Basic Transportation

Shopping for a new or used automobile is not my idea of the way to spend one’s leisure time; but at sometime during our lives it becomes necessary.

When we tire of cleaning drips of oil from the driveway, and have been required to walk the last two miles to our home; due to wheezing, coughing, knocks from the engine; had resulted in total refusal of the vehicle to respond to our coaxing,

Being realistic; we sensed that the spirit of this once fine product from Detroit, was on the threshold of passing on to that great junk yard in the sky.

Gathering all of our courage; the next day, we entered the sovereign realm of the sanctified ‘Automobile Dealership.  Here is a place where we cease being a person and become so many dollar signs in the eyes of the fifty or so salesmen milling about.  Each one had a coffee cup in one hand and a contract in the other.

They were poised as if waiting for the starting gun in a fifty yard dash.  One glance from a potential customer and they would converge on him with a vengeance that would make the author of the ‘Sales Manual’ proud.

I had seen an advertisement on Television, stating that one particular Dealership would greet a prospective customer; and then, allow them free rein to browse throughout the showroom and used car lot, unhindered, until they needed help or had decided on a particular vehicle.

That was definitely not the case with the Dealership that we had chosen to visit and possibly purchase another vehicle.

“This is your lucky day,” the salesman who was following in my footsteps said.  “We have just gotten a shipment of new ones and our lot is overflowing with trade-ins.”  “Just come on in the office and sign the contract and we’ll have you driving out in the fabulous Thunderbuggy 600 X-E.”

We inquire, “Do you have something that’s not too expensive, and is just, basic transportation?”  With a loud laugh, he says, “Hey Al, this guy wants inexpensive, basic transportation.”

Turning back to me, he grins, displaying more teeth than Jimmy Carter, and says, “Look fellow, nobody in this age would be caught dead in ‘basic transportation’ and besides, I doubt seriously if we have had one in the last four years.  Let’s check the back lot.”

Grabbing my arm, he led me outside and to the fenced area behind the office, where sat a 1971 Pinto in all its rusted glory.  “Now this is your inexpensive, basic car.  A lady traded it in on a new 720 X-L just the other day.  She hardly used it except to drive to church on Sunday.  She kept it in a heated garage.”

I suppose that would explain the sun-faded upholstery and the dry-rotted tires, but what about the puddle of oil underneath.  I suppose the cracked windshield and the rear glass happened from passengers trying to escape.

Subsequent visits to other dealerships produced much the same response, and disgustedly we returned home and called a mechanic and instructed him to tow the old car to his shop and to make a valiant effort to restore life into what once was a reliable friend.

The feeling of satisfaction that we had beaten the dealership at its own game was soon dispelled with a call from the mechanic.  “The crankshafts gone, the block is cracked, the pistons and rings are worn out, and it needs a new carburetor as well as a set of wires.”  Weakly we mutter, “How much?”

“I think I can bring her in for around $3000.  That is, if the transmissions not all messed up,” he said; shaking his head, and with a look on his face, that indicated even “He” had some waterfront property for sale; in the middle of the  ‘Sahara Desert.’ 

Thinking of the disturbing ordeal at the hands of all those salesmen at that Dealership, we relented and authorized the work to be done.  Hopefully, when it is repaired, we will still have ‘basic transportation,’ that we can feel comfortable with for a few more years.

Who knows?


Why are ‘wise man’ and ‘wise guy’ complete opposites?     Dj.


There was never any course that taught ‘clash’ when I was in school.  Neither did I receive any instructions in the home about checks and stripes clashing’. Perhaps one reason was the fact that we were fortunate to possess clothing of any type.

It was not until I was married, that I was introduced to fashions.  Heretofore, I simply saw a shirt that I liked, bought it; wore it with whatever pants that happened to be pressed at the time, and thought nothing of it.

Suddenly things changed.  I was instructed repeatedly to not be seen in public with my checked slacks and the beautiful striped shirt.  Why: I asked?  “Because they clash, IDIOT!,” the ‘little woman’ insisted.

