Mirth & Mayhem

A Christmas Travesty ...

2009-12-16T01:14:00.002-05:00

I have endeavored, with a bit of help from Charles Dickens, in this ghostly little tale, to raise the ghost of an idea which shall neither put you out of humor with yourselves - nor with each other - nor hopefully with me - may it haunt your minds delightfully - "God bless you, merry gentlemen! - May nothing you dismay!"

Lamar Beefeater had grown into a begrudgingly, uncharitable young fellow, not to mention already being an accomplished thief, despite his parents Henry and Maude Beefeater's noble efforts to influence the boy to the contrary ... hence, Lamar reckoned that the age-old proverb - "better to give than to receive" - was meant for every living mortal other than he... having therefore settled on that mistaken notion, the egoistic lad eagerly and unabashedly presented his parents with his annual Christmas wish list, afterward intending on taking a trip to the mall for the purpose of completing his Christmas "shoplifting" ... Henry Beefeater quickly glanced at the large piece of paper, Lamar's demands and desires scribbled on both sides, then promptly squeezed it into a tight, crumpled ball before tossing it onto the glowing embers of the open hearth ... he then set about to explain to the bewildered nestling that greed and lack of concern for others had finally caught up with him, and that he was to proceed directly to his bedroom devoid of supper ... Lamar, hurt and humiliated by his father's terse reaction, ran up the stairs to his room slamming the door behind him, then he nosedived headlong onto his squeaky bed to pout ... it wasn't long 'till he began drifting off to sleep, but there were no visions of sugar-plums dancing in his head ... only angry thoughts ... and images of dread!

Lamar had barely commenced to snore when he heard the sound of what he thought was something fiercely struggling within his room, as mucky water splashed all over his favorite patchwork quilt ... he bolted upright just in time to see a tremendous creature, it being nearly six feet in length, with glowering red eyes and a rusty treble hook embedded in it's fat lip ... lying just inside the thing's jutted lower jaw was what appeared to be a huge wad of moldy, waterlogged tobacco ... ol' Lester DooLittle? ... how could that be? ... Lamar's pappy had warned his impressionable son on many an occasion about his hanging around with that mischievous DooLittle boy, mainly because of the habitual delinquent's natural inclination for attracting trouble and embarrassment ... then Lester went and robbed the general store and made off with all that tobacco ... consequently, the penalty for his unreflective transgression was unmediated transfiguration into a slimy sea monster - doomed to swim around out there in some murky lake or ocean - all by his lonesome - for the remainder of his miserable existence ... Lamar rounded up all the courage he could muster, then with quivering lips enquired ... "Lester? ... Lester DooLittle? ... is that you, Lester?" ... the scurfy, writhing figure paused for a moment, then impudently spat a nasty gob of thick, black juice right onto Lamar's handmade quilt and hoarsely replied ... "Yes Lamar Beefeater ... I am indeed Lester DooLittle - your old pal ... first but not last, sent from the briny depths to dissuade you from telling lies and pilfering folks' belongings - lest your end be of similar fate - hopelessly swimming alongside I as your mate!" ... Lamar attempted a meek answer, but mercifully the wretched menace suddenly vanished ... but not before warning of Spirits yet to follow upon the clock's midnight strike ... was it a dream or no? ... eventually Lamar sank into the nether throes of fitful sleep.

