Monday, January 31, 2005

Hillbilly & Proud Of It!

Last night I discovered a comment on one of my blogs. To my surprise, the comment was not about the article itself, but was directed at the brief profile which appears with each blog. The author of the comments gave the critique anonymously. It appears the said reader was bothered by one and only word contained in it. While this person liked and agreed with the article, which was an earlier piece regarding political correctness, his or her problem concerned my roots. Inasmuch, as I referred to myself as a transplanted hillbilly, this person took exception to my stand, acccusing me of being a hypocrite. How could I dare to pontificate about PC, and yet use such a demeaning term as hillbilly?
To that reader I say how could he or she have such a view but not the nerve to identify themself? While I respect the right of anonymity, and welcome any and all comments whether positive or negative, I think a protestor should be honest with them-selves. Stand up and be counted, my friend.
Addressing the comment, I will be straight forward, unlike this critic.
I am a Hillbilly! I take great pride in that fact. Yes, I am traansplanted, now living in the Greater Boston area. You an take the boy out of the hills, but you cannot take the hills out of the boy. I know what it is like to be a hillbilly. I know what it is like to live so far up in the hills they had to pipe in the sunshine. I lived in a town with the city limits on the same sign post. I lived in a town which was called a town only because it had a post office. Our yard once a had an old pickup truck on cinder blocks with the weeds around it unmown. The police chief also owned the only department store. The pharmacist and the mortician were the same person. The apothecary and the funeral home were adjacent buildings. I was baptized in a river while the church members sang "Shall we gather at the river." My knowledge of the carnal, began not in the back seat of a '57 Belair, but on the banks of the Elk River with Sandy. (To Blue out there, no it wasn't on the Sandy River with an elk.)
Yes, I am a Hillbilly and proud of it. There is nothing demeaning about the word Hillbilly. In fact, just referring to Hillbilly as demeaning is demeaning. West Virginia is the hills abd the peoples indigenous to them. Montani Simper Liberi, which means Mountaineers are always free, the state motto says it all. Hillbillies are simple people, but we are proud. Hillbilly is a state of mind, a lifestyle that few forsake. Hillbilly is being alive.
Country Roads take me home, to the place I belong, West Virginia, Mountain Momma take me home. Those lines from a song by the late John Denver, perhaps are only understood or appreciated by a Hillbilly. I don't make it back there to them thar hills as much as I would like, but I brought a little bit of those hills and a lot of hillbilly with me when I left. Although I have put my roots into the soil of New England, does that make me a Yankee? Perhaps, and it is not a demeaning term either. I have been up here since 1971, long enough to settle and raise a family, but not long enough to forget or care where I came from. I guess you could say I am a Hillbilly Yankee. Maybe you would prefer it as Yankee Hillbilly?
I like to think Tat I am a little of both. My birthright helped me absorb the better parts of being a Yankee, while my integration into the Yankee existence has made me appreciate the hills in my blood and the Hillbilly in my soul. Whether I am standing at the door of Everett, Mass., or on the porch of West Virginia house, I will offer the same greetings, "Y'all Come."
No. 14
I'm sure he would agree, so why not check out the good old boy at

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Java Junkie - Coffee Confessions

