM being out on such a night as Halloween, while reminding them that Suburbans tend to use a lot of gas, and that it's not good to let an engine idle for so long. Hopefully, you've been engaged in proving your trustworthiness for the last few weeks at minimum, otherwise it may be too late to gain their trust this close to the actual event, and you will then have to employ the same tactic Bill Clinton used frequently during his Presidency, which is "lying your ass off"! However you earn the right to go out with your friends is totally up to you! I don't want to meddle, by any means! Next, we need to get rid of the sneakers that blink with every step, as if they're equipped with a GPS device and radar detector. If you have no other sneakers, I would suggest that you duct tape over the lights on the ones you have. Remember kid's, if they can see your sneakers, they can see YOU, and no "serious minded" mischief maker wishes to be seen! Now it's time to get rid of those "mamby-pamby" costumes and go for something a little bit more realistic, such as camouflage trousers and a bandana, giving you that "Rambo" look. (Note: if you do choose the Rambo look, be sure to carry a REAL machete rather than a cheap plastic one, and if you wave it around wildly, as if you were recently chosen to play the part of the villain in the next "Jackie Chan" movie, I can almost assure you that you will get special treatment, at least from your local law enforcement)! Whatever costume you decide to go with, just try to remember to keep it dark, and have plenty of storage space for such crucial items as eggs, toilet paper, and bottle rockets. Now that I've armed you with the basic tips for a successful Halloween outing, the rest is entirely up to you! Good luck finding a stock tank that isn't chained down though, or an out-house to tip over. You could always smash pumpkins out in the street, but that's about as lame as "bobbing for apples", though not as disgusting. Well, have fun, sort of. On second thought, maybe you should just stick with wearing the bright colors and collecting candy, and as a side-note, you should probably NEVER lie to your parent's either, (unless it's about a machete) ! Have a great day!

It Takes "Teamwork"!

This morning is one of those Sunday mornings that I find myself reflecting back on life, thinking how many things have changed in it over the years, or at least how much the people in my life have changed. The kids are all grown up and out on their own, many of which have been engaged in the act of producing grandchildren for several years already. I'd have to say that life is pretty good for us at this time, but it took alot of teamwork to make it this way. I remember when I first met Kristy (my wife), about sixteen years ago. We didn't meet in a local church or a community fundraiser dinner, wherein you can pay upwards of five hundred dollars for a plate of food with the proceeds going to some worthy cause like saving the duck-billed platypus. Where we did meet, ironically, was in the beer aisle of the grocery store where she worked, which she later admitted was a planned meeting, rather than by chance, as she knew I happened to visit that particular aisle every night after work. Right away we noticed some very common similarities in each others life situations, by which I mean that she was divorced and raising three young children on her own, whereas I was divorced, and had three young children raising me. After a couple of years of dating each other under strict "Christian values", (by which I mean never going to church with beer on my breath, making it nearly impossible for me to attend such services), we decided to move in together into Kristy's two bedroom house in Smith Center. My oldest, Diana, who was well known for her scholastic skills in virtually every conceivable subject, immediately discovered a problem with the whole "eight-person, two-bedroom" concept, (probably by using some kind of mathematical skills that only truly gifted people attain), and quickly decided to move in with her mother at Beloit. Turns out that it was a tad crowded in that little house, even though Kristy had previously turned the attic space into an upstairs room with her skills in carpentry, staircase and all! Seeing this as a chance to show off my own carpentry skills, I stapled blankets to the bottom side of the truss's, forming several "cubicles" for each child to call their own room. Oddly, I don't believe any of the kids, or even Kristy, was all that impressed with my carpentry skills, but this is the way it was. After a couple of years, Kristy finally goaded me into tearing the front porch off the house and building a new one, which I did by buying a few boards every payday at the local lumber yard, on account of money was pretty tight for us. When it was all finished, it did look pretty good. The next year, we chose it as a place to finally get married, though many of the guests, upon finding out that I built it, would occasionally glance up at it nervously, and tended to be more relaxed if they were off to the outside of it at such a distance as if it fell, they could possibly outrun the debris and dust cloud, and therefore be counted as a first hand witness on the off chance that CNN would show up to cover the story. This is how the kids were raised, though, in a house that was too small, and by two people who didn't have enough money together to buy a package of "Tic-Tacs" after paying the bills each month. It took teamwork to get through these hard times, even though I often look back fondly at them now, but then again, MY bedroom wasn't made out of blankets stapled to the ceiling. Things are much better now for all involved, at least by my way of thinking. The kids are doing very well, and absolutely none of my grand-kids have anything less than a real bedroom with real walls and real sheet-rock to call their own. It's much easier to be a grandparent when you've finally had a chance to make a little money in your life, but it still takes teamwork. For example, last night Kristy's son Nathan and girlfriend Leslie stopped by with Ethan and Paige, our grand-kid's. Grandma had made some delicious homemade cookies, and after having a couple, Paige was given stern warning by her parent's not to have anymore, and they placed the cookie jar way too high for little Paige to reach. This did not discourage her in the least. She immediately asked grandma for the "Bubble-stuff", and lured everyone but grandpa, who was watching college football, out onto the front porch to watch her blow bubbles. Once she had all the people in place (outside), she simply came back in the house to watch football with me, and eat cookies! Paige knows alot about teamwork, plus she knows that grandpa is not only very tall, but also a sucker for her "pouty" look! Ethan uses this same technology to win fishing trips with grandpa when he's here, on the premise that grandpa really shouldn't be allowed to go fishing without proper supervision. This is also the tactic that my son-in-law, Tony, uses when I take grandson Trenton fishing and he wants to go too. I clearly remember a time in my life that I didn't think I needed anybody, and could shoulder life all on my own, and do it my own way. My opinion has changed dramatically over the last few years though. I'm all about teamwork now. Someday maybe I won't be allowed to have any more cookies, and will have to rely on Paige to help me! You never know! Have a great Sunday everyone, and Leslie, if you read this, "C'mon, its only cookies"!