Up until this time, I had believed that clash meant to collide, conflict, to strike together with a loud, harsh, metallic, sound, or to fail to harmonize.  My attire did none of the above.  It was comfortable; somewhat spiffy, and I enjoyed wearing the different colors.  I was even assured that the smiles folks gave me, were those of envy.

Once, while browsing, in the men-department of a large store, I spied a beautiful, chartreuse, shirt which I was certain would glow in the dark.  I immediately forked over most of my weeks pay; and returned home with this treasure.

Placing it on a hanger and hanging it beside my pink trousers, I envisioned the striking exhibition of color coordination that I would present on the occasion of our next outing.

As luck would have it, the office party was being held the following Saturday.  The power bill was delayed until the last day before ‘cut-off’ time in order for my wife to purchase a new dress for the occasion.  And here I sat;  smug in my knowledge that I will surely be voted the best dressed among the menfolks.

Happily, I donned my ‘new look’ while my wife put on her face’, and waited for her approval.  I was certainly not prepared for what transpired when she saw me in a stance, that I was sure resembled some of the models from the fashion catalog.

Her mouth flew open and her breathing became shallow, red splotches appeared on her face and the veins in her neck stood out as if ready to burst. Tears rearranged the Mascara that she had applied around her eyes, and it dripped on the front of her new blouse.

She became breathless as she blotted the stains, and as soon as she regained her voice, she said with a loud croak:  “You’re NOT going to wear THAT; are you,?

Somewhat flabbergasted, I replied, “Why not?”

With a low moan, she informed me, Because it clashes, Dumb Head!” 

“Take off those monstrosities and put on your blue suit.”  “If you had any sense at all, you would know better.”  “I will not go out of this house until you put on something decent.”

As I changed, I reflected on a time when my chartreuse shirt, my pink trousers and even the green, silk scarf which I had knotted around my neck would have advanced fashions by probably ten years.

And besides, my attire had made absolutely none but the best of sounds.  In fact, according to my thoughts, my wardrobe could have given The Gatlin Brothers’ a lesson or two in harmony.

Several weeks passed and we finally were on speaking terms again, when I decided to change the oil in the car.  I was underneath the engine compartment with oil dripping into my face and I called for her to hand me a rag.

Being unable to see, I reached for the cloth.  When I was able to open my eyes, I saw an oil-soaked chartreuse shirt with the buttons cut off.  Until this day; there has never been an explanation of what happened to the pink trousers.

You may want to know why have I never asked what happened to them.  It is simply because I have lived with this lady for better than 60 years, and am well acquainted with her idiosyncratic behavior.  I have been considered crazy by some folks; but I am certainly, ‘NOT STUPID!’


Really:  This is all you need to know about proper attire’,  and just remember;  “You heard it here, first.”      Dj.

The Test

Like most folks in this Country, I had a job for many years.  “I worked.”  “They paid me.”“I paid my taxes.”   It was here, when I was required to ‘fork-over’  an unreasonable amount of my income; to be used for what is supposed to be my share, (according to The I.R.S.), of the expense of running the Government, and for making and enforcing the laws;

The members of the Congress manages these funds; and are also charged with deciding which Country we are mad-at’, enough to threaten imposing ‘sanctions,’ if they don’t do exactly like we would have them do.  Therefore, our esteemed’ Government,  distributes this tax money as they “SEE FIT.”

What makes the cheese more binding is, — In order for ‘little old me’ to get that measly tiny paycheck, I was required to pass a random “URINE TEST,” (with which, I had no problem, and gladly ‘peed-in-the-bottle’ ).

What I DID have a problem with; was the distribution of my tax money to the folks who are NOT REQUIRED to pass this “Urine Test.”

SO:  Here is my main concern.  “Since I was required to pass this ‘URINE TEST,’ before I could earn this Tax Money; shouldn’t other folks be required to pass the same “URINE TEST,” in order to get a “WELFARE CHECK?”

