Does it get any better than this? Not often.

And yes, since you asked, damn near everything on that grill is wrapped in bacon.  Because the tasty pig just brings so much to the party.  Sorry, Doc.

I believe I have found a better way.

Instead of going to great and inconvenient lengths to scope, scan, x-ray and pat down everyone getting on every airplane in the United States in an attempt to keep weapons from getting aboard, let’s go to the other extreme.  I’ve said for a long time that if the airlines would just let guys like me go armed on their aircraft, they wouldn’t have to worry about terrorists anymore – armed citizens would make short work of anyone stupid enough to try to hijack their plane.  So why not do away with the pre-boarding security checkpoints entirely, and actively encourage travelers to carry firearms, OC spray, knives, etc. onto the aircraft?

I know, I know.  “But Mike!” I hear you saying.  “That would just invite trouble!  The bad guys would also be armed!  There would be indiscriminate fighting and killing in the friendly skies!  Chaos would result!”

Well, maybe it would.  Maybe the aisles of airliners everywhere would run red with the blood of innocents.  Or maybe, just maybe, the knowledge that anyone trying to hijack the aircraft would be up against an unknown number of armed passengers, all ready and willing to defend themselves and their fellows, would act as a more potent deterrent than a bunch of blue-shirted circus clowns peering suspiciously into everybody’s shoes.

The airlines would save loads of money on security, and could even pass that savings on by creating incentives for travelers to arm themselves in the common defense.  How about half-price tickets, or free upgrades, or extra travel points, for any passenger showing a CCW when they check in at the airport?

I might even be willing to fly more often if they did that.  And I’d sure feel safer on an airplane than I do now.

Life isn’t fair.  Whoever told you it is, lied to you.  Shut up and deal with it.  (Or, as the Duke would say, “Life is hard.  Harder when you’re stupid.”)

No one owes you anything.  There are no free rides in this world.  Want something?  Be prepared to work for it. If you don’t like this, refer back to the first lesson.

Just because you have a cell phone doesn’t mean you need to be on it all the time.  Oh, and if you do have to take a call while you’re out in public, or in a place of business, use your inside voice.  The rest of us don’t want to hear your conversation.  Better yet, call that person back later.  Whatever they want can’t be that important.

I don’t want to hear your story.  What impulse causes people to walk up to a total stranger and start talking about themselves?  This may come as a rude shock, but you’re not nearly as cool and interesting as you think you are.  Be quiet and get out of my hair.

Self-esteem is not the same as self-respect.  Self-respect comes from having accomplished something worth doing, and like the respect of others has to be earned.  Self-esteem is nothing more than your inner three-year-old petulantly stomping his little foot and screaming, “I really AM special!  I am I am I am!”  And yes, people can tell the difference.

Your brother-in-law is not an expert.  Do your own research and learn the facts before you make a fool of yourself in public based on what “somebody” told you is true.

And last, but certainly not least, you are responsible for the consequences of your own actions.  Accept the fact that whatever problems you have in your life, you most likely caused yourself.  Trying to blame everything on somebody else just makes you look like a whiner.  No one likes a whiner.

Why, he got his friend to shoot him, of course.

Grandview Outdoors – State police say the shooting occurred Sunday in the rural town of Stockholm when 25-year-old Shawn Mossow gave in to his friend’s repeated requests and shot him once in the right leg with a .22-caliber rifle.

The 24-year-old man is expected to make a full recovery. Police haven’t released his name.

Mr. Stupid that did the shooting has been arrested and charged with reckless endangerment.  I don’t want to overburden poor Sir Knight, but low-hanging fruit like this is just too good to pass up.  Tell it, Sir Knight:

And folks, I know I’m preaching to the choir here, but remember those Four Rules?  Yeah.  Apparently they don’t get stuff like that in Stockholm.

Seems Mr. Hatchett – who has fathered 30 children with 11 different women – is petitioning the state of Tennessee for financial assistance to help pay his court-ordered child support obligations.  Because, you know, a minimum-wage job just doesn’t pay enough to take care of all that.

