Th’ Las’ Word.

Susie Mae; she jus’ loves ta’ git ’round folks, an’ spout-off them ‘ferign names an’ ack like she know’s what she’s a’talkin ’bout.

When Junior tolt us’ens that his feeance were not frum Hotlanter;  Susie Mae, she filed th’ word uv whare Lizzie cum frum; way back in th’ part uv her head whot she don’t never use; so’s she cud brang hit ack-up whens’t th’ time were ‘prropriate.

Hit wern’t long ‘fore she had done went over cross th’ creek ta’ Miss Mazie’s; whare them women-folks wuz a’quiltin.  They were a womern thare, whot ever’body sez has got money.  Her name were Mizz. Bates.  She up’an made shore, that she tolt them all that she had been near’bout  everwhares.  They had’nt no more’n got all th’ squar’s sewed togather, an’ wuz a’puttin’ th’ cotton t’wixt ‘em, when she commenc’d a’runnin’ on ’bout whare-all she had went.

She claim’d-ta’  hav’ been ta’ Graceland,  Th’ Grand Ole Opry,  Roc’ City,  an’ Silver Springs.  Susie Mae, jus’ sot thare, an’ reched inta’ her apren-pocket an’ taken a big dip frum her Tube-Rose snuff can.  She ‘cided ta’ jus’ let that-thare womern run ta'; th’ end uv her’n chain.”

Everbody were ohhin an’ ahhin ’bout them places whare Mizz Bates clam’d ta’ have went.  Susie Mae jus’ sot thare a’grin’in.  She figger’d ta’ wate  ’til hit were th’ right time, an low’r th’ boom” on Mizz Bates.

All them womern wuz a’eat’n th’ Poun-Cake, whot Miss Mazie had sot-out, an’ Susie Mae jus’ wate’d till they had put on they bonnets, an’ wuz a’fixin ta’ leave when she jus’ pinted her Spit-Can at Mizz Bates an’ said.

“Me an’ Jay Henry’s Daugher-in-law is  frum  HAIWASSEE!”

Try as they mought;  Atter that-thare;  twernt’ none uv’ them womern-folks whot cud git Mizz Bates ta’ cum-back ta’ a ‘nother one uv’ Miss Mazie’s quilt’in party’s.  When’st sum-uv them womern-folks axed Susie Mae how-come she done that; she sez…“What Go’s ‘Roun’ – Cum’s Roun’. “

Writ by Demijon.

Th’ Bear says:   ‘In our world; there are very few folks who really know,’ – “HOW TO GROW  OLD!”    ‘b’


For  MY  Thoughts???

You’ve got to be kidding!  Allowing for the increase in the cost / price index; one tiny thought of mine is worth, at least $100.00.  The importance of the one cent coin went out with the days of the leisure suit.’

Even a piece of penny candy, now costs twenty-five cents; and here you are demanding that I share profound philosophy for a trifling coin that is hardly worth the effort of keeping.  My friend:  I am utterly amazed.

It does, however, seem like only yesterday when legendary declarations such as; “A penny saved is a penny earned;”  or  “Pennies make dollars;”  were preeminent.

Even in those days, so long ago; I would no more consider parting with a bit of profundity for anything less than a quarter, than I would have voluntarily submitted to an audit by the Internal Revenue Service.

Perhaps there are folks who are in such dire circumstances, that it becomes plausible for them to reveal their innermost reflections for a minimum fee; but in these days of $4.00 for a gallon of gasoline, and $150.00 for a pair of shoes; they are in the minority.

A lot can be said about individuals who make a practice of extracting information from others by offering only a paltry sum as payment.  Since you are among those distasteful citizens who are trying to resort to the unscrupulous methods of wresting consequential, never before disclosed, knowledge from my exceptional mind; I can only make one final statement.

“My friend:  You are one colossal, A$$ HOLE!”   “There: You’ve got your thought.”  “Now gimme my damn penny!”


It’s folks like you that place such a burden on us “GENYUSSES.”     Dj.

Th’ Bear says:   “We both know who’s Boss here.”   “You don’t see me picking up YOUR POOP;  Do you?”