Before you jump into the deepest end of the pool; please understand that I have never had any qualms about helping people get back on their feet; when they have suffered a misfortune. However, I did; and still do, have a problem with ‘dolling-out’ my tax money to someone; while they sit on their butt, and possibly do drugs’ while I am working.

Can you imagine how much money each State would save if; (After carefully considering the pros & cons of this unique program; and using the funds to help the unfortunate.)

I have even concocted an ideal Title for demanding “The Test;” (before wholesale – distribution of any free checks.)  It could be named; “URINE or YOU’RE OUT!”

It is a known fact that something has to change in our Government’s methods of funneling our tax money to all those who refuse to help themselves;  AND, IT HAS TO BE DONE SOON!.

Just a thought:  Perhaps it would be another good idea to require all Politicians” to pass the, “Pee-in-the-Bottle,” test, in order to earn their pay.


“If nominated; I will not run:  If elected; I will not serve:”   “Thus saith Dj.”


I well remember when food for Farm-Animals (called Hay’), was cut with a Mule- Powered, Sickle-Bar Mower, and raked with a Hay Rake.’ The Hay was then stacked around a tall pole, simply called a Haystack,’ to dry or cure.  Hay was a necessity for food for Horses and Mules as well as Cattle in the days before farming became mechanized.

When cured, it was either stored in the barn loft or left in stacks in a pasture where the animals could feed at will.  Since I was, more or less a youngster, I was usually not allowed to ride any dangerous machine; but I did have experience riding a hay rake.’

The curved tines of the hay rake were connected to a handle within reach of the rider / operator.’   When the tines had collected a sufficient amount of hay, the operator raised the tines and dumped the hay into wind-rows.’

A Horse or Mule drawn wagon was driven alongside the wind-rows where other workers collected the hay with pitch-forks,’ and loaded it into a wagon for transport to the haystack’ where it would be wound tightly around the pole.  If enough time had elapsed between cutting and stacking; some cured hay would be hauled directly to the barn loft.

The chore of Haying’ usually transpired between the times of laying-by’ the other field crops and the ‘gathering’ season.  Ideal weather for this operation was hot dry days with abundant Sunshine.  The hard work and dust from the hay made life miserable for the workers; but as with other field work, it was necessary.  No one ever claimed that farming was easy.   In most cases, it was simply a way of life.’

Modern air-conditioned equipment of today can complete most of  the above operations; and dump the tied bales in one mighty sweep.  This method only requires one operator.

‘Hay-Stacking’ is not necessary today since the ‘hay’ is baled, in either square or round bundles, that are dropped in the field.  It is then hauled with ‘air-conditioned trucks’ and/or trailers to be stored somewhere under shelter from the elements, and is located near to the Barnyard.

I have to admit that I sometime smile when I hear a farmer of today complain about the hard work of Haying.’  With first hand knowledge of this job in my past; I really cannot feel sympathy for them.

I was fortunate during my youth that I was not subjected to the hundreds of acres of Hay that some farmers raise today.  Our small farm provided enough of this back-breaking work to feed our animals, (and to ‘do me’ for a lifetime).

Of course,  Back then; I complained along with the best of them.


As far as I am concerned, the good old days’ are NOW!   Dj.


I have been asked repeatedly, just how “Bear” has come to be so smart.  It’s simple. He observes the entire world around him and learns from different aspects of the technological devices provided for him by his humans.

Although he has yet to learn to read, he nevertheless understands that we have insisted upon his exposure to programs such as The Animal Channel and various other programs offered by the medium of Television.

His indoctrination began at the early age of one year.  While sitting in his human’s lap and having his belly scratched; his attention would be drawn to the antics of different species of animals cavorting on the small screen; positioned in front of his human’s favorite recliner.  I suppose his preferences are western movies with lots of horses and cattle.