Off in the distance, as the pealing bell fell silent ... Lamar was awakened as the curtains on the window cautiously parted revealing a mysterious, transparent form creeping slowly over the sill and onto the floor ... "Are you a Spirit sir, whose coming was foretold me?" asked Lamar ... "I am," whispered a voice so soft and gentle, and singularly low ... "Who, and what are you?" demanded Lamar ... "I am the Ghost Of Christmas Past," it solemnly announced ... "Long past?" added Lamar ... "No, your past," was the reply ... as it spoke, it extended a strong hand clasping Lamar gently by the arm and hauling him from the bed so effortlessly and light - out into the hallway - then down the narrow stairwell to where those he foreknew sat looking much younger this night ... the walls and ceiling were arrayed with living green - where bright, gleaming berries glistened amidst crisp leaves of ivy, holly and mistletoe ... a mighty flame roared up the chimney and out into the chilly air - it's hotness threatening the stockings hung with great care ... in a corner stood a beautiful spruce trimmed with sparkling lamps and shiny ornaments of all sorts - heaped beneath it lay piles of gifts bound together with ribbons and bows ... in the kitchen awaited poultry and great joints of meat - mince-pies - plum-puddings - long wreaths of sausages - barrels of oysters - buckets of red-hot chestnuts - baskets overloaded with cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges and luscious pears - immense twelfth-cakes - and seething bowls of punch filling the bright room with delicious aromas and steam ... on the couch sat Lamar's mother and father gazing proudly at a tiny baby rocking in a cradle at their feet ... "Who's child is that," stammered Lamar ... "Why, that's you," declared the Ghost, as a dull rap irrupted at the door ... "My time has come and gone, and so for you," said the Ghost Of Christmas Past ... the Ghost Of Christmas Present would now like some time with you!"

As Lamar fearfully opened the screeching door, there stood an immense - albeit jolly Giant - with genial face and sparkling eyes - clothed in a simple robe bordered with snowy-white fur - who with cheery voice proclaimed, "I am the Ghost Of Christmas Present sent here to remind you of those less fortunate than thee - and of those so desperately in need - come go with me - and in all take heed" ... suddenly, Lamar found himself surrounded by gifts, while others had none - his stomach bursting with food, as others begged for scraps - nestled in a warm house and dressed in the finest attire, while scores wandered homeless, naked and cold - folks barely surviving in squalor and need, as he went about spoiled and ungrateful - his heart rotten with greed ... then near the Spirit's side stood a gaunt-eyed boy and raggedly-clad girl ... "Who are they?" asked Lamar ... "Why they are you - meet Ignorance and Want," said the rotund Ghost ... "Beware them both!" ... Lamar could stand to see no more and insisted the Spirit return him back where he'd been before ... with a start he was instantly back in his bed ... had it been but a dream chock full of terror and dread, or no? ... or some poor, disturbed souls returned from the dead? ... on he slept again.

Yet another Phantom silently slid 'neath Lamar's chamber door - slowly approaching the foot of his bed - an icy vapor spreading fright and doom - shrouded in darkness - its head and face concealed by misty blackness melding with the night - this frightful form rising to an imposing height ... the Spirit spake not a word as it tapped lightly with invisible fingers on the sleeping boy's bony knee ... the startled youngster bolted upright as if unexpectedly seared by an icicle then cried, "am I in the presence of the Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come?" ... the Spirit answered not a word, just motioned for the terrified lad to follow ... "are you about to show me shadows of things yet to happen, but will happen in time before us?" asked the frightened boy ... the Spectre seemed to so nod ... "then lead on," insisted Lamar ... "the night is rapidly fleeing" ... and at once they were strolling down a quiet lane - when passing before the window of a modest row house - Lamar noticed a group of sobbing children gathered round a sparsely-lit tree - sadly there were no gifts beneath, nary a one - right away Lamar realized that it was he that had stolen those dear babe's hopes and dreams ... then straightaway he and the Shadow were walking amid bustling throngs on a busy avenue - when sitting there precariously on the curb was an elderly and decrepit man - dressed in dirty, threadbare clothes - rags unbefitting the intemperately chilly air - clutched tightly in his cold, shaking hand a rusty tin can with words scrawled down its side which read - "a penny for my thoughts, a nickel for some coffee, a dime for a slice of bread?" - somehow Lamar knew this unfortunate soul was he ... as they continued along the now dimly-lit street ... at their side beneath a tiny Coffee Shoppe's shattered windowpane lay a corpse draped with a bloodied white sheet ... "Who is that?" Lamar asked ... the Phantom was yet to speak, as Lamar watched a kneeling policeman pull back the shroud revealing a lifeless heap sprawled amongst scattered shards of broken glass - to his shock and dismay - that pathetic pile was he - shot dead by that officer as he had attempted to rob that little store - sickened to the core, Lamar now went forth at a quicker pace, only to find himself standing in a most solemn and dreadful place ... brisk wind blew swirls of dried leaves all about the listing, timeworn headstones which marked the final resting place for various and sundry souls ... the lonesome cemetery felt eerily familiar as the Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come led him to the furthest corner - where it pointed out a solitary, unmarked plot ... "and who lies within, sir?" ... but the Ghost had abruptly departed - and Lamar was certain that within that forgotten tomb rested the bones of none other than he ... Lamar began to weep uncontrollably until he thought his entire being would meltdown to nothing other than a lifeless pool of salty tears.