"Tips" on making your job more tolerable! (and what to expect)!

Once again, in an effort to keep all of my readers "informed" on the ways of life here in the United States, I've taken the time (about an hour) to write yet another helpful "blog", and I dedicate this particular blog to all of you people out there that are, sadly, just like me, (at least in the sense of having an old, broken down body and wanting badly to "retire" from your job, but instead are forced to work with " turbo-charged" youngsters half your age who apparently never need to rest). I've made a list of job "tips" just for you, and although they may appear at first to only apply to male "blue-collar" workers, others of you may recognize some of the same "symptoms" at your "white-collar" jobs. #1 (Looking Ambitious) : Even though this sounds like something your boss would want, it rarely turns out to be a good thing for you, the employee! My advice is to only use this particular technique twice, (once during the actual job interview, and then again on your first day at work) , any more than that, and you are likely to "set a pace" for yourself that you know full well you won't be able to keep by the end of the week. #2 (Acting) : This is a very important step, and should probably be memorized! If you're boss gives you an "undesirable" type of task, (such as shoveling, or pulling live rattle snakes out of the pop machine) you should "act" as if you enjoy this immensely, and chances are, you will never have to do it again. It works BOTH ways, too! If, for instance, your boss tells you to drive a truck all day, or operate a backhoe, you should act as though this must be some kind of punishment for a crime you committed as a "breast-sucking" infant! This will assure you many good hours of truck driving and equipment operating! #3 (Avoiding Eye-Contact) : You should NEVER make direct eye contact with your boss, especially if he happens to be holding "hand-tools" of any sort, else you run the risk him handing you one of them and expecting you to use it! If you do, inadvertently, make eye contact with your boss due to circumstances beyond your control, (i.e. he asked you a question and expects a reply), try to think about "football" instead of whatever message he is trying to convey through your thick skull! I firmly believe that if thinking about football can keep you "contained" for awhile longer in the bedroom with your spouse, it will probably work just as well in the workplace to keep you from "shooting off at the mouth"! Football has amazing healing powers! #4 (Slow Days) : On occasion, you may experience what we construction workers fondly refer to as a "slow day", which is usually brought on by either a thunderstorm or the fact that too many of our customers received our "statement of charges" on the same day. I've found that on these type of days, it really IS ok to lean on the fender of a truck, but you can't be stupid about it, the hood MUST be open! I've known many guys who thought they had a slow day coming and were leaning on trucks wherein the hood wasn't even open, and their day turned extremely fast in a hurry! My key is to have the hood open, and at least a screwdriver or pair of pliers in hand, poking at something in the engine compartment with a "concerned" look on your face. You should also, if using a wrench rather than a screwdriver, ensure that it is no bigger than a 9/16", cause if your leaning into the engine compartment with a 2 1/2" wrench in hand, it will immediately look "suspicious". If you don't have a "concerned look" of your own, I suggest that you watch old footage from CNN during hurricane "Katrina", and imitate George W. Bush's frown from the flyover in the helicopter!#5 (Sick Days) : Chances are, (if you're alive), someday you will be sick, and the only feasible way to prevent this is to lock yourself into an oxygen bubble and have pork rinds and red beer injected into your bloodstream by way of i.v., while watching endless episodes of South Park. Unfortunately, many of today's major companies no longer accept "sick" or even "dead" as an excuse for not coming in to work! These are organizations that you MUST avoid working for, as they tend to take everything way too seriously, many of them demanding daily attendance. #6 (Vacation Days) : A lot of the more modern companies and corporations will, (after you've been with them for a year or two), offer you a week or so vacation time, with which you can get out there and enjoy life with your family and forget about the strains of your job, and worry about the more immediate dangers in your life, such as "frostbite", because most modern construction companies will require you to take your vacation in February, during the "slow" time. #7 (Lunch Breaks) : HA-HA! Just joking! Modern employers don't allow employees to take lunch breaks, as it slows the progress of the well oiled machine that your company has become! If you want a job that still allows time out for eating lunch, then I suggest you look into a different line of work, such as a "Banker", or a "Porn-Star"! Well! I certainly hope these tips will provide you with the tools you need to be not only a productive employee, but a blissfully happy one as well! If, by chance, you happen to own your own company and you ARE the boss, then you should dis-regard this entire column, and go back to studying the blue-prints for the job you just bid on! Chances are, I'll write a column much more tailored to your specific needs in the not too distant future! Here's to hoping you all have a great day, and also to hoping that MY boss doesn't read this blog!

"Jekyll's and Hydes" (and of course, grandchildren)

Tony and Diana dropped by yesterday for a brief visit, along with their two boys, (my grandchildren), Trenton and Caleb. Every year in October they come to Ellis to go to the "Cottage Lane pumpkin patch" wherein you take a hay-rack ride out into the wild, largely un-tamed, areas of Ellis Kansas in order to pick your own pumpkin. This is not only great fun for the kids, but also gives you the opportunity to pay about twice as much for a pumpkin as you would have if you'd just bought one at the store. Last year Kristy and I went with them to this gala event, but this year I missed the phone call because I was working on my old truck out back and Kristy was in Hays visiting family. They stopped at our house shortly after noon to visit grandpa and show me the pumpkins that the two boys picked out "all by themselves"! During this visit I started noticing how Trenton,(3 years old), and his brother Caleb (thirteen months), have totally different personalities. Trenton has an "out-going" type of personality, and can literally "melt" your heart with his little bright eyes and antics, whereas Caleb tends to not want to be "bothered" with any type of human contact coming from any source other than his parents. Trenton will come flying up to you at speeds ( which are to this day un-recordable by our current "radar technology"), just to give you a big hug, and possibly recite a huge portion of the "Gettysburg address" in your ear. Caleb, on the other hand, seems to have little concern for the Gettysburg address, and in the back of my mind, I can see him standing there, less than two feet tall and in a diaper, pointing a tiny index finger at me and saying, ( in a husky voice), something like "Listen Gramps, the ONLY reason I'm not kicking your ass right now is because I don't want to break my parole and end up back in the Big House"! Of course I love all of my grandchildren equally, I just have to marvel at how two kids raised together in the exact same environment can have such distinct personality differences. A couple weeks ago I was pulling these two boys in their "Radio Flyer" wagon around Hays and to the playground at the school. They had a blast as long as they were both in the wagon at the same time, but when Trenton would get out of it temporarily to perform some type of mundane task,( such as breaking the sound barrier, or performing open heart surgery on a Koala bear), Caleb would immediately turn "serious" again, and stare up at me from the wagon as if the only reason he wasn't calling 911 at this very minute to report me for "slightly-inebriated wagon propulsion" was that he had inadvertently left his cell phone on the kitchen counter, next to his car keys and his devised plan for taking over the world next year. I always have a great time with all my grandkids, and in closing this Sunday's blog, I would just like to give a little "sound" advice to Trenton and Caleb, regarding the future! Trenton: If you want to be able to someday tell the stories of how you used to be able to beat your brother up and take his "Tonka" toys, you should probably be actively doing that right now, rather than reading this! Next year will probably be too late! Caleb: Uh,,,,,,,,look, I'm your grandpa, BUDDY! This whole thing is just for fun! It's a future "Humor column"! You CAN take a joke, Right? Have a great Sunday everyone!