As yet; he has not figured out where they go when they leave the tiny screen.  In instances such as this, he will diligently search the area around, below and in back of the television set, until he is satisfied they are not there and then he will cast a quizzical eye toward the nearest human to inquire, “where?”

His present vocabulary is limited to the words pee, pookie, ridey-ridey, milk-bones, din-din, and bed-time; all of which he vocalizes with astonishing regularity.

“Pee” and “Pookie” are his first words each morning immediately after arising, followed by “Din-Din.”  Then a mighty leap propels the 15 pound ball of silver fur into the lap of anyone sitting; to be scratched.

An extended nap is now taken until the noon hour brings another burst of talk. Here is when the moist, black eyes begin to sparkle as he positions himself directly in front of the human that he feels is more susceptible to his demands to be carried outside to attend to his noon-time toilet.

Ignoring the soulful hints this time; will bring about, first a low growl, and then a nosing of the nearest item of furniture. If this does not get the attention of a human, a series of shrill barks accompanied by sharp claws, raking across their  legs.  From “poodle-ese,” this action is interrupted as meaning;  “Get Up, Dammit!!”

Quiet rest is the order of the day following the noon hour trip, until exactly 2:30 P.M.  At this time, his biological clock demands another dose of “Ole Roy;”  (the “Din-Din” of champions).”

After consuming his evening meal, he retires to his favorite blanket for a period of rest before bedtime.  If the “young’un” ever learns to spell, both me and “Mama” will definitely be in deep crap; since we are required to spell anything that we do not want him to understand.

Now, fast forward for another fifteen years.  He does not like to wear his glasses.  Neither has he figured how to increase the volume of his hearing aide. He simply ignores everything around him until he detects the aroma, and the location, of food.

He has learned that, if he forgets; his humans will chase him down when it’s time for his ‘toilet break,’  or else they will awaken him at din-din”  time.  However, he has made it abundantly clear that he will not “willingly” go to the “Poodle-Nursing-Home!”


It seems that, ‘while Petey learned all of  this from his humans;  Th’ Bear was definitely ‘born with these abilities.’     Dj.

Coming Up A Cloud!

When I was but a youngster, folks were concerned about ‘not messing around’ with nature. If there was a possibility that threatening weather was approaching, the children as well as the adults were required to wash their feet and lie down on the bed until the storm passed.

I’m not sure why lying in bed would help. If the storm was severe enough to wreak havoc, I personally don’t think that a bed offered significant protection; but as with all children of my time, I obeyed. I cannot remember being frightened during a thunderstorm; but I still wonder if washing my feet was the answer to survival.

Children as well as many adults conserved shoe leather by going barefoot during the warm, summer months. Perhaps the cleansing of the feet was more to prevent ‘messing up’ the beds than having anything to do with protection from the elements. In those day, washing the bed linens required more effort than to merely toss them into a machine and push a button.

If, by chance, the storm was looming while work in the fields was being performed, a careful scrutiny of the direction from where the clouds were approaching, ‘by Daddy,’ was the first line of protection.  He, then would make the decision to, “Keep on working. It’ll blow over.” Or, “Let’s get to the house. That’s the direction all our rain comes from.”

If the season had been dry and the crops had not yet matured, the rain was welcomed, but if rainstorms prevented the gathering of the harvest, the results were sometimes critical.  Drought during the growing months; and storms during the harvest season; could possibly mean the difference between feast and famine.

If the crops failed, there was a strong possibility that the family would be required to suppress their pride and rely on government dispensed, “Commodities” for their subsistence.

There were, however, never-ending chores, which could be completed on rainy days.  Jobs that had been neglected during the frenzied periods of raising and gathering the crops were tackled during “wet weather.” This still allowed time and energy to be used for the substance of life that the average depended on.

Examples are; mending harnesses, repairing or sharpening implements, shucking and shelling corn, carrying corn to ‘The Mill’, to be ground into ‘Cornmeal’ or ‘Grits.

