FEAR DOES THINGS TO A PERSON
Billy Bob was prone to expound on his prowess with members of the opposite sex to anyone who would take the time to listen.
He was relating his latest escapade to Bubba while they each nursed a long-neck Miller Hi-Life at the local road house. It went something like this.
“There I was; in her bedroom making passionate love while her husband was working on the night shift. Suddenly, we heard a sound coming from the vicinity of the front door.”
“It’s my husband, she screamed; He’s home early! You’ve got to get out of here!”
Billy Bob continued, “Not taking the time to dress, I threw my clothes out of the window and climbed through behind them and clung to the window sash by the tips of my fingers for the rest of the night. BOY, was I mad!”
Bubba took a long pull from his Hi-Life bottle and said, “Man, you were lucky to get out with your hide intact. Were you mad because you almost got caught?”
“Hell no, replied Billy Bob, What really made me furious was that when it got light enough for me to see, I found that the ground was only six inches below my feet.”
*************************
MAKES SENSE
Jethro drove his pickup truck into downtown Atlanta for the first time. His ignorance of metropolitan street patterns was obvious when he turned onto a one way street and headed in the wrong direction.
He had gone several blocks when a police cruiser appeared behind him and signaled for him to pull over. The officer approached the truck and in a loud voice asked, “Where in the hell do you think you’re going, fellow?”
Calmly, Jethro answered, “I really don’t know but I reckon I’m late because it sure looks like everybody else is going home.”
*************************
IDENTITY
Two mice were strolling through the park as two gorgeous models walked by.
One mouse said, “Let’s catch up with them and we’ll climb up their legs.”
“Not me;” said the other one, “I’m a titmouse.”
Enjoy.
Demijon
FACT: No husband has ever been shot while doing the dishes. Dj
May 30th, 2009
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I remember a story told to me by my grandfather, to-wit….
Bob; “Where were you going when I saw you yesterday?”
Joe; “I’d already been where I was going. I was coming back.”
Bob; “That’s alright, I didn’t see you until you were out of sight.”
I know; it’s a little far-fetched but I recently discovered a few jewels that actually made headlines. Apparently the writer(s) never proof read anything before sending it to press. With a little thought, one can determine the meaning of the headlines but a casual glance will alter the meaning entirely. See if you can figure out what they were trying to say.
UROLOGIST IN TROUBLE WITH HIS PEERS.
LIVING TOGETHER LINKED TO DIVORCE.
TEENAGE PROSTITUTION PROBLEM IS MOUNTING.
PRESIDENT PLANS SWELL DEFICIT.
BAR TRYING TO HELP ALCOHOLIC LAWYERS.
HOSPITALS SUED BY SEVEN FOOT DOCTORS.
BLIND WORKERS EYE BETTER WAGES.
“D.C. IS SAFE EXCEPT FOR MURDERS,” SAYS MAYOR.
CONVICTS EVADE NOOSE; JURY HUNG.
OUTHOUSES AIRED BY LEGISLATURE.
MILK DRINKERS TURN TO POWDER.
DEADLINE PASSES FOR STRIKING POLICE.
In addition, there are some choice tid-bits from comedian, Woody Allen.
“THERE IS NO GARBAGE IN CALIFORNIA. THEY TURN IT INTO T.V. SHOWS.
“WHEN I WAS A CHILD, I WAS BREAST FED FROM FALSIES.
“I READ AND UNDERSTOOD ‘WAR & PEACE’ IN TWENTY MINUTES. IT INVOLVES RUSSIA.”
Then perhaps it’s not so bad that we sometimes DON’T say just what we mean……..
There once was a lady from Kent,-
Who always said what she meant,-
People said, “She’s a dear – so unique, so sincere,”-
But they shunned her by common consent.
Demijon
You will notice that I’m grasping at straws for something to post. Dj
May 28th, 2009
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Susie Mae got called to set on one uv them juries down thare at the magistrate’s store one time, an’ I didn’t thank fer a while that she’d ever get over hit. Ever time whot she’d git ’round somebody, she’d grin rale big an’ say, “I’se been on one uv them juries an’ they couldn’t of got along ‘thout me.”