When the onslaught of the sun burst through the slats of the mini-blinds onto my face, intefering with the sleep I had been maintaining, my first line of defense was to pull the blankets over my head. If I was fast enough, I could slip in a few more Zs. This morning, however, the solar blast had been too strong, ending any chance I might have had to resume the repose. Try as I might, I could not return to that darkened room. I never did hear the name of the woman, the statuesque redhead for whom I had been lighting a cigarette. I had introduced myself in the customary manner, "Bond. Point Bond." As the cigarette lighter fflared to life, the sun had struck my face.
I sat up, stretching what had been a finely chiseled physique, transformed into a gravity worn tired frame. As was my routine, I began in earnest my morning exercises by chanting aloud the actions, "One .. two .. up .. down. One .. two.. up .. down." Doubling my reps, I performed the same again, this time with my left eyelid.
My stop at the porcelain depository, preceded my agile shufling to the kitchen, running the gauntlet of dog chewies and cat toys. Knowing that a watched pot never boils, I prepared the ingredients for the concoction known in some circles as coffee. Also known as java and Joe, the brew has even been referred to as mud since it was ground this morning. It's defining ingredient, caffeine has been used as an aphrodisiac, a physic, and as an emollient. I don't know about its powers as anphrodisiac, but one should be awake anyway for that activity. I am pondering whether I would apply it to my skin, although it might make a mosquito's repast interesting. If a rose by any other name .. so it is with coffee. My personal sobriquet for the stuff is simply a "cup of ambition."
The bouquet wafting through the house, generates activity elsewhere. The stirrings beyond the kitchen morph into a relay race to be the first out of the gate. The recipient of the baton, the runner-up, is rewarded the luxury of taking it easy with no rush. The calico cat, already resembling a bowling ball with legs, is the first to arrive in the kitchen, meowing "Feed me." The thundering herd, comprised of the lab and the Rottie have bee-lined to the back door to be the first in line.
Seeking solitude, I left the kitchen to allow myself to be enveloped by my recliner. Remote in one hand, coffee in the other, I sought out the news of the world. A sip here and a slurp there conjured up a euphoric stupor. The world was a haze behind my closed eyes. I found the Astin-Martin parked where I had left it, but the redhead was nowhere to be seen. My catlike senses and reflexes were tested by an advancing figure from behind. "Dad, can you move your truck? You are last in the driveway." An agent must be prepared for any number of situations, many perilous, this one menial.
The first cup of coffee is the stimulant to help me awaken. Now the second cup, that one is the most important. There is no turning back, there will be no rest for the next twelve hours or more. The redhead will have to fend for herself until then. The adventure will resume again after this evening's first cup of coffee.....shaken, not stirred.
No. 13
Why not investigate agent bluedillydilly

Johnny Carson
Free Web Counter

Johnny Carson

Friday, January 28, 2005

Cliche College

We take it for granted, after all we grew up with it. We have experienced its nuances all of our lives. Indeed, these nuances might be labeled conundrums. The English language can be quite intimidating to someone trying to learn it as a second language. Hmmm...isn't "English language" an oxymoron?
Our language has so many variations, that even those differences have names. There are metaphors, similies, and the fun-to-say onomatopeas, to name but a few. The very components of our speech, words, have their own diversity.
They include antonyms, homonyms, and synonyms. It can be confounding, perplexing even, to be confronted with such onerous usages and inflections.
Why don't we have some fun? Now that these students have already been confused, let's throw them a curve! No way will they be prepared for dialects, when we subject them to a sampling of regional accents. We will start with the Professor from Georgia. That southern gentleman will then hand it over to the one from Brooklyn. When the Bostonian receives it and gives them a Yankee dose of vernacular, she cedes to the instructor from the inner city streets.
As the students are trying to digest those subtleties, I have been preparing my own curriculum: Cliches 101. As a teaching aid, I have opted to literally act out a select handful of cliches. By this method my students should find them more easily understood.
To set up the course, I had to first come up with a compendium of these trite expressions. Next, I had to eliminate those that were not aceptable for obvious reasons. These included: a) jumping down one's throat, b) coming out of the closet, c) tripping the light fantastic, and of course d) shooting the s__t.
Practicing some of these at home, actually caused me some considerable grief. My wife was quite irate when she saw the hole in the center of the living room rug. I had innocently enough been acting out cutting a rug. I wasn't feeling very well after chewing the fat, because Crisco isn't very pleasing out of the can. Shooting the breeze didn't work too good. Although I had gotten off a few rounds, I don't think I even nicked it. Only with a microscope was I actually able to split hairs. My wife actually performed a masterpiece raising the roof when she found me rolling in the dough. She wondered why I was walking around naked, to which I succinctly replied, wearing a smile. Later on, she wasn't too happy, demanding I clean up the paper towel I was shredding from one room to another. It had been relatively easy for her to track me down because I had left a paper trail. When she saw me in the back yard patting some earth into a recently excavated hole, I simply said burying the hatchet. Even though she was throwing a fit, it sure looked like a brick to me! Next, observing me peeking under a raked pile of foliage, "Let me guess," she said, "You are turning over a new leaf ?"
I guess it was the straw that broke the camel's back , when I slipped into the bathroom wearing only a smile while she was in the shower. I turned out the lights and reached in through the shower curtain. "Stop it! Go away!" I assume she did not appreciate my perfect execution of groping in the dark.
My research had proven fruitful nonetheless. I was successful at other endeavors such as dropping a dime and rocking the boat. I had one cliche in particular that I wanted to try, but Faith Hill's agent never got back to me. I am fascinated by the possibilities of her and I acting out a leap of faith.
It is time to approach the dean about a grant and possible tenure. I had better look my best. After applying a flour paste to myself, I crumbled the crackers and began sprinkling all over me. I was putting on the ritz.
No. 12
Be sure to visit the ever irreverent one