''Monsters and Politicians" (Who needs them)?

By my calculations, three weeks from today the streets and sidewalks will be filled with "hideous" monsters, such as "vampires", "werewolves", "ghosts", "goblins", and "Liberal Democrat's" in a last-ditch effort to obtain your vote by Tuesday! Ha Ha! Just joking! Nobody dresses up as a "Goblin" anymore, and most of us are unsure of what a goblin actually is anyway! Personally, I enjoy seeing the little kids dressed up in their various costumes, ranging in everything from small woodland creatures to princesses, super-heroes, and bog monsters, even though they sometimes come to the door in this exact group, expecting you to be afraid of the bog monster, even though "Superman" is standing right next to him, giving you a feeling of security from the start. (Not to mention that the "Princess" doesn't seem to be too unnerved by the fact that she is bidding for candy beside a "Bog monster", even if superman is absent)! Still, as a responsible adult, it's your "civic-duty" to react to each youngsters costume accordingly, being scared of the scary ones, thankful for the super heroes, and in awe of the beauty of the princess! Halloween is a fun time for kids, teaching them not only how to "act" the part of their chosen character, but also how to present yourself as something you're really not (such as a "humor writer", or a"dedicated politician") and still receive rewards for it. Halloween should also be a fun time for adults, giving you a chance, as a respected adult, to act like a fool trying to scare the kids that are trying to scare you. I would also hope that you don't go "cheap" on the treats for these youngsters, feeding them such silly things as "sweet tarts", "Jolly ranchers", and miniature "Snickers" candy bars! Remember, these kids are putting their whole "heart and soul" into this performance for you, and you should reward them greatly, with such home-made items as "caramel apples" and "popcorn balls"! These are great treats! My first wife gave me "popcorn balls" eighteen years ago during our divorce, and I still have them today! (the "cauliflower" ear came from boxing, but I saved it as well)! Overall, the message that I'm trying to portray here is that we "older" folks all had the chance to have our fun on Halloween, and we should give young people the chance to do the same. Also, the "monsters" that you give candy to on Halloween, are nowhere near as scary as the monsters that will appear two days later on your voting ballot. Keep the porch light on for the innocent kid's my friend's, and please pass out huge amounts of treats on October 31st, rather than two days later, on November 2nd! Rewards should be given only for accomplishments, not promises! Happy Halloween, friends! And now, a word from my grandson Trenton, who is constantly attempting to help me type this story! ttrewqlkuyttbfpldow0owq;H VJFUYI9IIJHGGFEbnbnbnnnnnnmhgd
NkiS9IWQIQ0Lkjhhgdsaa09877665431mmmmttRIRIDRTTTGOKFLOOFI! (What a character, and this also marks the first time I've been called a "Riridrttgokfloofi"!

"Empty-nest syndrome" (How to keep it that way)!

This is the time of year when alot of you parent's out there, having just recently sent your offspring off to college, are enjoying having the house to yourselves for the first time. It's relaxing, isn't it? No loud cars pulling into your driveway late at night! No uniformed police officers knocking at your door at two o'clock in the morning, demanding to know why your son's car is parked at the top of the stairs leading into the main entrance of the county courthouse! No more padlock on your beer fridge! These are just a few of the problems we all had to deal with when raising our children through high school, or at least I did. Now that you've "done your hard time" (you think) and sent your child off to college where they will, in your mind, spend a huge portion of their time actually attending classes tailored to whatever career goal they chose, rather than what they're really doing, which is prancing around their dorm rooms in their underwear, amidst a pyramid of beer cans and pizza boxes, during hours they should be in class. Who knows what they're doing at night? Despite all the hard work and effort that you believe your child is putting into college, there is always an "off-chance" that things won't work out, and that your child will one day want to move back in with you! That's why, (lucky for you), I'm here every Sunday with my blog, which is chock-full of useful advice with which to make your lives easier! One way to keep your child from moving back into your house is to sell it and move to a completely different state, being careful not to leave a forwarding address! Keep in contact with your child via cell phone only, as they are hard to trace, whereas a house phone leaves a distinct "area" code, which could give clues as to where you're calling from. Another good way to stay in contact with your child without disclosing your actual "where-about's" is to use E-mail, rather than the old fashioned, or "snail mail", which often leaves a discriminating "postmark" allowing the recipient of the mail to know where the letter was mailed from in the first place. If you have no access to a computer and must use the regular "Postal" system, I suggest that you drive several states away from where you actually live before you mail your letter, thereby confusing everybody but me, and the other readers of this blog. If you don't really want to move to another state or foreign country because you may have a "really good job" or some other feeble excuse, I have, (through research), discovered ways in which you can stay in the home you are currently located in and run little risk of your child wanting to move back in with you! One way is for you and your spouse (and possibly really close friends) to routinely walk around naked. This tends to work not only on college-age kid's, but un-wanted neighbors as well! You could also consider "renting" the room that your particular child stayed in to a "Lice-infected hobo", although this method tends to make nudity a little awkward, and lice-infected hobo's seldom actually "pay" the rent! That's all the time I have for now, as I am "committed" to having this blog published by eleven o'clock every Sunday morning! If you find yourself in the midst of people who need yet more answers, I will gladly give you the "e-mail" addresses of some of my "in-laws", who obviously have ALL the answers in life! Have a great Sunday, and may GOD bless you all!