The trial whot she were a’settin on was when ole Tom Sturdivant busted Pete Mayfair in the head wiff a stick uv stovewood. Pete, he went an’ got him a lawyer man frum up thare in Raleigh to holp him sic th’ law on ole Tom.
Then ole Tom, he harred him one uv them fancy lawyers frum up thare in Charlotte. Boff them lawyers wus perty much smart alecks and tolt hissoner that they wanted one uv them jurie trials. Hissoner were ole Bates Perdue at that thare time an’ he sez he recconed they wus enough folks ’round whot wont workin’ to make a fair to middlin’ jury.
When Susie Mae got her notice, she just ’bout had a hissie. She arned boff uv her frocks an’ commenced to put her hair up on socks ever nite fer ’bout a week, a-gittin ready. She seys to me, “Jay Henry, honey, I ain’t ’bout to git up thare an’ not look perty.” I tolt her perty is as perty does an’ that set her off. She pouted fer ’bout a week.
She kept on axeing me ’bout whot should she call ole Bates when she got thare an’ I tolt her that best I could figure, them jedges sorta liked bein called Hissoner. Susie Mae, she practiced that fer the rest uv the week so’s she got hit down pat an’ come time fer the court to start nex Monday, she were rareing to go.
Atter the trial commenced, I could tell that Susie Mae wus gittin kinda mixed up. She kept on axeing the jedge to make them lawyer men “say whot” agin. She’d say to him, “Mr. Honor, make that thare feller tell that tale some more so’s I can git hit strait.”
I knowed that thangs wus gonna git in a mess when them lawyers commenced spoutin off ’bout writs an’ habes corpustles an’ that thare kind uv stuff. I seed Susie Mae’s mouff sorta squinch up when them lawyers had fit each other fer a spell, an’ hit weren’t long fore she seys to ole Bates, “Mr. Hissoner, I’se ready to put a stop to this whole thang.”
“Jedge, the way I sees hit, all theys got to do is fer ole Tom to ‘pologize fer bustin’ Pete’s head wide open wiff that thare stovewood an’ Pete, he ort to pay ole Tom fer that thare stick uv stovewood whot done got broke over his hard head an’ they’d be squared up.”
Wellsir, ole Bates, he took a good, long look at them smart alecky lawyers an’ sez to them, “Y’all done come down hyear wiff y’alls book learnin an’ y’alls hi-fo-lutin words an’ ranted an’ raved all day an’ I’ll be derned iffen Susie Mae ain’t done come up wiff tha answer fer the whole thang. Tom an’ Pete, y’all do hit. Court dismissed.”
Atter that trial, I wus ’bout to thank that Susie Mae were gonna git drowned iffen hit come up a cloud an’ rained cause her nose were stuck up in the air so.
Not only that, but she grinned frum year to year fer might-nigh a month. She’s even thankin ’bout runnin ‘gainst ole Bates fer Magistrate cume ‘lecshun time.
She even seys to me one time, “Jay Henry, honey, does you reccon the President mought need somebody whot’s as smart as me to holp him run th’ Giverment?” I jus tolt her that she ain’t got no bisness a’traipsin off to no Capitol and ‘spectin me to do all that thare plowin’, washin an’ arnin. ‘Cides, iffen she went up thare an’ fixed all uv them problems fer ‘em, then they wont be no need to keep all them Congressmen on, an’ they mought even jus up an’ farr the President.
Well’sr, she studied on that some an’ finaly figured out that the best thang fer her to do were to stay hyear in th’ holler and be the piller uv the community.
Them Giverment folks is jus gonna have to do the best they can, ’cause Susie Mae has ‘cided she ain’t gonna holp ‘em. She do holp somebody’ round hear’ll git in some meanness an’ she’ll git to show off on ’nother one uv them juries.
Told to Demijon by Jay Henry.
Susie Mae, she be’s like that.
May 27th, 2009
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There are folks who are under the impression that those of us in the Carolinas talk funny because we do not know any better.
This is totally wrong. We do so in basic terms to get our point across with the least amount of effort and without the squander of either words or expression.