Also please welcoming a new-comer to world of blogging

Johnny Carson
Free Web Counter

Johnny Carson

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Jaws of Steel

Just when I thought it safe to go back out there and shovel the end of the driveway, thus opening it to the street, the unthinkable happened. Although there was a warning, quite ominous, of the impending peril, my reflexes and reactions were barely adequate to save me.
It had begun innocently enough, two days earlier in the aftermath of a huge snowstorm. That same storm, that had become known as the Blizzard of '05, had created an aura of lazy serenity, in turn encompassed by a shroud of desolation. They had told me that I shouldn't go out there alone. Through the earphones of my walkman, I was at that moment listing to CCR's Bad Moon Rising, and the coincidence had not been lost to me. Indeed, there had been nothing moving, not another soul, nary a vehicle, nothing!
I had assured everyone that this would be my last trip out there. Fifteen minutes, was all I had needed to finish the task. That final, narrow row of frozen snow was all that had remained of the barrier that had left us housebound, unable to drive from our driveway onto the street for the last 48 hours.
There I was, two, maybe three shovelfuls to go. Escape, yes freedom, was imminent. That's when I heard it! Curiously, CCR's Up Around the Bend, seemed surrealistic at that moment. It was a very low drone, similar to a bow being drawn across the bass string of a of a distant cello. The drone was slow at first, but its tempo picked up the closer it came.
Then it came into view, at first only as what appeared to be a massive fin, partially visible above the 10 foot walls of snow lining the street. The glowing eyes, like halogen lights, nearly blinded me. By now the tempo of the drone had reached a crescendo, rapid, slightly higher in pitch, as the beast began bearing down on me.
Before me was a massive open cavern, the aperture lined with numerous dagger-like teeth! Mesmerized by the bright eye lights, transfixed on the gaping jaws of death, I was momentarily frozen, immoblie, unable to save myself. Although only a split second had elapsed, my desperate dive away from certain death, seemed to take an eternity.
Like a slow motion replay of a wide receiver diving for a score into the end zone, my body felt as if it were almost floating frame by frame out of the field of play. From the corner of my eye I saw the beast pass by, mere inches from my feet. The cello was playing feverishly, thundering in my ears so loudly that Proud Mary was barely perceptible.
In its wake, the beast had left a massive new wall of frozen snow and ice across the driveway I had nearly cleared only moments before.
Somewhere down the street, the terror had disappeared behind the towering waves of the snow banks in the distance, its drone reduced to a soothing hum. I was safe!
Pulling myself to my feet, I stared in dismay at the barrier, now larger than it had been before. Not certain when the creature might return, I gave up, succumbing to failure, resolved to wait until day break before trying again to destroy the barrier. The mechanized behemoth would return, of that I was certain. It was the classic man versus nature scenario that I was bound and determined to win.
If only the eventual sunrise would herald Richard Dreyfus, Roy Chester, and Robert Shaw greeting me there. They would be charged with the perilous mission to hunt it down and kill it before it could do any more harm. Maybe, just maybe, some one could manage to smash that damned cello!
Just when I thought it safe to shovel again...........
No. 11

Johnny Carson
Free Web Counter

Johnny Carson

Bizzaro's Blizzard

Aftermath: Blizzard of '05
Three feet of snow, topped with another 7 inches two days later, can create some amazing sights. Having seen enough, too much, of the amazing, I found myself looking for other results. I wanted to go on about neither the damage, nor the sizes of snow banks and drifts. I wanted to observe and to offer to you the oddities. I looked for the unusual, out of the ordinary sights. I especially wanted to find the comical results of the storm. From my personal observations, as well as from media images on television and in the newspapers, I did manage to find a baker's dozen.
  1. A plow truck buried in the snow. Did it break down?
  2. A Mini Cooper parked in a shopping cart corral.
  3. A sign partially obscured by snow reading "Dumping Here."
  4. A man engaging his snow blower, the spewed snow flying 10 feet into the open front door and onto his wife in pajamas sipping a cup of coffee.
  5. A man pushing a shopping card full of snow on street. Was the sale on snow that good of a deal?
  6. A traffic cone turned upside down into a snow bank, topped with a large snowball, giving the appearance of an ice cream cone.
  7. A black silhouette figure of a boy with his tongue against a metal pole.
  8. A snowman built upon the roof of a plowed-in VW Beetle.
  9. A U.S. flag on its pole frozen stiff unfurled as if in a stiff breeze.
  10. A Christmas tree stuck into a snow bank, comlete with ornaments and lit lights.
  11. My sign in my yard reading "Free Snowman - some assembly required."
  12. A toilet with water closet, sitting in cleared out parking space to prevent others from parking there.
  13. The neighbors dog that jumped from the porch "onto" the snow. To the surprise of the dog and of its owner, it sank over 3 feet to the ground in the loose packed powdery snow.