Lamar again heard the knells from the old courthouse clock as he opened his eyes to the gradually dawning light ... had it been but night mares throughout the long night? ... he waited for a few tense moments, but no more Spirits did appear ... he hurriedly dressed - grabbed the money hidden under his mattress - then ran downstairs to greet his mother and father and give them big, warm hugs - his sister and brother too! ... he then loudly exclaimed, "Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! ... I must hurry to town and purchase gifts for one and for all - I've but a day or so afore the Yuletide doth befall" - as he grabbed his coat and ran out the door ... ol' Lamar reckoned it was the best day of his life - buying gifts for family and friends - including food, clothing and toys for those in dire need - dropping cash and coins in every Salvation Army pail - even going out of his way to place his remaining cash into an old man's tin can with words written down its side which read ... "a penny for my thoughts, a nickel for some coffee, a dime for a slice of bread?"

I want to take this opportunity to genuinely wish one and all ... friend and foe alike ... a very "Merry Christmas, and a Happy Holiday Season!" ... I pray that my story has brought you a few moments of enjoyment and laughter, may you have many more ... although written as a provocative parody of Charles Dicken's classic "A Christmas Carol" ... it is fraught with hidden truths relevant to all ...

Above all else, my heart's desire is that all remember the true reason for the season ... "the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us" John 1:14 ... the celebration of the birth of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ...

--sja

Welcome To Walmart! ...

2009-12-03T13:40:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you, but I'm so tired of hearing about those White House "crashers" that I've thought about jettisoning my TV and radio right out the window ... I could care less why Michaele and Tareq Salahi did it, I reckon they're simply of the same ilk as "balloon boy's" parents - media hounds looking for their own reality TV show - or seekers of quick fame and easy fortune any way they can get it ... no my question is, if the couple actually managed to gain access to the White House dinner as "uninvited guests" - how were they able to get past White House staffers and Secret Service security procedures? ... if I were the President, I would be more than a bit hot under the collar ... what if their intent had been to harm the President or others?

If I were the President, and if Michaele and Tareq Salahi were discovered to have broken any law associated with crashing that White House dinner ... they would now be facing criminal charges ... immediately arrested ... forthwith jailed ... prosecuted to the furthest extent of the law ... tried in a court of law ... and if found guilty ... magically transformed from uninvited White House guests to inmates of one of our fine federal correctional facilities ... then provided with free transportation to that facility ... that would be that.

More importantly, if I were the President, and if Michaele and Tariq Salahi did actually manage to maneuver their way past those White House staffers and Secret Service Agents - as it's being reported to the press, and as presented to the public ... I would be extremely concerned with my safety ... so consequently, those White House staffers and Secret Service Agents which allowed the Salahis to slip past them uninvited, would immediately find themselves standing in the unemployment line seeking a career more suitable to their experience, ability and skill ... maybe some of them could become Border Patrol Agents - they are required to deal with countless "uninvited guests" on a daily basis ... or how about this ... some could hire on as Walmart greeters .... I can hear it now -- "Attention Walmart shoppers -- please welcome the Salahis!"