The Bunk House

Nestled on a small plot of high ground, deep in the mountains of North Carolina, sits a cabin.  Designed on the order of a “shot-gun” house; it contains only the bare essentials for comfortable living.  It is situated in a cove of a man-made lake where, on a clear day, one can view the tallest mountain peak east of the Mississippi River.

Built primarily as a retreat from the feverish life of a successful businessman, this was a place for quiet relaxation, when pressures from the world of high finance became too great.  For Lester, (not his real name), this was a place where cool mountain breezes could easily remove all of his built-up tension within a matter of minutes.

An old logging road was the only access to the place, and this added to the serenity that surrounded this cove. At the shore of the lake were tied two ‘Jon-Boats’ that sported extremely small outboard motors.  Several rods and reels were positioned in each boat, attesting to the fact that fishing was a predominate activity.

Apart from his family and his life in the world of business; I suppose that one could safely say that Lester’s greatest love, other than family, was that of bluegrass music.  A natural born mandolin player, he could sit for hours and labor over a chord that for some reason, did not sound exactly as he wanted.

Guests from the field of music were usually in abundance, and were always welcomed. A circle of folding chairs underneath a grove of mountain laurels was home to any and all would-be “professional”, as well as, would-be, ”pickers.”  The sounds of mandolin, guitar, banjo, fiddle, and bass; reverberated throughout the hollow as invited musicians practiced; “Uncle Pen,” and “Bluegrass Breakdown.”

A typical day at this hide-a-way; involved the two Jon-Boats constantly shuttling guests to the favorite fishing spots, and returning only when the fish quit biting, or when the occupants became hungry for the cook-out, that was always held in early evening.

When the sun retreated over the mountain peaks, it was time to withdraw to the folding chairs and “tune-up.”  Even the darkness did not squelch; but would only amplified, the sounds of “MY Blue Ridge Mountain Home.”  Stopping only when fatigue overcame them, the musicians retired to sleeping bags, or to any bed that happened to be vacant.

The sun’s first rays brought about another day of much the same.  The enjoyment of relaxing, fishing and “picking,” was contagious to the point that more and more guests were present at any given “concert.”  It even became necessary for Lester to more or less abandon the cabin in favor of a larger house close by.

Retired now; Lester still spends as much time at the lake as possible, and if one day; you happen to travel through the mountains of North Carolina; you might just hear the melodious sounds of a mandolin; and someone singing…

“Late in the evening, about sundown,

High on a hill and above the town,

Uncle Pen played fiddle, and made it ring,

You could hear it talk,

You could hear it sing.”

The instruments quickly modulate, through the key of  “A”; and into the key of “D”; for…. “My Blue Ridge Mountain Home.”


Th’ Bear says:  “Why act disgusted when I lick myself???   Look:  We both know the truth.”   “YOU’RE JEALOUS!!”   ‘b’

Computers Hate Me!

For all its ability to record data, store, and reproduce this data fast and efficiently, this machine simply despises me. Sometimes I think that its sole purpose for being is to intimidate me.

It is unnerving when I have an idea that I wish to get across, and this box of bolts decides that It wants to take a different approach and produces something completely foreign to what I had in mind.

For instance, suppose I am trying to say: “The fox jumped over the big red dog,” and what appears on paper is: “The fox slipped-up on ‘Old Red’, kicked his butt and strolled off.”

You see what I mean? The thing has a mind of its own and is determined to GET me. I get the feeling that one day this tangle of wires will start cussing back at me.

I know exactly what I am doing, but how can I relate this to a conglomeration of micro-chips that believes it can out-think me?

I read the manuals and all they tell me is a bunch of “>\^[*`#+?&%”. They do nothing to explain why this machine simply will not listen to me.

This can prove disastrous for a world renowned writer such as myself.  After all, I have an image to preserve. Serious writing cannot be done with this thing.

I experienced no trouble at all with my trusty pencil and tablet. We understood each other and what I thought was what I got when I utilized this medium.

Whoever was responsible for the design of this thing should have included in the design some respect and manners. The very idea of a machine that won’t do what it’s told just makes me sick.

If it soon does not respond better than it has in the past, then I will have no recourse but to de-flop its floppy disc, remove its icons, pull the teeth from its megabytes, bust its ctrl and harden up the software.