I wish there was more, but those were the best of the odd and comical.

~No. 10

Johnny Carson
Free Web Counter
Johnny Carson

Ciruos But Ovibuos

Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervet lteter by istlef but the wrod as a wlohe.
This article was taken from a recent issue of Readers Digest, and was submitted by Jonathan Powell
No. 9
Be sure to check out:

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Kindom With No Queen

In the small kingdom od Concordance, which borders the Land of Blabber, the inhabitants were lost, seemingly without purpose or guidance. Although the reigning Queen was off on a well-earned sabbatical, there was much unrest among Her subjects.
There were rumors that an evil force was trying to usurp the throne. Could the Mad Egyptian have eyes on the small monarchy? Whutabowtbob everyone was wondering. Or was the more sinister Janelle trying to turn the eyes of the men away from Her Majesty?
Gloom appeared on the face of the court jester, bluedillydilly, who, as of late, wasn't his usual funny self. The leader of the elves, dmelf was having trouble controlling her magical boot! The chief cook, cooki, was becoming a tax collector! The skies were darkened as Sunshine appeared less frequently. Gypsy was wandering more than ever before. What was wrong with gamegirl's game plan? Why was cats wearing the same old pajamas? Had our small town gal forsaken the safety of the closet for the mystique of the big city? People were getting very suspicious, as to just what point was shaving. Why was billy spending so much time down under? Someone had stolen soccer's ball. Yo! anyone seen jo? Was Jason going to make another scary movie? Why was griff saying what's the diff? Was it really that simple for kim and her daughter renee? Has augiedoggie seen doggiedaddy lately? Then there were the missing. No one has seen jeri, peg, or p2 for a while. We all hope that lisa is quilting. Is lenore nevermore?
Meanwhile, the bots were still posting their ill-gotten high scores, but what gain and for what purpose? The cambots, Janelles evil minions, were as annoying as ever, after all, they were spelldown's Hari Krishnas.
In spite of all the conspiracies and attempted coups, the little kingdom was holding its own, maintaining its place on the map. So far, the invading forces had not broken their resolve.
The day would come, that the troubadors would sound out the tidings, and the cacophony of the
throngs would echo from Concordance to Fuzzy Warm places. Yes, Her Royal Highness, ruler of all Concordance, would triumphantly return.
See her regally stroll down the mile-long red carpet! See bob, recovered from the gunshot wound, gleefully spread the rose petals before each footfall. See point shave the rough edges of the carpet! See Sunshine brighten the day! See blue giggling and contagiously spreading laughter to the others! See cats in shiny new pajamas! Dmelfs boot has been polished to blinding brilliance! Small, soccer, game, jason, and jo cheered. Kim, augie, and griff weren't to be outdone! Mad, as it turned out, wasn't after the throne, he had been guarding, protecting it!
They all strained to see Her as she passed. The day that the Queen, Marile, returned was declared a holiday for one and for all throughout the land! LOng live the Queen, and long may She rule!
For more humor check out my buddy, one of the stars of this epic tale
No. 8


There's snow business like snow business, like no business I know. Excuse me for plagerizing that show tune, but I decided to forgo the expletives deleted.
Having just survived the Blizzard of '05, which socked the Boston area with 27-38 inches of the white stuff, I find myself a little testy. I offer you a pop-quiz in multiple choice fashion: I have reason to be testy and :
a) bitter
b) tired
c) aching
d) angry
e) sick of winter
f) all of the above