*Comments please --sja

Shots Fired! ...

2009-11-29T18:30:00.000-05:00

Ever since Grandpa DooLittle swilled too much hard apple cider, which triggered his frightening run in with the Devil out in the barn, Grandpa decided to move his remaining supply of cider and a fresh batch of homemade elderberry wine into Luther DooLittle's barn for safe storage ... and for safer sippin' ... and he reckoned he had the perfect plan for doing just that ... Grandpa had recently sold a truckload of hay to Luther, and planned on hauling it over to Luther's place on his old, barely road-worthy flatbed truck, which he had already loaded beyond capacity with hay ... just beneath the wooden bed of the truck, between the metal frame and the exhaust pipes, were hidden two stone jugs containing what was left of the hard apple cider, along with twenty-two, one-gallon plastic milk jugs filled with the homemade wine ... Grandpa DooLittle knew that Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter would be lurking somewhere alongside the highway near the foot of the long grade that wound up the side of Snipe Mountain, usually hidden behind the big Sunbeam Bread billboard ... motorists would either coast downhill too fast, or try to get a running start uphill, so it was Sheriff Clarence's favorite spot for a speed trap ... more importantly, Grandpa didn't want Grandma DooLittle to know anything about the transfer of the spirits, she thought Grandpa had sworn off drinking and dumped everything he had into the trough with the hogs' slop ... so the old man waited until sunset, and departed under cover of darkness.

It was an uneventful trip as Grandpa motored along careful not to exceed the posted speed limit or make any illegal maneuvers with the unsteady old truck ... as he neared the base of Snipe Mountain he thought about building up some speed to make it easier to climb the grade, but the overloaded, vintage machine wasn't capable of such, not with that heavy load of hay even if he'd tried, so Grandpa downshifted a couple of gears lower and let the truck grind up the hill at its own pace ... with no sign of Sheriff VanMeter anywhere ....... until Grandpa heard the screaming siren and saw the flashing blue lights behind him ... he wondered why in blue blazes the Sheriff would be stopping him, he couldn't think of any immediate laws that had been broken ... then he remembered ... the truck's taillights ... they never had worked! ... so Grandpa pulled to the side of the road, knocked the truck out of gear, set the parking brake and waited as the Sheriff's big V8 pulled up behind him.

Well, Sheriff VanMeter climbed out of his car and slowly approached Grandpa's truck, ticket book in hand ... the Sheriff had known Grandpa all his life, and intended on letting him off with just a warning ... just as Clarence walked up even with the rear of the truck -- one of those plastic jugs filled with wine, which had heated up and expanded due to the tremendous heat from the truck's exhaust pipes, along with the natural fermentation process -- exploded! ... BOOOOOOOMM! ... ol' Clarence ran back to his car, grabbed the mic from his antiquated Motorola police radio and yelled "Shots fired! ... Shots fired!! ... Bring help!!! ... then he pulled his pistol and took cover by belly-flopping right there on the ground beside of his car ... he couldn't imagine why in the world Grandpa DooLittle would be shooting at him like that ... over taillights that never had worked! ... then those other jugs started popping ... Booom! .. booom! ... boom booom booooomm!!!

Grandpa DooLittle couldn't imagine why on earth Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter would be shooting at him like that either ... over taillights that never had worked! ... so he sprawled out across the seat and took cover ... BOOOOOOM! .. BOOOOOOOMM!! ... BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!! ... now Sheriff VanMeter's only Deputy, and first cousin Cletus A. VanMeter had heard the Sheriff's broadcast over his two-way radio, but those army surplus radios had always been hard to hear and transmitted more static than anything else rendering them nearly useless ... so Deputy Cletus had misunderstood, and thought the Sheriff had said that he was "Hungry and tired! ... Hungry and tired!! ... Bring lunch!!! ... so Cletus had taken his good ol' time getting there with cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes he'd picked up from the diner on the way.