"It's all in the Evolution" (or at least I think)!

Life is "chock-full" of mystery's, such as; Is there really a God? Did we really evolve from monkeys?, and, (most importantly), why is my beer "warmish"? As a self-proclaimed "expert" in the business of "mystery solving", (mostly from watching back to back episodes of Scooby-Doo), I can give you a positive answer to one-third of those questions, which I will do here today, if only in a desperate attempt to boost my blog readership! Is there a God? In my opinion, there HAS to be! Mankind simply cannot be it's own "ruler", or "creator", based on the fact that after some two thousand years we still can't figure out how to keep all four lanes of an inter-state highway open without traffic cones and seriously unbelievable "men working" signs strewn everywhere! I've pretty much ruled out the fact that there could be a more "intelligent" breed of mankind that may have ties to beginning life as a human, not because I don't believe in the "craftsmanship" of man, but more because we can, as a whole, barely pour a sidewalk or driveway without getting a permit from an even higher power, such as the city. Darwin's "Theory of Evolution" seems like a very strong argument, but it always made me wonder where he thought the monkey's came from originally. I realize that Darwin's theory is not a "per se" religion, but how do you come to the conclusion that only some of us monkeys decided to go ahead and evolve into humans in the first place, leaving many other monkeys (probably homeless), behind? In all seriousness, wouldn't a simple dog be the mostly likely animal that we would want to be evolved from? I say this only because dogs love you no matter what you do, whereas monkeys, (I'm told), are extremely judge-mental and vicious, much like your "EX"! All that's left now is to explain why my beer isn't cold, which I can easily do! My beer isn't cold because of you, you atheist little pukes who believe in the "black hole", causing me to spend more time typing excuses to you for the basic behavior of all mankind, (as if you deserve some kind of an apology), rather than sitting here, drinking beer and jotting down humorous comments. You, who apparently consider yourself a Veteran based on the premise that you actually know one, or would have been one yourself, if not for that "nasty" foot problem! Spare me, and please don't "demand" my respect for you while giving me none of yours! It doesn't work that way, you Godless pukes! I believe in Jesus Christ, though I have to admit, you may have very well "evolved" from a possum, or raccoon, or maybe even a skunk

"In-security testing, in layman's terms"

It seems that there is a lot of "in-security" in our world today. People are constantly worried about such matters as the economy, wars, job loss, immigration, and having to register as a "sex-offender" if they get caught taking a pee behind the dumpster in back of the local tavern. I believe, that if we're truly going to thrive as the greatest country in the history of our planet, we all need to settle down, and stop all this "needless" worrying about trivial matters. Maybe you're saying to yourself right now that you most definitely are not "skittish" about anything, and that you have about the same quantity of "raw nerve" displayed by a two thousand pound Brahma bull running a-muck in a Pygmy village. I've taken the time to compile a list of questions which, if answered honestly, can help you to determine if you're confident with the way things are going for you, or if maybe you really are just a little bit in-secure. Remember, answering these questions honestly is the only way I can help you! 1: Do you sometimes wonder if you'll be replaced at your job with a younger, sleeker, smarter person? 2: Do you often times wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and then go "balance" your checkbook? 3: Do you ever worry that you're retirement plan may be in-adequately funded? 4: Do you have to pee when you get up in the morning? 5: Do you every worry that your particular bank will be taken over by a group of armed terrorists from a distant planet? 6: Do you wonder why the self-proclaimed environmental guru Al Gore needs a house with nine toilets? 7: Do you ever wonder why the stories on this blog are never properly formatted, and just come out in one big, stupid paragraph? 8: Do you ever think that your co-workers obviously have the brain content of zucchini, and who knows how they get anything done? 9: Do you sometimes get hungry, but don't really know what for? 10: Are you secretly suspicious that sesame street's Big Bird is really not a bird at all, but rather a person wearing a bird costume? Now, if you took the time to answer all of these questions honestly, and answered no to all 10 questions, you truly do have nerves of steel, which go quite nicely with your honesty imperfections! If you answered yes to at least three of these questions, you're only slightly skittish about the state of the world around you, congratulations! If you answered yes to any number of questions more than three, you should probably immediately go into hiding in some small, dank cave in a third-world country, because you are obviously "damaged goods", and it is only a matter of time before men in white suits from the planet Zork come to take you away! In any case, I'll still be here drinking beer and watching football, and thinking of even more ways to help the readers of this silly blog!

"Committed" (Or just brushed off)!