While there is no one correct answer, give yourself an extra 10 points if you chose f).
All I needed was more snow, even if it is only projected to a mere 6-9 inches. Whoever is in charge of snow business, has no business, I know, of imposing their business upon my business.
Sleeping, which should have come easily and quickly due to the copious amount of snow I have been shovelling, has been difficult at best. With a snow shovel hermetically attached to my hands, I have been knocking over the lamp when I try to roll over. I spilled my drink while trying to wash down some fried chicken at the dinner table last night. Without saying, and without going into any detail, going to the bathroom has not been performed gracefully.
Having already lost work on Monday, because of the aftermath of the blizzard, I am faced today, Wednesday, with the same fate. I have been sentenced to the labor force on Saturday. I hate working on weekends! Have I mentioned that I also hate winter in New England? Consider this the refrain: take the multiple choice quiz above again. Collect the bonus 10 points if you chose f) again.
Very good. You have done well on that test, considering you haven't had a chance to study.
I did manage to dig out my yard signs, which had been buried in the initial storm. They are now on display to any passers by. Curious however, that there have been no takers or inquiries. The first sign, standing prominently in a snow bank above the visible tips of my hedges, reads: "FREE SNOW - Help Yourself." Now, if that sign fails to generate business, the second one, in an equally high snow bank on the other side of the yard, could prove fruitful. It temptingly reads: "FREE SNOWMEN -
Some Assembly Required."
I know what you are thinking ! You see me as trying to profit from the misfortunes of others affected by the snow. If that wasn't bad enough, you must think that I am also using advertising practices that target children. "Mommy, mommy! Can we stop? Can't we get a snowman?" "Please!" "Why not?" "Daddy would let us get one!" "Waaaaaaaaaah!"
So you have no business, telling me my business is any of your business. I might not be in charge of snow business, but I am making it my business to let snow business be my business.
Want some snow? Need a snowman?

Like I said before, there is snow business like snow business, like no business I know.

For more takes on winter check out
No. 7

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Vacuums Hate Nature

What can one talk about, when one has nothing to say? When asked to speak one's mind, how is this possible when one's mind is blank? Can one talk about nothing? It is said that politicians can speak at length without saying anything. Is it possible to say something, and yet say nothing? Surely, in this case, nothing is something. Isn't it?
There must be something to nothing. After all, we hear nothing all the time. When athletic team is shut out, they scored nothing. Isn't that something? "Hey buddy, got a fiver I can borrow?" "Sorry mate, my pockets are empty." But wait, don't pockets have insides? Now that's something! Even Shakespeare wrote "Much Ado About Nothing." There must nothing in something; if not then nothing is nothing.
I'm glad this makes sense to no one because I know nothing of the something I am talking about, because I have absolutely nothing to talk about. Something about nothing has to better than nothing about something.
However, if this makes sense to someone, then they know something of the nothing that I don't know what I am talking about.
That means they know exactly as much as I know. Nothing !!
Now, is that something?

Since, I have nothing to say about something, I will say nothing until I think of something to say.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Here's Johnny!

First, there was Steve. Jack stepped in next, before being replaced by Johnny. When Johnny retired, he handed the keys over to Jay. These four men have sat on the throne of late-night television. All of them have enjoyed success during their reigns.

Here's Johnny! Only one, however, will be remembered as the true king of late night. Only one was religiously tuned in after the nightly broadcast news. Only one could claim admittance into more bedrooms.

Here's Johnny! Ed's booming voice, set to the Paul Anka-written theme, introduced each night to Johnny Carson. Da-da-da-da! I can still hear that distinctive music provided by Doc and his orchestra as Johnny appeared from behind those curtains.

Here's Johnny! I, as well as millions of Americans, altered our sleeping habits. We didn't lapse into sleep until after his monologues. Dare I say, I wasn't the only one who stayed glued to the set after his jokes. We stayed up to see the array of guests, skits, and animal visitors. There were the memorable interviews with celebrities, such as Racquel Welch with her cat, Mrs. Arnold Palmer telling us how she wished him luck before a big tournament, Buddy
Hackett, and so many more. A poem about his dog read by Jimmy Stewart made TV Guides top 100 moments list.
I have my favorites and you have yours, but there are far too many to mention.

Here's Johnny! If there is late-night TV in the afterlife. Johnny will walk through those curtains, king again.

Here's to you, Johnny!!