Example # 1: You walk into Bubba’s Pool Hall, Funeral Parlor & Hot Dog Stand. Immediately, the assembled patrons greet you with, “Hi ya doin’?” Now there is no earthly reason for you to reply, “I’m fine now but last month I experienced this little boil on my left arm, (rolling up sleeve) and my doctor prescribed $45.00 worth of medication and it’s under control.”
You simply elevate a fist with the thumb raised and say; “Okay, hi y’all doin’.”
Example # 2: Seated on the concrete in the forth turn of Lowe’s Motor Speedway with a cooler full of Coors’s Light and a Food Lion sack of boiled peanuts, you attempt to encourage your favorite Nascar driver to pass the car which holds the lead at the moment. It would certainly not be feasible to shout, “Maneuver your car beneath his to take the air off his spoiler and therefore send him out of the groove, into the marbles made by the rubber worn from the tires of all the competitors and possibly into the wall.”
No: The appropriate response is to consume a handful of the boiled legumes, wash them down with a long swig of Coors and yell, “Wreck‘em all, Rusty!”
Example # 3: When asked for directions to the Fly By Night Trailer Park by one of our treasured touristers, it makes no sense to tell them to turn at the ‘old Matthews place’ and cross the creek until they come to the forks and hang a left. This will surely prompt a tirade about uneducated rednecks not erecting appropriate road signs; therefore, simply point in the direction of Bubba’s Pool Hall, Funeral Parlor & Hot Dog Stand and say;
”Y’all foller Bubba tonight atter he closes. He lives down thare.”
Example # 4: Some Yankee will eventually ask why you are content to live in the backwoods, consuming road kill, boiled peanuts and beer, while working only enough to assure another round of unemployment insurance. Then they will possibly ask why you can’t envision a better future in the northern United States where sand spurs, fleas, ticks and mosquitoes are unknown. Your reply should be immediate and with proper emphasis such as….
“Hail, brother. We’s home an’ you ain’t. If y’all ain’t satisfied hear, git on one uv them airplanes an’ leave. DELTA’S READY WHEN YOU ARE!”
Demijon
Anything is possible; if you don’t know what you’re talking about.
May 26th, 2009
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I am not sure my father knew that such a person as a psychologist existed and yet, he practiced this art on us children almost on a daily basis.
We grew up during and just after the great depression and were very much aware that any available money was desperately needed to keep the wolf from the door. However, this knowledge did nothing to forestall our attempts to plead for 25 or 50 cents whenever a new issue of D.C. comics was on the rack at the local drug store. Perhaps even a schoolmate sporting a new sweater or a catcher’s mitt was responsible for our burning desire for a similar item.
Whatever the reason, we were sure to approach daddy with a compelling demand of, “Can I have 50 cents?” or “Can’t we have one too?”
Our farm was small and our main cash crop was cotton. Although this income provided for our basic needs, there was little left over for items not necessary for our survival.
We raised most of our foodstuffs such as a hog or two for meat, a cow for milk and butter, chickens for eggs and meat, and a variety of vegetables from our garden plot.
Lacking a freezer, the meat was usually salt cured and the vegetables were canned in mason jars to provide us with food during the non-growing seasons.
Fruits from several apple and peach trees were peeled, sliced and dried in the sun. They were then stored in clean flour sacks to furnish the family with delicious fruit pies. Many times, this was our only desert.
We were cautioned to be careful of the sparse, new clothing that daddy managed to acquire at the beginning of the school year. He also saw that we had Sunday clothes, which we were admonished to remove immediately after church.
To supplement the income from the farm, daddy moonlighted as a blacksmith. He had a small shop where he spent most Saturdays shoeing horses and mules and rainy days would find him repairing farm implements for neighbors.
When we would request money for something that was unnecessary for our health and well being, daddy would not totally refuse us.
His answer was usually “I think I’ve got a dollar.”
This was his way of shrewdly asking us to withdraw our request. Not one of us had the audacity to ask if one dollar was ALL he had. We all knew better than to tempt fate.
You know what? It worked.
Demijon
“Old Age,” is the most unexpected of all things that happen to mankund. Dj
May 25th, 2009
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Good – $12.45. — Better – $19.95. — Best – $24.68.