So here it is, Sunday morning already. The weekend is half gone, or, if your an optimist, you still have half of it left. I'm not an optimist, and I can see that my glass of "tomato juice" is already half empty. I approached my computer this morning warily, which is a tactic I learned from watching the cowardly lion approach the wizard when he wanted to ask him for courage. It's not that I have a problem with courage. I have a refrigerator on the back porch that is just "chock full" of courage! No, I think I have more of a problem with "commitment" than anything else. Don't get me wrong! I'm totally committed to my wife and family, even though on occasion, they tend to have ME committed! Some of the things I'm NOT committed to though, are posting this silly blog every Sunday morning before eleven o'clock. This is a commitment that I brought on myself, clearly because I don't care for "even" numbers, else I would have made it noon. I'm committed to my job, but only when I'm operating a backhoe or driving a truck. If I happen to be operating a "cordless" shovel for the day, chances are I'm not so committed. A 48 year old man can put in countless hours per day sitting in a truck eating "cheetos" and listening to Rush Limbaugh, which is in direct contrast to a 48 year old man running a shovel 13 hours a day, only to come home and find out that apparently, his wife is in a bad mood, and your supper is in the microwave. What is it that makes us do the things we don't want to do in our lives? Money? Prestige? If the measure of a good man is considered to be having enough money to "choke a horse", then I would find myself somewhat short, even though I could have a real blast at a miniature pony farm. What really is prestige? Is this where you put a man with no "values" into an extremely valuable automobile in order to make him look important? Are there really people in this world that drive a Mercedes Benz and still can't afford a "Big Mac"? They say that money can't buy you true love, but yet we all know that money can buy you fake love at a "reasonable" hourly rate, (except in Utah)! Many times I ask myself a lot of questions, such as "who are we to judge others, when we will all be judged in the end", and "why can't we all just get along, and keep this great country united", and "it's seven-thirty on Sunday morning, why don't I smell bacon and eggs, and maybe some pancakes, or toast, or something"! I realize that I'm a "pain in the ass" to most all of my friends, but I wish you all well. I'm old and stubborn, and I believe that things should be done my way, (with some concessions being made to my increasingly HUGE number of readers on this blog, which is now up to 8, and I still don't know who "Blondie" is). I'd stop writing this crap, but I'm sort of "committed".

"The stimulous is obviously for the dogs"

We've been working in a very small town about an hour west of here and then south off from Inter-state 70. I will not mention the name of the town, just in case anybody might actually know of the people I intend to write this story about. The town itself has a population of seventy people, though even the "locals" admit to not knowing where they came up with such a large number. This town proudly boasts being the "county seat" of it's particular county, and comes complete with a brick courthouse about the size of a small college dorm room at a college with a very long name in some place like North Dakota. Other than the courthouse, there are approximately seven other buildings on main street, and only three of them are occupied by businesses. This town is a stunning three blocks long, and still has "both" sides of the street, which in itself, would probably be a good selling point if you owned real-estate here, and were trying to get rid of it. THIS town, believe it or not, received 2.5 million dollars from O'Bama's "stimulous", package, and chose to use it by re-paving the three block main street, plus put in all new curb and gutters and sidewalks, which would no doubt bring huge amounts of business to the town, had they had any actual businesses with which to do business. My company is tearing out all the old sidewalks and curbs and such, and doing the dirt work for the new ones going in, which means that I get plenty of time to visit with the locals, or maybe I mean "Locos", who really knows? I DO know that every morning at about 10:30, a young, scant, woman with a very colorful "gift" bag actually "sneaks up" on main street (Which is also a highway), and will stand in the shadows of the community light pole, for sometimes several minutes before attempting to cross the street to go to the Post office. She looks north and south, making sure that there is no traffic coming for at least a couple days before she crosses, then she'll take off on a dead run, but only for about 3 or 4 steps, then she will walk briskly for just as many, then run again, and so on. If, (God forbid), there happens to be the slightest chance of any human contact on her journey, such as running into one of the workers or fellow citizens, she will put her head down and walk extremely fast, or cut through to the alley, as she does in my case, (which is perfectly normal behavour for women who somehow run the risk of encountering me on the street, at least judging from my High school days)! This woman, by no means wears the crown of the "strangest" person in town, and I'm totally serious on this! There's also a guy, maybe five years my senior by my guessing, who never seems to have to go to work, and chooses to ride his bicycle up and down the 3 blocks all day, which is perfectly normal, and a great job if you can get it, except that this guy always carries his small dog with him, whether riding his bike or walking. Still not enough? The dog sits on his HEAD! I'm plum serious! This guy always has his dog with him, and it's always either on his shoulders or on top of his head. Yes, it's a real live dog. Lucky for me, this guy thinks I'm friendly, and stops every day in order to have a conversation with me on such important topics as what "used to be here", and how much the town has changed since he was a little boy, all the while with a dog on his head. I so much want to ask him if he even knows that he's got a dog on his head, but somehow, I don't know how, when I have unwilling conversations with him, I tend to get the impression that maybe he's "not all there". Or maybe it's just me, as I have done several "tours" at the nut house, where highly skilled college graduates have spent countless hours trying to "change" my way of thinking to a point where it could become more "compatible" with the thinking of regular people, who may or may not have a dog on their head. Even as you're sitting at your computer reading this and thinking how lucky I am that this guy took a liking to me, it get's even better! Lucky for me, the newspaper lady, (from another town in the same county), showed up to take pictures of all the progress going on in town, and without my knowledge of it at the time, snapped a picture of myself having a conversation with this guy. This should certainly be good for business, and I believe it says alot about the citizens of this small Kansas town, such as the fact that even a busy man riding a bike with a dog on his head still takes the time to visit with a "lowly" construction worker! I truly can't tell you how proud I am, at least not on here, because of extremely strict rules and regulations, but I can tell you that when I'm talking to a guy with a dog on his head, I'm thinking about what I'd be doing if I still worked for "Alfs" well-drilling in Shickley, Nebraska, where people tend to take a somewhat dim view of having a live dog on their head. Also, I would like for you to know that at least O'Bama's stimulous money wasn't just pissed away for no good reason.

"There's a Trick to it"!