-- Johnny Carson, 80, has died this date, 1/23/20005

For another tribute to Johnny Carson - see:
No. 5

Nanook of the NorthEast

The surreal scene before me was one of wonder. Nothing short of awe-inspiring, could it be that I was looking upon a precursor of Armageddon? No, nothing quite so dramatic as the end of civilization. Although the street and surrounding neighborhood were in desolate purgatory, I reminded myself that this is New England.
The snow storm, which had blanketed areas as far west as Chicago, and as far south as West Virginia, had dumped nearly 30 inches at my doorstep. Such snow storms, categorized as blizzards, are not new to the Boston area. The Blizzard of '78 became the benchmark by which future storms would be compared. Watch out '78, you have a challenger!
What began as some auspicious flurries at 3:15 PM on Saturday, the 22nd, had turned into Mother Nature's generous gift for this edition of winter. The 30 inches on the ground is lying in wait for an additional 6 inches by 6 PM tonight. With a projected high temperature of 10 degrees, acompanied by 30+ mph winds gusting upwards to 70 mph, I didn't need to hear the news report that schools would be closed on Monday and posibly on Tuesday as well.

An arduous adventure began when it was discovered that 4 foot wall of drifted snow had barricaded the storm door to our back porch. Without music, the dogs' frenzied dancing was apparent as my wife removed the lower pane of the door. Through this portal she began burrowing out of the house, onto the porch and into the maelstrom of wind and snow. As I was bundling myself into multiple layers, she had managed to get the door open, and had swathed out a narrow path across the porch and to the foor of the stairs. Those dogs are not stupid by any means, as they, one at a time, ventured into the elements, relieved themselves, and made haste their retreat into protection of the house. By this time, I was so wrapped up in protective clothing, I was nearly immobile. I hoped that I would not share the same fate that had befallen Ralphie's little brother in the classic film, A Christmas Story.

When I entered the kitchen, there before me, stood none other than Nanook of the NorthEast! My wife, her green hooded coat, spray-painted white by the gale driven snow, gave me proof that it was indeed a blizzard out there. Her demeanor was screaming, "Don't go out there!", went unacknowledged. My resolve was to do the manly thing.
For some strange reason, within my head, I heard the jingle: "Mr. Trouble never hangs around... When he hears this mighty sound." To which I mentally responded "Here I come to save the day!" That recollected vision of Andy Kaufmann and his record player on an SNL skit, quickly evaoprated before my foot touched the porch.
My adventure was a short one, limited to merely fetching the other snow shovels from the garage, and digging a wider path on the stairs and porch. My face stinging, my fingers cold despite the gloves, I feigned success. Thusly, I decided that hibernation was the most obvious course of action.

That returns me to my reverie, looking upon the scene before me. Eventually, when the storm winds down, and driving winds have abated, I will have begin shoveling in earnest. When is the storm supposed to end? 6 PM, you say? Wait just a minute!! The Patriots-Steelers game kicks-off at 6:30! The winner goes to the Super Bowl! I think I will listen to the doctors' warnings about shoveling snow and placing myself at risk for a heart attack. Tomorrow looks ideal for snow removal.

At 6 PM, the ultimate storm adventure will begin with the preparation of chilli, popcorn, and of course harvesting some brewskies from the fridge. By the time the game is underway I will be sweating bullets. For you see, it is labor intensive to watch a football game on a stormy New England day with Nanook of the NorthEast ready to put me on ice.

For another take on the blizzard of '05, check out
No. 4

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Pointmeister Says...

" There are 3 kinds of people in this world: those who are good at math, and those
who aren't."

" If you need me, I'll be on my pedestal."

" Guess which of the 7 Dwarfs I think you are?"

" I'm a recovering workaholic. I haven't lifted a finger in years."

"This is not a beer gut, it's a protective covering for my rock-hard abs."

"On the mark...Get set...Go away!"

"Did the wizard ever get back to you about that brain?"

"I'm so confused ! Wait...Maybe I'm not!"

"Warning! I have gas and I know how to use it."

"With a body like this, who needs hair?"

"...This is the part where I nod and act like I am listening."

"I can fix anything! Where's the duct tape?"

"I used to think drinking was bad for I gave up thinking."

"You say tomato ... I say vodka."

"To err is human, to blame it on someone else shows management potential."

"Same nightmare - different day."

"Warning ... drinking may cause girth defects."

"Drink coffee ... do stupid things faster with more energy."

"Every one laughed when I jumped up to dance ... how was I to know I was
sitting under the table at the time?"
It should be noted here that I do not claim to have created any of the above. They all have been seen by me on tee-shirts, bumper stickers, signs, etc., and in magazines and catalogs. You might find them on coffee cups and baseball caps also.
No. 3

Friday, January 21, 2005

Vermont Teddy Bears Pending...