In the meantime, after all twenty-two plastic jugs had finished emptying their contents onto the side of the highway, a steady stream of warm, red elderberry wine had oozed down the shoulder of the road and drenched Sheriff VanMeter who had been lying there on the ground during the "shootout" ... when Clarence realized that he was lying in a pool of warm liquid, he switched on his flashlight to discover that it was a bright red, warm substance, well he thought he had been shot and forthwith passed out! ... when Deputy Sheriff Cletus A. VanMeter finally arrived on the scene with the burgers and shakes in hand, he found Grandpa DooLittle shaking like a leaf and slumped across the seat of his truck ... twenty-two empty plastic jugs along with a pool of fresh homemade elderberry wine spilled all over the side of the road ... and most shockingly unbelievable was the sight of his cousin and boss Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter lying there face down on the ground drenched in elderberry wine ... and passed out cold! ... Cletus shook the daylights out of ol' Clarence in an attempt to wake him from his stupor, but the Sheriff appeared to be skidded beyond repair ... Cletus stood up, peered down at one of the most upstanding and respected men in the entire county then said ... "Clarence A. VanMeter ... you might be my cousin and the High Sheriff ... it's no great surprise that Grandpa DooLittle is lying over there three sheets to the wind ... but you ought to be ashamed of yourself ... drinkin' on the job like that ... you're a lawman for cryin' out loud!"

--sja

Lamar Goes Green ...

2009-11-27T17:00:00.000-05:00

I've often told of the many overtly hapless inventions of one extremely innovative young man by the name of Lamar Beefeater ... such as the time he and Lester DooLittle blew the roof clean off Henry Beefeater's corncrib ... consequently, Henry had sternly advised the boys that they would be responsible for the cost of material and labor for the repair and/or restoration of that entire roof, and demanded that work commence at once ... more pressing was the prerequisite that the job be completed within two days, or else ... it was "or else" that had Lamar and Lester more than a bit concerned for their immediate bodily safety and future well-being ... anyhow, those boys gave it their best shot, but by noon of the second day, realization that they were no where close to completing the job within the prescribed time frame began to simmer in their young minds ... along with desperation, which was nearly at the boiling point ... Lamar had to think of a way to speed things up and get that roof done, and fast ... if they just had one of those fancy pneumatic nail guns like real carpenters use, they just might be able to pull it off ... but they didn't have one of those fancy pneumatic nail guns ... so Lamar decided to invent one ... he went in the house and retrieved his daddy's prized Winchester Supreme Field double-barreled, over and under 12-gauge shotgun ... took two 3-inch magnum shells loaded with buckshot, pried open the ends of those shells and emptied out the buckshot onto the ground ... he then inserted those 2 shells still loaded with gunpowder into the chambers of that big shotgun and slammed it shut ... then he took a box of galvanized roofing nails and dumped the entire boxful down its cannon-sized barrels ... he then yelled up to Lester DooLittle, who was perched precariously at the top of a wooden extension ladder which was leaning against the edge of the roof ... "now hold that sheet of metal roofin' real steady while I nail'er in place" ... before Lester had time to declare any protestations, Lamar raised the old Winchester and squeezed both triggers ... I reckon you fellers don't need me to go any further with this story ... but I will say that it took the fire department and paramedics nearly an hour to pry ol' Lester off the side of that corncrib ... both boys would have been much better off had they simply settled for Henry Beefeater's "or else" ...

