Monthly Archives: December 2011
Happy New Year!!
Unless you are in China, and then never mind. Although, the Chinese New Year does include interesting animals.
I think I was born in the year of the Rat, but don’t quote me on that.
I propose the United States start assigning animals to the new year and declare that 2012 be the Year of the Mongoose!
Frankly, my first choice was the panda but have you seen the teeth on these little buggers? No sense making an enemy of the mongoose.
Cold where you are? It might be here, but as I write this (on 12/19) it’s a balmy 60 degrees.
Great, now I’ve probably jinxed N. Texas and it’s going to ice/snow for the entire month of January.
Here, have a look at the awesomesauce in Hawaii.
I still can’t figure out how the man turned that voice into millions, but I do know that awesomesauce was applied.
Excuse me while I go stop the bleeding from my ears.
Did you stock up?
I hope so, because today is Card Playing Day and the gang will be at your house in about five minutes.
Put some clothes on, will ya?
You need to stock up on beer, pretzels, nachos, soda, popcorn and dollar bills.
It’s for tomorrow.
Trust me on this.
This page will self-destruct in 30 seconds.
Today is Boxing Day in some places outside America.
I’m a citizen of the United States, so I don’t know what Boxing Day is.
I looked it up.
Apparently, it’s a bank holiday.
I was hoping it was a day I could go sock some asshat who’d been irritating me.
I haz a disappoint.
And remember, a baby changes everything…today.
My blog will be on a kinda-sorta hiatus for the holidays. I am leaving you with a slice of awesomesauce for each day, from December 24th until January 3rd. I’ll be back on January 4th with what I hope will be some truly hilarious stories from my crazy family Christmas.
So, till we meet again – Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
..things like this happen..
It was about 8:00 in the morning, a sunny day in 1985.
All the kids were at school, except our one-yr. old. She was busily applying oatmeal to her head as I washed dishes.
Suddenly, I heard the most God-awful yelling and cursing coming from the house across the street.
You see, while we lived in the sticks we shared stick-age with several other homes in close proximity. Each of us had a half-acre of land and the entire community was surrounded by cows, and cow shit.
A highlight of our day was watching the crop-dusting planes spray the cow-shit fields; their bright colors zooming by gave the kids a thrill and the chemical exposure probably explains a lot of later behaviors.
I don’t know, for sure, no one from Dipshit Chemical Corp. has ever knocked on my door with a survey, I’m just speculating.
But, I digress.
After hearing the commotion I ran to the front door, quickly checking to ensure the baby had plenty of oatmeal, and walked outside.
Across the street from me, prone on the ground and gesturing wildly under her car, was my 60-something year old neighbor *Flo.
“It’s a goddamn rattlesnake, I tell ya!”
From inside the house I hear her son, *Bubba, yell, “I’ll git it mama!”
Bubba bursts through the screen door, shotgun in hand.
He walks around to the opposite side of the car from where Flo is lying and gets down on the ground for a better look.
He shoves the shotgun under the car.
The business end of the gun is now facing the snake.
“I’ll get it mama. Just don’t move.”
“HEY!!!” I yell.
“What?” Flo yells back, still lying on the ground.
“Did you plan on having Bubba shoot your face off this morning?”
Flo stands up, Bubba stands up.
They stare at one another across the roof of the car.
The snake, sensing the opportunity, slithers away and into the field.
“You were just gonna pull that trigger, weren’t you?” Flo asks angrily.
“No mama, I’d of waited for ya to move.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything? I swear boy you’re dumber than a box of rocks…”
The argument continued on as they walked back into the house, Flo insisting Bubba was an idjit and Bubba insisting Flo was being unfair.
Frankly, I think they both got whooped with a stupid branch at a very young age.
I walked back into the house where the baby was wearing her now-empty oatmeal bowl proudly atop her head.
I made a mental note to hide the firearms as she got older.
*Flo and *Bubba – not their names, but does it matter?