"Labor Day weekend"! "Three days of doing what I want to do, and the first thing I'm going to do is trade in my old truck for a slightly better old truck"! This is the type of delusional thinking I fell victim of yesterday, as my wife and I exited early from our grandson Caleb's birthday party to do just that. Off we went, to Auto World, Hays Kansas' most reputable auto dealer, where absolutely everyone leaves satisfied, unless of course you happen to be me. I found the truck I was looking for, took it for a test drive, and really liked it. It even had the extended cab, which would come in handy for hauling around some of our young "tricycle motors". Yep! This truck would do just fine, for what I need, and for only forty-five hundred dollars. Now to get back to auto world and see what kind of trade-in allowance I'll get for my old truck. This, of course, is where the problems began. As Kristy and I pulled into the dealership, the salesman was sitting in the drivers seat of my old truck, which was still exactly where I had parked it. I walked up to the window. "It won't start" he said. "The clutch safety switch is just a little touchy", I said. "You have to really ram the clutch down hard on the floor". Salesman (pushing repeatedly on clutch): "I guess I don't have the right touch"! "It's just as well", I say. "You shouldn't drive it anyway, at least not before I give you the safety briefing"! "Safety briefing", he asks? "Well", I say, "there's lots of things you need to know about this old truck before you drive it". "Firstly, the brakes are "iffy", to say the least. You can make it stop, but if you hold the brake down for more than two seconds at a time, it will shoot all the brake fluid out of the master cylinder, so you basically want to stop by downshifting, which is yet another trick, as the synchronizers are out in the transmission, so it's best to shift without the clutch". "You also need to keep an eye on the temperature guage as the radiator has a rather large leak." "If it starts running hot, there's several jugs of water in the back, right beside the brake fluid, motor oil, and log chain." "If you decide to take it out on the highway, you can't drive at 55 mph. You can drive at 54 or 56mph, but not 55, or else the front end will start to shimmy and shake to the point of nearly throwing you out of the cab." "Forget it", he says, "I don't need to drive it to tell you what it's worth"! "How do you open the door", he asked, clearly wanting to get out. "That piece of aluminum storm door handle sticking out above the arm rest is the handle", I say, "the regular handle broke, so I just made this one, rather than buy a new one". "They're only about five bucks", he said. "This was free", I said. At this point, he and I were clearly becoming irritated at each other, as he walked around my truck, expressing his concerns over various dents, mis-matched paint, and rust. "Does at least the four wheel drive work", he asked. "Yes, but there's a trick to it", I say. "Forget it", he says, "I don't even want to know"! "It's got alot of character", I say. "Character is for real-estate", he says. From there, we go inside his office to see what the forty five hundred dollar pickup would cost me, after deducting the cost of my old truck trade. He wrote a figure down on a piece of paper, slid it across his desk, and never even looked up at me. I looked at the paper, asked my wife if she was ready to go, and we left. In my old truck, of course. The piece of paper he slid to me with the revised quote said "forty-six hundred dollars", forty-five hundred for the new truck, plus a one hundred dollar "waste disposal" fee. This really doesn't bother me, as I really kind of like my truck just the way it is. Sure, it's kind of moody, stubborn, bull-headed, and sometimes don't want to work, but then again, so am I. My wife, Kristy, knows how to keep me going, much in the same way that I do my old truck, and for both me and the truck, she'll readily admit that "there's a trick to it"!

"Last Will and Matrimony"?

I"ve recently been reminded by a close family member (ahem), that I haven't up-dated my "will" since getting out of the Army nearly twenty years ago, and that I really should do this, as many things have changed since then, including some "key" family members. I dread writing a will, not so much because of the thought of giving away all of my worldly possessions, (of which I have few), but more for the fact that the opening statement always makes me feel like I'm lying to myself right off the bat: I, Rany J. Delimont, being of sound mind and body......."Who are YOU trying to fool"? I tell myself. "Your mind has about the same mental capacity as a zuchinni"! "You've made more trips to the nut-house than most people make to their local grocery store"! "And sound body"? "Your back hurts, your feet are bad, you can't see, you can't hear, and you have a generally bad attitude"! "Face it, your physical condition is consistent with those found on aging Hippos"! This is only the FIRST line of the will! It only get's worse from here, what with all this talk of "bequeathing" and such. In the first place, I don't have all that many things to bequeath, and most of the things I do have aren't much good anyway, as I've always had a reputation for taking a sort of "care-free" attitude about the general maintenance of my belongings, just like my body. Outside of a few guns, some war souvenir's, and mason jars chock-full of hundred-dollar bills, about the only thing I could bequeath on anybody would be my old pick-up truck, and I can't for the life of me think of anybody who I feel has wronged me enough that I would do that to. I can't even bequeath any stock on anyone, as I own no cows or pigs. No bonds either, but there is a tube of gorilla glue in the junk drawer which promises to bond almost anything together "permanently". I suppose that someday I will write a new will, provided I can find a lawyer with a really good sense of humor. Until that day comes, I'll be at work, making money for my hobbies, such as fishing at the pond, and "canning" down in the basement, and if my wife is reading this, maybe she'll bequeath some bacon and eggs my way, with some toast, and......

"All about ducks, and strangers"