One of America’s largest retail catalog stores has used this method of upgrading for years. How many of us would settle for the least expensive item when, for only a few dollars more, we can have the best? It allows a tremendous boost to our ego when we are able to say that the one we selected is “top of the line.”
However, in many cases there is very little difference. More chrome on the “Better” and the words ELITE on the “Best,” but the inner workings are identical. Performance from any of the three is essentially the same, so why are we obsessed with the idea that only the “Best” will serve our purpose? One theory is that if it is priced higher, it must be of better quality.
This is exactly what the manufacturing plant had in mind when they diverted some items from the assembly line in order to place on each the ELITE sticker; therefore, assuring appeal to the ones of us who scoff at ownership of second best. Since manufacturing costs are the same with the exception of the small amount of chrome and a three-cent sticker, the profits are much greater. Dependency on our fetish for ownership of the “top of the line” has caused sales to skyrocket for the “Better” and the “Best.”
Recently, another method of advertising has surfaced. It was nothing more than the listing of certain items with the words, “choice of professionals.” If the repairman sports these tools or equipment, the die is cast. His hammer must be better than the one that we own that was rated as “Good.”
After all, he depends on it for his livelihood. Perhaps the ownership of this high-quality hammer is responsible for his professional status. With this in mind, we rush to the store and make our purchase. Retiring the “Good” hammer to the depths of the unused, rusting tools underneath our workbench; we proudly display our latest acquisition. At last we will be able to “run with the big dogs.”
Although little thought is given to the fact that we hardly know which end of the hammer is the business end, we nevertheless can now inspire awe and admiration from our peers.
We own “THE CHOICE OF PROFESSIONALS.” Proof of the superiority of our latest acquisition occurs with our first use of the product. The thumb that we strike with “The Top of The Line Hammer” does not hurt half as badly as with our former inferior model.
Demijon
Have you ever wondered - just what WAS the best thing since sliced bread?
May 24th, 2009
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Charlotte Motor Speedway (now known as Lowe’s Motor Speedway) was in its infancy in the early 1960′s.
Two of my friends and I somehow managed to scrape together enough money for tickets to a race to watch our hero’s such as Joe Weatherly, Lee Petty, Bobby Allison, Buck Baker and “Fireball” Roberts compete in a grueling race around the newly built racetrack.
We were fortunate enough to secure tickets in the grandstand just at the exit of the fourth turn.
The cars that they raced then did have some, but not all, of the safety equipment that is required now by the NASCAR sanctioning body for today’s high-speed vehicles. For instance, instead of the Acrylic windshields and side windows, these stock cars were equipped with the standard glass windows.
The three of us sat on the hard concrete seats and marveled at the skill of the drivers as they maneuvered these colorful vehicles around the highly banked turns at speeds that were approaching well above 100 miles per hour.
Suddenly, one of our hero’s (Fireball Roberts) car blew a tire as he entered the fourth turn, causing his car to slide into the wall and come to rest sideways on the track just in front of our seats.
Due to the speed of the other cars, one of them was unable to avoid plowing into the side of Fireball’s stranded vehicle.
Of course, a caution flag was displayed and the other competitors slowed with many of them entering the Pits for fuel and fresh tires. One of the ambulances arrived at the wreck and carried Fireball to the field Hospital while a wrecker towed his demolished car from the track.
It was later reported that the attending Doctor said, “I picked glass out of his hands, arms, face and neck; and HE WAS SIMPLY TOO MEAN TO BLEED.”
I suppose a statement such as this was proof, positive that race-car drivers, in the early days of the Speedway, were indeed TOUGH COMPETITORS.
Demijon
The accident pictured above, at a later race; (from the archives of the Soeedway), was the one that claimed the life of racing legend Fireball Roberts. Dj
May 23rd, 2009
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* In a long line of people waiting for a bank teller, one guy suddenly started massaging the back of the person in front of him.
Surprised, the man in front turned and snarled, “Just what the hell you are doing?”
“Well;” said the guy, “you see, I’m a chiropractor and I could see that you were tense, so I had to massage your back. Sometimes I just can’t help practicing my art!”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!,” the guy replied. “I am a lawyer; but do you see me screwing the guy in front of me??” * Author unknown.