Other farm duties could be performed inside the Barn or Workshop, without being exposed to the inclement weather.

It was seldom that children were asked to perform these maintenance chores due to lack of knowledge in the area of ‘making do’ with whatever supplies were obtainable; therefore, children welcomed rainy days simply because they were then left to their own designs for entertainment.

If television, computers, video games, cellular telephones and the like had even been available for purchase during this period; they would have been acclaimed as “throwing away good money,” on something that was not needed.

One favorite pastime for children during this era was building roads in the soft sand under the open, elevated floor of the house.  Underpinning a house was considered a waste of materials; and was something only ‘town folks’ did.

The creation of roads, under the house, were activities that could be perused if the weather was not too severe. The “gentler sex” would sometimes, accompany the boys in this amusement by using stones and sticks to outline their “playhouses” alongside the sandy roads.

Loud shouts could be heard over the sounds of rain pounding on the tin roof; if an occasional car rolled into the ‘living room’ or ‘kitchen’ of these make-believe homes. This was sure to bring about admonishment from the parents in the form of, “Y’all hush that hullaballoo, ya’hear?”

Although the children were indulging in their ‘homemade’ entertainment and were not underfoot, only so much of the shrieks were tolerated by the parents before the cry would be raised, “You Young’uns; wash your feet and get in the bed.” “They’s a’coming up a cloud.”



Nothing is more demeaning than to have someone laugh ‘at you.’  Whether it be something you are wearing, the way you walk or talk, anything.  It has probably happened to all of us at one time or another.

There are very ‘few’ individuals that have ‘nothing’ that appears funny to another person; and laughing ‘WITH’  them about it is sometimes a form of therapy; but to laugh AT”  them, is the crudest form of humiliation.  Let’s face it; there are one or two things about all of us’ that would cause a snicker, if we were standing in their shoes.

Suppose everyone was perfect.  It might be somewhat hard to find enough to laugh about, and we would go through our lives and not experience the values of mirth.  This would make for a gloomy world indeed.  The muscles in our faces would never be exercised and we would simply ‘shrivel-up.’

Laughing WITH” others requires an effort on our part.  We begin by being willing to laugh at ourselves at the same time.  If we will only look, we can find something equally funny about our ‘own mannerisms,’ or our looks, that we could share, and have a good laugh together. This will provide a period of enjoyment for both, and neither gets their feelings hurt.

It has been said that laughter is good medicine.  I believe this; but it should not be at anther’s expense.  Shared’  laughter is one of the more benevolent forms of flattery, and is not restricted to any individual.  When used correctly, it can create a bond between two or more persons that can last a lifetime.

We can laugh at different lifestyles, different schools of thought, differences of opinions, and hundreds of other things that make up our complicated beings.  When these things are shared, then we begin to laugh WITH” each other.

Why not give it a try?  What have we got to lose?  If it works, then we will be able to exercise our facial muscles, our good feelings about ourselves will remain intact and we can enjoy being with others, with a clear knowledge that neither will be hurt by being laughed “AT”.

Who knows, we might just learn to ‘like it’ and in the process, we could become much happier ourselves.  Most of the time; we could use these feelings.


Definition, from Dj.:   “BERNADETTE:”   “The act of torching’ a Mortgage.”

Claim to Fame

Would it not be good if everyone could leave a legacy for future generations that would be beneficial to all people?  Sadly, most of us have neither the ability nor the inclination to strive toward a goal of this magnitude.  The dreams of fame and fortune that we all experienced during the days of our youth fade quite rapidly when we are faced with the trials and tribulations of the real world.

We quickly discover that these dreams require more effort on our part than we are willing to expend; therefore, we set aside these aspirations in favor of our daily struggles and adopt an attitude of “whatever will be, will be.”

Fortunately, there are some who are determined to transform their dreams into reality and somehow manage to overcome all obstacles to achieve their ambitions.  From this category emerge the true leaders and the heroes of our society.  To these few, we owe a debt of gratitude for making our world a little better.