Ahhh! Sunday morning! No work pressures! No demanding projects with deadlines that have already passed! I even managed to sneak in a couple hours of fishing this morning, even if it was by myself, or at least it started out that way, until a 7 year old boy named Josh came riding up to the dock on his bicycle with his fishing pole hanging across the handlebars. "Are they biting Mister"?, he screamed to me in a noise decibel level that would rival an F-16 fighter jet during take-off. "Not anymore" I said, in the half-hearted way that one does upon realizing that the peaceful serenity of the early morning would now be gone. Josh, who apparently could easily see that I wanted to be alone, chose to fish off of the dock right beside me. "What's your name"?, he asked. "Rany", I replied. "What"? "Rany", I said again, realizing that I've always had to state my name two or three times and even spell it to most new people I meet. "Randy"? Josh insisted. "Rany", I again said. "My folks were very poor when I was a baby, and we didn't have enough money to buy the "d". "What's your name, kid"? "Josh", he replied while poking several kernels of corn onto a hook, "What are you using for bait", he asked. "A doughball" I replied. "A doughball"? "You're never gonna catch a fish on that"! "I don't really want to catch a fish", I said. "Then why'd ya come fishing", he said. I immediately knew that I was going to be ill-equipped to do battle with this type of common-sense thinking, so I made a feeble excuse about just wanting to sit and relax, and enjoy the peaceful morning by watching the ducks swim and thinking about life in general. "How old are you", I asked? "7, and my folks let me come here anytime I want to", he replied. "I'm not surprised", I said. "So what's so special about watching the ducks", he said. "Because, outside of the feathers and the fact that ducks mate for life, they're pretty much like humans", I said. "You mean those two ducks are married"?, Josh asked. "Isn't it obvious", I said. "Look how the female keeps quacking at the male, swimming behind him as he goes along somewhat "defiantly" on the path that he chooses"! "What do you think she's saying ", he asked. "I don't really know, kid, maybe they're arguing over finances or something". "Maybe he was out all night with his friends, and she is demanding answers". "What do ducks ever do that would take all night with friends"? "I don't know kid, maybe discuss "billing" information or something". "Your bobber is under kid, reel him in"! At this point, Josh frantically reels in his fish, which is almost big enough to be used as bait for a fish big enough to make a small sandwich at your local "Long John Silvers", while maintaining the right to not be near as tasty. Josh "landed" his fish, took him off the hook, and then threw him back into the water. When he was poking yet more corn kernels onto his fish hook to try again, I realized that we probably had alot in common, but I still don't know what. "Why did you throw him back"?, I asked. "I never keep"em", he replied, "I just like catching them"! "Then why'd ya come fishing"?, I taunted, in order to get back at him for his "duck" comments. "Because it's relaxing, and I can make as much noise as I want to, and nobody will hear me cause they're still asleep"! "Good plan", I say, while reeling in my line. I have to go home now. I also have to explain to my loving wife, who is probably awake by now, just where I've been for the last 2 hours, in order to keep her from following me around the house, "quacking" at me. I've decided that I like my life just "as it is". I love my wife, kids, grand-kids, and parents. Sometimes, learning experiences have to be shared by "children" of all ages. Thanks, Josh, for our talk this morning, when I really wanted to be alone. God bless you, my un-ruly little friend. I hope I see you again when I have the grand-kids fishing with me. Sometimes the Good Lord's Angels work in very mysterious ways!

"Take stock! In Rany"?

If you're planning on retiring from work at some point in your life, then you probably have money "set-aside" with which to take you through your "Golden" years comfortably. If not, than you're like me, and plan on selling any still functional major organs, as well as your aluminum can collection, in order to have the money to survive on. Almost everyone that I know has some kind of an investment "portfolio", which tells them approximately how much they are "worth" in terms of real money, unlike me, as I tend to keep mine in mason jars in the basement, leaving me little doubt as to how much I've got. Investments in the "stock" market are considered to be the best way to either win or lose the money that you could have used in later life, had you not already lost it in the stock market. Now that we're clear on just how confusing this all can be, I'm free to "coach" you into some investment strategies that have helped me immensely over the past few years by learning the proper meanings of terms used on wall street, such as "fixed income", or "adjustable rate", or even "fixed adjustable long-term income high percentage rates, with growing annuity". Relax my friends, as this only means that your "stock-broker" is most likely betting your money on the same horse that you would bet on yourself, if you were a known gambler, it's when they start talking about "high-risk" stocks, where you can dump an awful lot of money into a particular stock for a short period of time and probably make huge "dividends" (if you don't go broke), that makes me nervous, as this is the same tactic that my vehicle insurers used on me many years ago, forcing me to pay huge amounts of my monthly income just to be able to drive an automobile to a place I didn't really want to go anyway, which was work. Over the years I have finally managed to perfect my "own" investment technique, which is basically to invest most of my dollars that were in the "miscellaneous" section of my personal "pie chart" into "usable materials", such as beer. I like to call this technique "liquidation", and even though it saves little money for the future, it does give you a care-free attitude in the present, and, after all, isn't that where we all live? Another method I use to ensure that I either will or will not have money to live on in the future is betting small amounts of cash on sporting events, such as football, basketball, boxing, and the race for congressional and senate seats, which are usually held in the fall, while it's cool. I call this the "chance" method, and it basically works by choosing the team, fighter, or candidate that you would really like to see win, and then betting against him, cause face it, things haven't really gone your way for a good twenty years now, and there's no apparent signs that this will change soon! All in all, I guess the best advice I can give anybody on finances would be to tell you that "You earned it, so do with it what you will"! And if you're still confused, I can set up an anonymous site where you can mail your "extra" dollars to, that way you can be assured of their safety! After all, didn't your parents teach you to save your money for a rany day? Whoops! I mean a rainy day, of course! Now here's the address to the anonymous web-site......................

"The Wizard of Awwws"

It's starting to look as though Kristy and I will survive our overnight stay by our two grand-daughters, Katrina and Kailey, but not without battling extreme fatigue from all the exercise we got, whether we wanted it or not, and if there's anyone out there that has never pulled 2 kid's around in a wagon behind a bicycle for any distance at all, I can assure you that there isn't a gear low enough on a 21 speed bike to take the "work" out of it, and it will be a long time before I do that again. It amazes me to see how the simplest of things can be so entertaining to small children, bringing smiles and hysterical laughter and hugs from them as a reward for doing silly things, such as acting like a bog monster and repeatedly saying such things as "I'm gonna get you"! We had to sit through yet another episode of "Scooby-Doo" last night, which left the girls mesmerized by the intelligence of the whole gang. It was a pretty good show, and I truly believe that the villain would have gotten away with it too, if not for those meddling kids! After this came the breathtaking excitement of "The Wizard of Oz", which of course, is an entirely true story, and most likely filmed right here in Ellis. The girls were totally absorbed in this movie, and thought that the "good" witch, Glinda, was very pretty and helpful. I had very differing opinions on Glinda, as I had seen this show a time or two before. Where the hell was Glinda when Dorothy and the scarecrow were getting the stuffings knocked out of them by the flying monkey-gargoyle creatures, and why didn't she tell Dorothy sooner that, with the ruby slippers, she had the power to go home all along, instead of waiting clear till the end of the movie? What a bitch! I guess that's what's so special about being with young, innocent, non-judge-mental children, as they only see the good in people, at least unless they truly portray wickedness, like the bad witch and the flying monkey's. The girls ate breakfast outside this morning, calling it a breakfast picnic, giving me a few minutes to fritter away on this computer while keeping grandma busy, but I better get back to being grandpa now, even though it's much quieter just watching them from out of the window. They're so cute, dragging the wagon over to my bike and trying to hook the chain............ Crap!