The money quote?  This moron told a local TV station, “I didn’t intend to have this many children.  It just happened.”

Wait a minute.  “It just happened”?  An immaculate conception, thirty times?  The dude’s 33 years old.  Do you mean to tell me he doesn’t know where the babies come from?  I don’t honestly see how the taxpaying citizens of the great state of Tennessee should have to pay for his irresponsibility.

And the women hold a certain degree of culpability for this as well, in my humble opinion.  Last time I checked, it takes two to make babies…and either one of them could just as easily have chosen to keep their pants on instead of becoming a leech on society.  Given people’s tendency to talk about each other, I have a hard time believing none of these women knew of Mr. Hatchett’s propensity for fathering children he can’t (or won’t) support.  Hell, he had multiple children with some of them.  Let’s see – you had one child with this guy, and he’s not supporting you or the kid, so…you go and let him get you pregnant again?  What were you thinking?

I for one hope the state doesn’t give this jackass one thin dime.  Let him and his girlfriends face the consequences of their actions like the adults they claim to be.

(Even the Knight knows where babies come from.  And he doesn’t want 30 of them.  See?  He’s got his pants on.)

Tasty Pig, meet the One True Sauce. Mr. Sauce, Mr. Pig. This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

What’s that?  Oh, the beer?  Glad you asked.  That’s Sam Adams East-West Kolsch.  It’s light and refreshing, not too hoppy, with a very faint citrus note that makes it taste awfully good on a hot day like today.

Hope your dinner was this good.

Who's that punk kid? Oh, it's Mike with his first Bishop Creek trout in 1988.

Holy crap!  Am I actually old enough to have done anything besides breathe for 25 years in a row?  That’s a little scary, somehow.

As long as no one expects me to grow up and act my age, I guess it’ll be okay.

“What kind of plant?  By the highway where?”

Turns out the plant was a hollyhock, and it was growing in the shoulder along the interstate near our office.  “Will you help me dig it up?” Cindy asked me.  I refused, for a couple of reasons that seemed really good to me.  First, doing much of anything along the shoulder of an interstate while traffic rushes by just feet away is a lot more dangerous than most people recognize.  And second, that land belongs to some government agency that might just take offense to some random person digging up plants along their right of way.  I might not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but I am not going to jail for a plant.

“That’s okay,” Cindy told me.  Turns out one of her co-workers was willing to risk arrest and hood ornamentation in order to help her get this plant dug up.  “Just be ready to come post bail if we need you to,” said Angie, the co-worker in question.

Later that day, Cindy came over to my desk at work.  “One of the guys from NDOT was in here a while ago.  I told him I wanted that hollyhock, and he said it’s okay with him if we dig it up.”

“What was his name?” I asked.

“Leonard,” she replied.

“Right,” I said.  “So when some state trooper has you standing up in front of his car along the side of the highway, and he wants to know why you’re digging up the shoulder, you can just tell him Leonard said it’s okay.  That should keep you right out of trouble.”  She pouted a little, and finally gave up on the idea.  The next day Angie came to work with a couple packets of hollyhock seeds she had bought at Wal-Mart, and gave one to Cindy for a consolation prize.  “Now,” they reasoned, “we won’t have to dig up the highway shoulder, and we won’t get hit by cars or go to jail.”

Fast forward to this morning.  We get guys from various state agencies in our office pretty regularly for one thing and another, so I didn’t think much of a guy in an NDOT uniform going over to Cindy’s desk and talking to her briefly.  When he left, she came over to my work area, grinning from ear to ear.  “Go look in the break room,” she told me.

I did, and couldn’t believe my eyes.

That would be a hollyhock plant.

As it happened, the NDOT guy I saw talking to her was none other than the mysterious Leonard from a week ago.  “I was passing by, and decided to stop and dig up the plant,” he told her.  “If I dig it up instead of you, I’m just doing my job.”  Rather than throwing it away with the other weeds, he left it at the back door of our office for her, roots stuck in a bag of dirt.

“I got my hollyhock after all, and didn’t have to go to jail for it,” Cindy told me, laughing.

Looks like I’ve got another hole to dig.