Then, maybe I can record just what I want without interruption from a dag-nab-it,’ so-called,’ Electricel Genyus.’

SEE, it did it again!!!


Th’ Bear says:  “FART: Then blame it on me???”  “Not Funny!”  “NOT FUNNY!!!”  ‘b.’

Sorry about that!

Dear Whomever:

It grieves me to tell you that there will be major changes in the Christmas Season this year; for one or more of the following reasons.

#1. Mrs. Claus has been under investigation for much of the year by the N. P. B. I. (North Pole Bureau of Investigation), for her involvement in discoloration of the frozen landscape around the Pole; code named “Yellowwater.”

#2. Approximately half of my workforce of Elves have checked into the Betty Ford Center.  The rest refuse to work until their contract is approved by the AFL/CIO; and ratified by those drunken Bums at the B. F. Center.

#3. The N.P.R.S. (North Pole Revenue Service), is auditing my taxes and have   disallowed my deduction of Two Hundred Eighteen Million Dependent Children.”

#4.  Rudolph spent most of the year consorting with a Doe from Greenland, and managed to catch a dose of V.D.  His nose will never glow again, even if it does not fall off, along with other properties of Male-hood’. 

#5.  The Sleigh was re-called by ‘General Sleigh Makers’ because of faulty and inadequate protection from Reindeer Crap.

#6.  I am being sued for an offense that allegedly happened last Christmas Eve.  Something to do with laying a Doll under a tree.  Dammit; that’s my job, isn’t it?

#7. The E.R.A. is raising hell because there are no females in the workshop at the present time.  Can I help it if those little horny bastards can’t keep their pants zipped?

#8.  We have had to convert all the machines in the workshop, from making toys, and begin manufacturing pipe-bombs & explosives for export to The Middle East.

#9.  Russia has placed sanctions on our usual shipment of Vodka for medicinal purposes‘ and the Old Lady is really pissed off.  She may have to join A. A.

#10.  Aside from the above reasons; I am simply fed-up with providing all the gaily-wrapped presents and receiving nothing in return, but a glass of milk and a couple of stale cookies.  Henceforth, if any of you want The Jolly Old Elf to visit your place; there will be a nominal  fee of  $300.00 per person levied.

If this is not satisfactory, you may contact your Congress Person.  They promised you the Moon in return for your vote.  Now; lets see how long they will make, and give toys away, for free.            


If you don’t have a “sense of humor;”  You possibly don’t have any sense at all.   Dj.


I suppose I simply do not understand the modern terminology in the language that has been our way of communication for over two hundred years.  After all; what is wrong with revealing to a lady that it would be beneficial for her to gain weight?

She is taller than most men and skinny as a rail, but yet; we must refer to her as SVELTE.”  Gone are the days when we can approach a member of the opposite sex with;  Yo, Mama:  You undoubtedly have an acute case of NOASSATALL.”  Talk about freaking out!

Then, there is the modern-day method of describing a female who has spent too much time at the feed-trough.  We can no longer say that she is ‘fat as a hog.’  

Now-a-days, it must be implied that she is suffering from a glandular disorder.  Today, this is just a neat way of skirting the issue; that she is a prime candidate for membership in GLUTTONS ANONYMOUS.”

If she is TALL and FAT;  the now-accepted terminology is, that she is STATUESQUE’ or ‘FULL-FIGURED,’ but NEVER  just plain, ‘BIG.’  

There are now, Mail-Order firms that cater to ladies of above-average size and weight.  The advertised articles described in their catalogs are depicted as being, “JUST MY SIZE.”  

I suppose this is a cute way of saying that everything inside is, ‘at least,’ a  ‘DOUBLE-XX.’   The size’s “Small, Medium, & Large,” are never mentioned in the catalogs.

Of course, lets not forget the five foot, 101 pound, lady who wears the Triple-D-cup Brassiere.  She; now, is “WELL ENDOWED.”  

Heaven help the guy who approaches her with the greeting; “HEY!  YOU WITH THE BIG TITS!”  He will look and feel better, when the bandages are removed, and the swelling goes down.

Women are generally more self-conscious about their looks than are their male counter-parts, with a few exceptions.