That brings me to this ... Lamar's latest brainstorm ... the windmill ... Lamar informed his daddy how he had been hearing all these discussions about global warming, destruction of the ozone layer and overall polluting of the environment worldwide ... so he had settled on the conclusion that he should do his part to help conserve our non-renewable natural resources, and produce sustainable free and clean energy, thus saving the planet from total and utter destruction ... Lamar Beefeater was going green! ... he had engineered a grand plan to construct a big windmill just adjacent to the barn for the purpose of producing enough energy to power all the lights and small electrical appliances in the entire neighborhood ... at first, Henry Beefeater had his doubts, but thought maybe his son just might be onto something positive and productive for a change, so he granted Lamar permission to proceed with the project ... and with the reluctant assistance of his friends Lester DooLittle and little Ansel Poteet, Lamar worked nearly day and night for 2 straight weeks before finally finishing the 30-foot-tall behemoth, and was now ready to reveal the contraption to anxious neighbors ... and to his daddy Henry ... so Lamar had everybody gather round his newly constructed apparatus while Henry Beefeater just stood there staring up at its huge green blades -- blades which were not moving ... then Henry asked ... "so Lamar, how much wind does it take before those blades turn enough to produce electricity?" ... with a wounded look on his weary face Lamar replied ... "what do you think I am, stupid? ... I've got that figured out too ... if the wind can't turn those blades, this will! ... just take a look inside the barn" ... as he proudly flung open the barn doors to reveal a 1000 gallon capacity diesel fuel storage tank, which he had painted green, and a 600 horsepower Caterpillar diesel engine, also painted green, with green wires and green gearboxes and green rods and green axles and green pulleys all of which were running out the side of the barn all the way and connected to ... the green windmill ... in his own unique way, Lamar had sincerely gone green! ...

--sja

Pardon Me Please? ... A Turkey's Tale ...

2009-11-25T13:29:00.000-05:00

Thomas T. "Tommy" Turkey here ... I'm gonna cut right to the chase ... a while back, that whinin' complainer Jack O' Lantern was cryin' the blues about how punkins are murdered and mistreated in the precedin' days leadin' up to and includin' Halloween ... well Jack ought to try livin' the life and dyin' the death of an American turkey ... then Jack would have somethin' to complain about ... we turkeys endure mistreatment and mayhem year round, not just durin' the holidays ... we get no respect even though we been around as long as those punkins have ... we was livin' here in America long before Columbus and them Pilgrims landed on that rock and discovered America ... that's when the trouble began ... when them Pilgrims showed them Native Indians how to prepare us turkeys, along with some dressin' and gravy in exchange for some sweet taters and corn, life was never again the same for the American turkey ... I reckon that feast was necessary to prevent those Indians from scalpin' those Pilgrims, and to prevent those Pilgrims from shootin' those Indians, I ain't really sure ... but us turkeys got the short end of that stick! ...

Are you aware that at one time us turkeys and those bald eagles was both considered as America's national symbols? ... back then, Benjamin Franklin was really pullin' for us turkeys ... he thought even though we was silly and vain, we was a better choice for the national symbol than those "cowardly" bald eagles ... well I think so too ... them Pilgrims and them Native Indians could just as easily have had roasted bald eagle for that Thanksgivin' feast, along with bald eagle dressin' and bald eagle gravy ... and so should you people ... besides, those bald eagles are much better lookin' than us turkeys ... not as dry and probably tastier too ... each year durin' Thanksgiven' alone, nearly 50 million of us birds are murdered, cooked and consumed ... and another 250 million of us meet with the very same fate durin' the rest of the year ... a travesty indeed ...

Each year since 1947, the National Turkey Federation and the Poultry and Egg National Board have given one of us turkeys to the President of the United States at a White House ceremony ... since then, presidents have been more likely to eat us rather than grant a reprieve ... one notable exception occurred in 1963, when President Kennedy, referring to the turkey given to him, said, "Let's just keep him" ... it wasn't until the first Thanksgivin' of President George H.W. Bush, in 1989, that a turkey was officially pardoned for the first time ...