However, there are those in our midst who feel that they deserve the recognition simply because of their selfish desire to become famous, although they neither possess the ability nor the necessary qualifications.

Their perspective is, “Hey, look at me! I’m Mr. / Ms. So and So and I merit your esteem.”  All too often these people are elevated to a leadership position and the results are usually chaotic.

Such was the case with a lady with whom I worked for several years.  From day one she expressed her determination to become a part of management: In her own words – “At whatever the cost.” Not only did she alienate her co-workers, she was so adamant in her ambition that the public became leery of her.

Whatever her tactics were, she was eventually promoted to a position of supervisor.  It was here when she became insufferable.  Her demeanor changed completely and she began to think of herself as God’s gift to the business world.  She even went so far as to refer to her fellow employees as “My People” and the business as a whole as “My Business.”

Whatever inspired this arrogance eventually began to take its toll and her health began to deteriorate.  She seemed to be constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  It was apparent she had become disillusioned with her only claim to fame.

Shortly after my retirement I returned for a short visit with my friends.  The lady of whom I speak was absent.  When I asked about her, I was told that she had given up her promotion and was working in another office as a part-time employee.  The reason given was failing health, due to stress.

This serves only as proof that there are people with qualifications and there are people with ambition.  If the two are not intertwined, then failure is the usual result.  Experience can sometimes be substituted for qualification. However,  ambition alone, and without a willingness to exert every effort to meet the requirements of the job, is no reason for anyone to think that they deserve it simply because they want it.

I feel that it would be appropriate to mention that I, as of last week, am on the verge of my only claim to fame.  I received an important letter that announced that “I;”  (insignificant little old me), am number one (1) on the list to receive $11, 000, 000. 00 from a business that I have never been affiliated with; ‘Publishers Clearing House.’


To prove that I am worthy of their faith in me, I fully intend to purchase a subscription for every magazine in their arsenal of gummed stickers to show my appreciation; Just as soon as my first check arrives.”       Dj.

Our Younger Days.

“T. B.” or not “T. B:” –  “That is “Congestion.” - “Consumption” - be done about it?”

This was a phrase that every youngster seemed to be saying when I was in elementary school.  Our underdeveloped minds were in the process of finding something funny in everything that we did, read, or simply, ‘just observed.’

The Classics, meant nothing to us at this time in our lives.  We were more interested in playing baseball, shooting marbles, and roaming the woods in search of perfect prongs’ for Slingshots, to be bogged down with a dull book.

Our ideas of good’  literature were the Big Little Books that depicted Dick Tracy, Tom Mix, or Jungle Jim’s adventures.  We could spend hours in our tree house’s, absorbing every word of these suspenseful works and even went so far as to emulate many of them.

For instance:  One day I would be Tom Mix; and would prevent the bad guys from foreclosing on the ranch of the beautiful damsel. The next day I might become one of the gangsters who was trying to do-in, ‘Detective Tracy.’

Most of us considered it unmanly’ to be assigned homework that consisted of reading a novel that was, for the most part, romantic.  We were He-Men’ who made our livings protecting the underdogs.  Our calling in life was that of being at the right place at just the right time.  We were the only hope for the oppressed and we were extremely proud of it.

The safety of the world depended on our actions.  Romance was for ‘Girls’ and ‘Wimps.’  After all; It was clear to us that Roy Rogers” would rather kiss his horse?

We even went so far as forming clubs for ‘boys, only.’   Exclusion of anyone of the opposite gender was mandatory.  We neither solicited nor accepted females; “Period!.”  If you could not fight the Nazis; or if you did not wear a Six Shooter, you need not apply.

Then, one day, our outlook changed.  We began to notice that the female of the species was not something to be shunned.  Rather, they were somewhat unique in their ability to cause our hearts to beat faster.