Case in point.  With the understanding that Condoms are now manufactured in different sizes;  Can you imagine “BUBBA,” going into a Drug Store and WHISPERING to the Druggist:  “Got any Trojans in a PETITE SIZE?”


Since writing this; about all of my bruises have faded, and I can see a little-bit out of my left eye.  I don’t know when the Doctor will remove the cast from my right arm; and I believe that my rib’s have healed:  But I am almost certain that ‘my nose will never be the same’.  Dj.



Music has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. When I was a child, my Father formed a family quartet.  The music that we were familiar with and sang, was primarily Hymns and Gospel songs.

This type music leaned heavily on 4-part’  harmony which all of us loved.  Therefore, our singing was done mostly in the home, or in the fields; if we were working together at the same time.  Occasionally, we would be invited to sing in our Church and this, more or less, gradually became a part of the weekly service

I was assigned the lead part since I was the youngest of three children. My Sister sang tenor; my Brother sang baritone; and my Father sang the bass part.   Our style consisted of mostly gospel songs that could be accompanied by a guitar; (you know;  G, C, D, & sometimes A).   We all enjoyed the blended sounds although we had no thoughts of making a career of singing.

Eventually, we became known around our ‘neck-of-the-woods,’ as a decent quartet.  We received invitations to sing in other churches throughout the county as well as a standing invitation to perform at the annual countywide singing convention, which various churches of different denominations hosted; once every year.

When we were older, my sister, my brother and I, branched out, so to speak, into the field of popular music. Daddy did not especially like this style of music and there was no demand for an unknown trio in the world of entertainment; therefore, we sang for our own amusement; whenever an opportunity arose.

Usually this was in the home and traveling together in the confines of an automobile.  Among our favorite harmony groups, that we emulated, were the renditions of The Sons of the Pioneers. One member of this group, who went on to fame, was none other than Roy Rogers. He eventually became the “King of the Cowboys” on the silver screen.

Others we chose to pattern our sounds after, were The Ink Spots, The Ame’s Brothers, and The Andrew Sisters; all masters of harmony.

My brother and my marriage, and the death of our father, ended our competing as a family quartet. Our sister’s death ended our efforts as a trio, and my brother and I went our separate ways.

My brother, retired for many years; continues in the music field by playing piano in his church. I am also retired and occasionally play bass guitar with ‘pick-up’ bands. I am still partial to four-part harmony, and get goose bumps when I hear sounds blended so tight that one cannot decide just who is singing each part.

I suppose this feeling will always bring fond memories of the days when my family sang the age-old gospel songs in a small church in the country.


If today’s technology had been available in those days; perhaps we could have secured a spot. “on the charts;” or perhaps a Television Show;  Even a ‘Gold or Platinum’ Album or Two, would have been welcomed.    Dj.



Want to drive everyone up the wall?  It’s simpler than you think.  All you have to do is to walk around with a smile on your face.  The folks that you come in contact with will wonder just what you are ‘up to.’  Behavior such as this is ‘not normal.’                        “Why can’t you be miserable like the rest of us?’

It works the same way by standing in one spot and staring up into the sky, even though there is absolutely nothing up there to look at.  This is doubly effective if you have a smile on your face at the same time.

It is human nature to be curious of why you are so lighthearted.  A large percentage will return your smile, and attempt to duplicate your action; at least for a short period.  This too, is human nature.  They are certain that there is something attracting your attention and they would be remiss not to investigate for themselves.

If you are bold enough; try standing, smiling, looking upward, and pointing,  all at the same time.  This is sure to draw a crowd.  Without fail; someone will break the ice and ask; “What is it?”  Then; you drop the other shoe and reply; “You see it too?” and casually walk away.

I am reminded of a young man who began his first day of work at a glass company.  The Foreman gave him the keys to the service truck and told him to install a glass storefront at the corner of Sixth and Main street.  “I don’t know how to install glass;” the young man admitted.

“It’s simple,” replied the Foreman. “All you have to do is to park the truck in front of the building; get out and look perplexed.  Within ten minutes, some darned fool will come along and tell you how it’s supposed to be done.”

