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?