I am already on record (see "It Occurred To Me" dtd 1/20/05) expressing my displeasure over the current trend of
assailing people with their heavy salvoes of political correctness. I said it then, and I'll say it again; politically correct
is, in a word, incorrect!
This brings me to the latest itch that needs to be scratched. What could be wworse than removing "God" from
anything public? How about attacking cute, cuddly teddy bears? Actually, it is a siege against the Vermont Teddy
Bear Company, and a particular bear they are promoting for the upcoming Valentines Day.
The dastardly item is the "Crazy For You" teddy bear, which is decked out in a straight jacket. It is supposedly
insensitive to the mentally ill. Now, try as I might, I have been hard pressed to read a quote or see an interview,
wherein a mentally challenged person has made such an inference. Call me CRAZY, but the people making this
claim, appear perfectly normal to me.
I am sure that many of you remember your younger, informative years when you first experienced a crush on someone. You were crazy for that person. He or she simply drove you crazy. You were crazy in love. Patsy Cline
had a monster hit song, still heard in honky-tonks to this day, called, coincidently, Crazy. Who'd have thought it?
In our you naivete, we were not politically correct. If it were to be released today, Patsy's song would be "banned in
Boston," and some would refuse to buy the products of the sponsors of any radio station that was crazy enough to
play it.
I have decided, as a conscientious and well meaning citizen, that I will offer consultation and guidance to the
Vermont Teddy Bear Company. With an "ounce of prevention" agenda, I have come up with a list of teddy bear themes that the company should not manufacture.
This is just a sampling of suggestions:

The George W Bear (it will declare war on other bears and dolls)
The Quadraplegic Bear (self explanatory)
The Suicide Bomber Bear (events in Middle East make this one obvious)
The Paris Hilton Bear (just activate a cam and will perform sex acts with other bears, dolls, or pillows)
The Michael Jackson Bear (not intended for children)
The PeeWee Herman Bear (inanimate until an adult film is playing)
The Rap Artist Bear (it sings unintelligible lyrics)
The Roseanne Bear (it grabs its crotch while singing the national anthem off-key)

There are many more bears that I would advise them not to market, in the name of being politically correct.
I wonder, is it politically correct for me to provide such a list to the Vermont Teddy Bear Company? Surely, I
would be attacked for preventing an insensitive bear being released, and therefore denying the PC's something to
go crazy over.

Of course, the company would never make the bears listed above in the first place.

One final thought for you to chew on ... just what would a politically correct teddy bear look like? Hmmm....
No. 2

Thursday, January 20, 2005

It Occurred To Me

that being Politically Correct is no longer correct. When the sensitivity of a single person or the cries of a special interest group, tread more heavily upon the rights of the majority, just whose Constitutional rights are being violated?
This country was born on the fiery embers of freedoms, so wisely and carefully composed by our founding fathers.
When they penned in the words freedom of religion, that is exactly what they meant. When they also provided for separation of church and state, it was with keen foresight that they did so. Almost certainly these men have rolled over several times in their places of rest in recent years.
When I read the Constitution of the United States of America, I am not unaware that times have changed, that our population has exploded, that our nation welcomes immigrants with open arms, and that sometimes there are needs to make changes, ergo ammendments. Nowhere, however, in that great document, do I see anything that can be subjected to interpretation.
It occurred to me that being "politically correct" is in dire need of interpretation. Therefore, freedom of religion is just that - freedom of religion !
I have, you have, we all have the freedom of religion. Nowhere does it allow you or me to dictate our religious beliefs, or impose our tenets upon others. While I am on that line of thought, nowhere does it allow others to dictate or impose upon us their beliefs.
Are you with me, so far? Do you see where I am going with this? Of course you do, unless you are either one of the aforementioned single persons or belong to a special interest group, undermining my freedoms under the guise of your constitutional rights.
When you try to remove "God" from our legal tender, you are messing with my legal tender, and God knows you certainly have nothing against having, earning, and spending that same legal tender. When you remove prayer from our schools, you are messing with my schools. When you remove the Nativity scene from our public grounds, you are messing with my public grounds.
My God welcomes you, as does our country, we welcome your God. This town is big enough for more than one God. I will fight for your right to worship your God! But if you persist in trying to suppress my God, please step outside, because now you have picked a fight with me, and by GOD, I will not back down!!