Phenomenon’s such as described above will also occur; even in the relative safety of the local Super Market;  The next time someone pushes a grocery cart into your heels; smile, look away, point, and say; “Thanks; I needed that.”  It’s fun to listen to their muttered remarks… i.e. “S’matter that Dude?”  “He crazy’r  sumpin?”


NOTE:  Never give any indication that you are not on the same page as they, for 100 percent of the time.  Just smile, look upward, and point.”  Doing so will leave no doubt that it is ‘they’ who are candidates for the loony-bin.’      Dj.


I need help;  BAD!   For most of my young life, I have been in a quandary about the question of;  “Just who in the heck is THEY?” 

It is seldom that I am carrying on a conversation with either a dear friend, or, for that matter; just a casual acquaintance, when somewhere during the chat, the topic; “They say that…”  Is brought up.  It is here that I become completely lost because I have never met, “They.”  

It gets deeper still.  I am not certain that the, ‘They;’ who is being referred to is a person, whether living or dead; or a conglomeration of individuals; all with the same thoughts.  As a general rule, these thoughts are primarily in reference to the subject matter that is being discussed.  To someone of my caliber who is convinced that “Superman” is a real person, this can do much to ‘put us over the edge.’

There are however; incidents of topical nature, such as; “They say, that this hot weather will last another week.”  We can understand this since, The Meteorologist’s are responsible for predicting our weather.  What really tears us from the frame is the subject of National Politics.  For incidence: a proposed bill on welfare reform, that is presently being studied by the Congress.  Just as soon as we get into the meat of the discussion; ‘Lo and Behold:’  Here comes the old, “They say that it will never pass.”  Who said this.  Was it ‘one-half;’  ‘one-third;’  the ‘whole body'; of the Congress that decreed this?”  “Was it a Democrat or a Republican?”

It is no wonder that I cannot speak intelligently on the subject. If someone would clarify just who made the profound statement; perhaps I could join the discussion and present my views.  It certainly makes one wonder if my “I.Q.” is below the National average, and the clarification was deliberate, in an effort to keep me in the dark about important matters such as this.  Whatever the reason; they seem to be doing a darned good job, if this this is their intention.

In most cases; I simply mutter under my breath, instead of divulging my inferior knowledge of the topic, and hope they are none the wiser.  Conceivably, someday, one will make a slip and reveal the identity of “THEY.”   When this happens; ‘watch out.’  I will jump right in the middle of every conversation and it just may be impossible to ‘Shut me up.’   It takes so little to make some of us happy.


It has been said that every best-selling Book originates with a single word.  This is especially true when speaking of the profound writings of famed novelist, Demijon.’

The cramped confines of a studio / office, offers some credence to the philosophical statement; and is proof-positive. that elaborate headquarters does NOT automatically make an Author.

However; the simple fact of sitting before the keyboard of an antiquated computer, accompanied by a quart of robust coffee at ’03:30 a.m.’ is usually adequate to sort through jumbled thoughts within the mind and produce an interesting narrative.

Albeit, that the finished product is a work of fiction, or the recounting of some incident stored within a fading memory; the original idea is to communicate to the reader that the described incidents ‘could-have’ happened.

The hardest part for any writer is to relate true occurrences in such a manner as to prevent embarrassment to any individual.  This is usually accomplished by inventing fictitious settings, and assigning fabricated names to all the characters.  If the substance is, true; it must be re-arranged to demonstrate that “anyone” would be affected by the identical action therewith.  This is important.

The unpretentious act of staring at a blank computer monitor, while the mind wanders will eventually conjure an amusing or interesting episode from a by-gone era.’  This is, by far, the safest research material; since most of today’s readers know very little about; “In My Day….” 

Events happened then, as they do now.  While some were considered significant at the time, they became less serious over the decades, even to the point of developing into laughable antecedents.  This is especially true if the characters are portrayed as, well-, somewhat “different.”

A writer of fiction must, at times, weave true facts into a fictitious story; but will not disclose the origin of those facts.  More leeway is given to imaginative idea’s that are conceived within the mind of the author.  Add a few memories from a time “Back-When,” and the result will surely become a “Best Seller.”


It’s really a tough job; but someone has to do it.       Dj.