Amazingly, right under our noses; this spindle-legged larva’ had suddenly turned into a beautiful Butterfly.

Things were suddenly not so important that Detective Tracy could not get along without us; and at this point in our lives, we did not really care if the foreclosure of The Ranch took place as planned.

This turning point in our lives was nothing more than growing up:  But we saw it as a major event.  Slingshots and Cap-Pistols were traded for items that we felt would impress our new-found, human-interests.’  The clubs that we were once so proud of were now, more or less abandoned, since our thoughts were channeled in another direction.

‘Our way of putting things’ changed along with our attitudes toward Girls.  Instead of making a mockery of the Classics, we sought to quote them, in hopes of impressing our chosen one, in the fact that we had CLASS.”

As the divine plans unfolded, we succeeded in impressing the one that was to become our intended’ and merely let nature take its course.  As a result, we became one with “Her;” and our lives were enriched.  A bonus was added in the form of children and a happy home.

When we reflect on the past, it seems impossible that we could have placed so much importance on a spoof” of Shakespeare’s writings.  Add to this, the fact that we can hardly remember who Tom Mix’ or Roy Rogers’ was.

It had taken a while;  But we had finally found our purpose in life.


I’m not really old enough to know everything;  just, “Almost Everything.”    Dj.

“F” Means Fine.

Bubba had recently moved into the “City;” from the other side of the mountains, where he had lived since he was a child.  One of his first duties was to enroll “Bubba, Jr; (who had just turned 14 years old), into the third grade at “Pan-Handle, Elementary School.”

His pickup was easily identified by the ‘four-foot Level'; in the top ‘Gun rack’, and the ‘30.06 Rifle’ in the bottom rack. also, the Bumper-Sticker that reads, “Hell No; I ain’t forgetting!”

In the bed of the truck, numerous oil cans, several Miller Genuine Draft cans, and a bird-dog cage, rattled as the truck ground to a stop at the front door of the school.

Bubba cautioned Junior to remove his “Cat-Diesel” cap when he entered the classroom, and to carry a Coca Cola bottle with him; to use if he felt the need to chew his “Red Man” chewing tobacco, ‘while in class.’

Mrs. Hoy-Pa-Loy, ‘the third grade teacher;’ immediately wanted to know how proficient Junior was.  She questioned him on what he had learned at his former school.  Junior grinned real big, when he replied;  “I can count to five.”  he said.

Mrs. Hoy-Pa-loy, handed him a sheet of paper and asked that he write these numbers, and Junior swelled with pride as he wrote;  “Ron – Regulator,”  “Rusty – Fender,”  “Dude – Driveshaft,”  “Speedy – Simpson,”  and “Hott – Sparkplug.”   Mrs. Hoy-Pa-Loy, was somewhat shocked, and declared that Junior would receive an “F” for his efforts.

When Bubba arrived at the school to pick up his son, he asked Junior how his first day at the new school had gone, and Junior proudly repeated what he had written for Mrs. Hoy-Pa-Loy.  Then he added:  “I made ‘FINE’ on my first paper.”

Bubba became distraught when Junior repeated what he had written and said; “You dumb-ass!  I done told you a hunret & fifty times, that “Hott –  Sparkplug” comes atter “Terry – Fanbelt” an’ ‘fore “Jeff – Luggnut.”

“That thare teacher mus’ be mos’ dumb as you; iff’en she done went an’ give you a FINE instead uv a “D.”

As punishment, Bubba would not allow Junior to carry his .38-special, to school for a week; or until he had memorized the entire NASSCARR lineup.

To quote Bubba; “You gotta be tough on younguns, this day an’ time; jus lack my Daddy done me; ‘er else they ain’t gon’ learn nuthin.”

Respectfully, submitted; “As proof that ‘humor’ can be found in any situation, when slight changes are made.”  “No reflection on any persons and/or sports, is intended.”


Note:  References for this post was compiled from the pages of “LAUGHTER FOR  DUMMIES.”      Dj.