Two "peas" in entirely different "pods"

My wife, Kristy, and myself have been together for a "long" time now, at least to hear her say it. I guess that neither of us knows the actual date of our first date, but we do both remember the "date" itself. We were both recently divorced at the time, and she lived in town, where she was struggling to raise three kid's on her own, and as for myself, I lived in the country, where I also had three kids, who were struggling to raise me. Kristy worked at "Dales" supermarket, and always managed to be in the beer aisle of the store when I came in after work for refreshments, which I found to be quite strange anyway, as she was the head of the "deli". She later admitted that this was not really that much of a coincidence, and that if she would have been in the "cottage cheese" aisle, we would have likely never met! The first time I actually had a meaningful conversation with her, (in the beer aisle, of course), was when it was my youngest son, Nathan's birthday, and like a normal single dad would do, I remembered it right after I got off of work, on the day of it. After conveying my message of incompetence to Kristy, she not only agreed to "whipping up" a birthday cake seriously fast, but also offered to bring her three kids and herself out to the farm to help celebrate it, which turned out to be the beginning of, once again, according to my wife, a very long relationship. We taught each other, as well as each others kids, many valuable life skills that are still in use today! Kristy taught me and my kids how to prepare meals from "store-bought" meat, and that the tub of flour in the freezer was actually considered to be "food-stuff" by many other Americans, and could be used to make bread, gravy, and even noodles! I, on the other hand, taught Kristy and her kids how to shoot a coyote out of the window of my truck, while driving at very high speeds through "posted" property and drinking beer. Kristy taught my children to be "polite", whereas I taught hers to speed around the farm somewhat uncontrollably on a go-kart! Kristy basically taught about such trivial things as manners, honesty, and cleanliness, while I taught the more "important" skills, such as fishing, hunting, driving, drinking, drinking and driving, and drinking and driving while hunting and trolling for fish because you're driving too close to the water anyway, as well as how to build a "Man's" campfire. In the end, this turned out to be somewhat of a stable atmosphere from which to raise the children, all of whom are doing well! The only problem is that now we have 13 grand-children, and I'm almost too old to spring into action with my aged ideas anymore, but my wife's values tend to remain the same, and she will most likely enforce her beliefs on them long before they're old enough to shoot coyotes from the relative safety of a speeding pickup truck and spit tobacco. I only hope that she doesn't teach a bunch of "good manners" and such to the male grand-children, or teach them such foolish things as being patient while waiting for cookies in the oven. I want football players and fighters! Even though we're in the same "pod", my wife is the "sweet-pea"!

Camping? Seriously?

I've been thinking about going camping recently, and even taking along some of the grand-kids, which should right-away prove that the deterioration process of my active brain cells is near completion. I used to go camping alot, especially when our kid's were young, when most every weekend, we would un-wind from the stresses of the work week and reward ourselves by going to Caldwell's pond and sleeping on rocks in an area with no restroom facilities and lot's of snakes, rather than stay home by the air-conditioner and television. If memory serves me right, (and it does), the first thing you have to do after ( you set your bank lines), is to start the tedious process of gathering dead and fallen wood from around the area, in order to make a camp-fire. If there appeared to be no dead wood which had already fallen, there was always plenty of dead trees, which could be fairly easily knocked down with your pickup after just a few hits. In a real pinch, you could actually pull the tree over with your truck and a log chain, but this method required sending one of your off-spring climbing up a tree with a chain in order to find a suitable place to hook it, which I thought could possibly be dangerous, forcing me to endorse the simpler "tree-bashing" method with the back bumper. In order to have a "real" campfire, it was necessary to have enough "reserve" trees laying close to your campsite that if they were stacked directly on top of each other, their height would be so great that the "Washington Monument" would pale in comparison. The actual lighting of your fire was really the only easy part, and could normally be done with just less than 5 gallons of high-octane gasoline, starting a fire that would probably be considered a "4 alarm" fire in many areas throughout the east coast, and could easily be seen for several miles. We never considered these fires to be "overkill" though, as everyone knows how much heat it can take to kill the bacteria prevaliant in a package of hot dogs and marshmallows, not to mention the dirty stick that we cooked them on. Besides the fire, snakes, and sleeping on rocks, Caldwell's pond was also "blessed" with more than it's fair share of insects, leeches, and snapping turtles, all of which would readily bite you, with or without your consent. There was always a small row boat available at Caldwell's pond, and apparently anybody could use it that wanted to, because we always did. We never knew just who actually owned the boat, but just assumed, (probably safely), that they had been taken by either some kind of wild animal or venomous snake, and if they were still alive, they would surely give us their blessings to use their boat, and there was really no way of getting information about it from other fishermen, as they always seemed to be leaving when they saw us pull in, many of them acting as though they were risking being late for an important appointment, if they didn't leave right away. Even the privacy policy was great at Caldwells pond, which was evident when you first came into the gate and saw the small sign on a fence post stating that it was a private pond, and that you should not enter. Every once in awhile, some "old" guy would drive into the pasture containing the pond and stare at my family for awhile, shake his head in apparent dis-belief, then drive away again without speaking to any of us. We never knew who this strange person was, but looking back, I'm going to guess that he may have been the actual land owner, and possibly Caldwell was his last name, but who really cared, as this was a close-knit community? Now that I'm older, I'd really just as soon stay home with the air-conditioner, television, kitchen, bedroom, and indoor toilet, but I also don't want my grandchildren to miss out on the chance to cheat death by going camping with grandpa, and believe it or not, Kristy and I, (along with the children who have suffered the least mental anguish), still refer to these camping trips as "the good old days"!