Archive for February, 2017

Back Door Accolade ..

It’s startling that we ever reached adulthood…our deprived generation had no vitamin infused sports drinks to bolster our physical growth…but we managed to survive on Big Red and RC Cola. We had no granola bars to supplement our daily ration of Cream of Wheat.. but Snickers pacified our nutritionally starved pallets until bean time finally came along.

Our school had no Safe-Place to soothe our injured egos…no gender-neutral restrooms..no state mandated tests to determine our educational status..

Melvin mandated the test,  and a committee of one , Melvin , determined our letter grade.

We had NO individual participation trophies.. NONE.. we had team tropies…kept in a place of high regard , for mutual enjoyment , at the school.

There were no girls on the boys basketball team and no boys on the girls team… we were exclusively sexist in our day..and proud of our accomplishments as males and females. I guess we were also homophobic ..don’t remember no rainbow flags in the classroom ..

No one ever ever  took a knee during the National Anthem..no one refused the Pledge of Allegiance…no one protested prayer…. corporal punishment was common place and Melvin knew how to distribute it without student approval ,parental consent, or outside interference..

Restaurants didn’t post calories and saturated fats on the menu.. .. they encouraged us to eat hamburgers and fries.. after all , they sold them…thats how they made a living….

Bullying disputes were settled during recess…on the play ground.. without the aid of counselors or adult supervision ..without guns or knives…the way God and Melvin both intended.

Only now, in my late sixties , would I ever dream of calling Mr. Fenoglio, Melvin.. He ran a tight ship… he demanded our respect and afforded us the same courtesy … Only now do I call him Melvin , now that I realize he was actually our friend , but he was also our “Teacher”..   He was responsible for educating us…

He ( pronoun) was dedicated to teaching (verb) , or he’d bust your scrawny (adjective)  butt  with an oak noun or a pronoun.. what ever he had handy at the time..



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Somebody Has to Do It…

It’s that time of year once again.. when Shriners don those strange-looking hats and board the bus, headed east for Louisiana with the Oriental Guide… looking like graduates of some mysterious Pot Plant University..

Those tassels swinging back and forth before their eyes give rehearsal for later sobriety test that are sure to come…ever seen a sober Shriner ? How else could they wear those dorky hats ?

The kids at Shriners Hospital love the traditional visits… Old men with pungent chemical breath bearing extravagant gifts from afar..

Tradition sets their itinerary…. Marathon poker games on the back of the bus..moderate social drinking…huge Castro cigars..vicious dogs..wasteful spending..impared speech..it’s all done willingly for the sake of the “kids”……..primarily those on the bus more so than those in the Hospital, but I digress..

It forever remains a secret how much money is spent on the trips..or how much booze was consumed… what percentage was spilt down their shirts..how much money was lost to “Big Chicken” in the Rolling Casino… or why the patrolman looked the opposite way when passing the bus…it’s all good..just ask the Illustrious Potentate..

God loves a Cheerful Giver..  few are more cheerful, or leaving more cash behind, than a bus-load of tipsy Muskrats..



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Eons ago , when oil was a hundred bucks for a forty gallon barrel, Henley and Bec hosted an extravagant dinner at their country home.. long stem glasses and fine linens.. Prime Rib cooked and carved by the aging rough neck.. attended by socially elite of Montague County and beyond.. it was indicative of finery previously found exclusively at the Fort Worth Country Club..

When the pageantry finally concluded , guest began excusing themselves to their humble respective homes…Carolyn and I extended our thanks to the hosts for a grand evening as we gave retreat to the waiting Cheyenne..

Due to the large number of invited guests , we had parked conveniently in a grassy area just off the established road.. where unseen dangers loomed in total darkness..

Carolyn and I were engaged in small talk as I turned the Cheyenne in a Uey to return to the beaten pathway…. suddenly .. all Hell broke loose.. Cheyenne encountered a well hidden section-harrow turned bottom side up in knee-deep pasture land..

I managed to limp the spewing tire back onto the roadway as the final gust of wind left us immobilized , static , strategic…blocking the exit…

Grumpy and Sharon Prater saved the day… He came adequately prepared for a week in the Mohave desert. He came out with jacks and lights and four-way lug wrenches seldom furnished on AAA rescue rigs..

I managed insults from passing hecklers like Chipper and Ed Notee..as Grumpy changed the flat cassin..(He was only in his seventies at the time).. and I was wearing my finest Levi’s…

My first thoughts were of litigation.. section harrows seemed adequate grounds for small claims court , but how in the name of all things treacherous could I bring suit against our host , while digesting the finest Prime Rib this Oil Field Trash ever et, til yet…

I let it slide….Prater took it all in stride.. it was Christmas after all..



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Jib Jab Journalists

Watching Trump’s Press Conference was like watching Mohammed Ali spar with Joe Louis… Trumps exchanging verbal blows with zealous journalist was particularly entertaining..

Media was obsessed with Russia…Trump welcomed the opportunity to heap revenge on each media representative.. excoriating their skeptical views before telling them to sit down…Fake News.

Each member of the press anxiously awaited their chance to reword the previous question pertaining to Cabinet Nominees collusion with the Kremlin… Same Song , Different Verse.. Same response..

Round One.. Trump by medical decision.. Media licking their wounds.

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Crock Pot Possum..

To commemorate the past eight years of Democrat Rule , the Soup Kitchen has expanded its 2017 menu choices to please even the most partisan palate.


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Hobo Herky Biffle

Back when the Squares rode the rails from Gainesville to Montague County and home again…Herky shoveled coal both ways ..Amon G. Carter was slinging lead in Herky’s direction from arrival to departure..


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Popular Plagiarism

Who the heck said there’s nothing interesting on Facebook ?…look what I found.. the King & Queen of the Keck Klan…he’s just tickled to be there..


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