********************
In other news:
Bubba and Billy Bob were enjoying a long-necked Miller Hi-Life in a local bar when a gorgeous lady sashayed through the swinging doors.
Billy Bob immediately cast down his brew, turned to his partner and said;
“Speaking of tension; Bubba; Isn’t that Hortense?”
This simply serves to prove that it is not necessary to fill 1000 pages with drivel just to get a point across.
Demijon
Another reason why I enjoy “Blogging.” Dj
May 21st, 2009
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Fifty six years ago, my child-bride and I moved into an upstairs apartment.
Since I looked forward to my wife meeting me at the door at lunch time with a kiss and a home cooked meal on the table, I would be the breadwinner.
We had early on cussed and discussed married life and had decided that we would figure out how to live on my salary of $30.00 per week.
She shopped for groceries the first Monday after our nuptials since she did not work. A couple of days later, I came home to find that she had indeed prepared a lunch of several vegetables and, (get this), freshly baked biscuits.
Of course, our apartment was not air conditioned in 1953 so the windows were opened. Our table sat beside one window with a screen that latched at the bottom.
When the “little woman” and I sat down to enjoy the fruits of her labor, I casually asked if she would pass the biscuits.
She literally beamed as she passed the plate to me. I selected one and unhooked the screen and said; “There’s a snake down there that I want to kill.”
It was rather strange that her glowing smile vanished immediately and she rose from the table citing that she was not hungry.
After being married only one week, I began to realize that her sense of humor left something to be desired.
I suppose that this incident prompted her to secure gainful employment to supplement my paltry income in order to purchase bread.
For the rest of our fifty six years of wedded bliss, she occasionally will serve biscuits but they always come from the grocery, and are packaged in a container marked PILLSBURY.
Demijon
Hell hath no fury like a woman whose biscuits have been refused.
May 20th, 2009
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T’other day, I stumped my big toe on a scantlin’ whot were lyin’ jus’ in frunt uv th’ smokehouse. I thinks to myself, ‘self, you done broke hit’ ‘cause hit swole up more’n twicet th’ size hit were s’posed to be.
Susie Mae, she wanted me to go over an’ see ole Doc Pervis but I tolt her he wudn’t do nothin’ but rub some axle grease on hit an’ tell me that th’ book sez fer me to lay down fer two’er three days an’ b’sides, he’d charge me a dollar. He purely b’leves in th’ healin’ powers uv axle grease. Rat nex’ to drenchin’, he thinks axle grease will cuore any ailmint knowed to mankind. I knowed he were good at doctorin’ cow’s wiff holler tale an’ mules wiff th’ colic but I don’t thank he knows nothin’ ‘bout broke toes.
Susie Mae, she ‘sisted on me goin’ over thare and, shore nuff, he grabbed a can uv axle grease fus’ thang. I kinda wush I had poured some croatin’ oil on hit an’ tied hit up wiff a rag an’ saved my dollar. He tolt me hit wudn’t hurt none to tie my head up to a limb and drench me wiff a Pepsi-Coler bottle but I knowed he’d want a’nuther dollar an’ I wudn’t let him.
Well’sr, hit finally swaged down so’s I cud git my shoe on so I jus’ went ‘bout my business, a’hobblin’ on that foot. ‘Long ‘bout dark forty five, that thare toe commenced a’throbbin’ so bad I had to take me two Goody’s headache powders an’ a Blenum Ginger Ale. I took my shoe off an’, lo-an-b’hold, hit had done swole up ag’in.
Susie Mae, she took one look at that thare toe an’ sez, Jay Henry, honey, you’s got a splinter stuck in yo’ toe whots’ a’causin’ hit to swole up.
She got th’ pliers out an’ pulled hit out and then poured th’ hole full uv keresene an’ then done hit up wiff a clean rag. Hit felt better b’then she tied th’ knot but I wont ‘bout to tell her. I knowed she wud grin lak a cow eatin’ briars and axe me to pay her a dollar.
Susie Mae, she be’s like that. She’s done writ fer her D.S.T. (doctor uv sore toes) degree.
Writ by Jay Henry
I’se done figur’d out that Susie Mae’s pilot lite ain’t lit.
May 20th, 2009
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