Presidents Bill "Slick Willy" Clinton and George "Dubya" Bush have continued the turkey pardons begun under the first ol' Bush ... some confusion about the true origin of this practice has crept into recent presidential speeches ... one story claims that Harry Truman pardoned a turkey called "Veep" given to him in 1947, but the Truman Library has been unable to find any evidence of this ... another story claims the tradition dates back to Abraham Lincoln pardoning his son Tad's pet turkey "Hannibal" ... what's certain is that since 1989 a turkey -- and its alternate -- have been pardoned each year ... an alternate is chosen just in case the first bird is unable to perform its duties, as if that's going to happen! ... for fifteen years through 2004, the pardoned turkeys were given to Kidwell Farm, a petting zoo at Frying Pan Park in Herndon, Virginia ... those fortunate turkeys would receive a last minute pardon before arriving, and were then led to their new home at the Turkey Barn after enduring a turkey "roast" full of poultry humor and history ... in 2005 and 2006, however, the turkeys were flown to Disneyland in California where they served as honorary grand marshals for Disneyland's Thanksgivin' Day parade ... after that, they spent the rest of their lives at a Disneyland ranch ... a spot in sunny Disneyland seems immensely preferable to a place called Frying Pan Park if you happen to be one of us turkeys who has just escaped from becoming the main course of somebody's Thanksgivin' feast! ...

On Wednesday, November 26, 2008, President Bush gave two of my cousins, "Pumpkin" and "Pecan," a last-minute reprieve ... they both hailed from Ellsworth, Iowa, and were raised under the most pleasant of environments ... back then, the American public was allowed to vote for their favorite turkeys on the White House web site ... durin' 2007, my uncle "May" and aunt "Flower" were both spared ... in 2006, grandpa "Flyer" and grandma "Fryer" escaped the roasting pot ... back in 2005 my sister "Marshmallow" and my brother "Yam" were permitted to see many more sunrises ... and way back durin' 2004, both of my parents, "Biscuit" and "Gravy" were sent back to the roost ... we sure have been a lucky family ...

So, Mister President, durin' this upcomin' Thanksgivin' season ... don't you think it's about time for some real "Change!?" ... let my people go! ... grant a presidential pardon to all of us turkeys!! ... and especially -- pardon me -- please?? ... gobble! - gobble! ... gobble! - gobble!! - gobble!!! ...

UPDATE: Tommy Turkey loses bid for last-minute Thanksgiving pardon - his cousins "Courage" and "Carolina" were mercifully selected instead - may Tommy baste in peace!

--sja

Abraham Lincoln's Proclamation Of Thanksgiving ...

2009-11-24T15:38:00.000-05:00

According to most historical records, the first American Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1621 to commemorate the bountiful autumn harvest gathered by the Plymouth Colony after an extremely harsh winter ... in that same year, Governor William Bradford proclaimed a day of thanksgiving ... the colonists celebrated this day as a traditional English feast, to which they invited the local Wampanoag Indians ... days of thanksgiving were celebrated throughout the colonies after fall harvests ... all thirteen colonies did not, however, observe Thanksgiving at the same time until October 1777 ... George Washington was the first president to declare the holiday in 1789.

We are all familiar with the Thanksgiving holiday as being a time for family, friends and feasts -- but we can easily forget the meaning of this national holiday as it was first established by President George Washington on October 3, 1789, and reaffirmed as we know it today by President Abraham Lincoln on October 3, 1863, exactly 74 years later ... a mere glance at their Thanksgiving proclamations reminds us of the noblest purposes of government ... moreover, the simplest meaning of Thanksgiving reminds us - contrary to secularist courts and professors - that these presidents were proclaiming a holy day, a day for prayer and recognition of Almighty God's authority over man ... a day for acknowledgment of our many transgressions ... a day of praise and thanksgiving to our Creator for His gracious gifts of mercy, forgiveness and abundance of blessings toward all mankind ... please read carefully President Lincoln's following proclamation, for within this historic text lies the true essence of Thanksgiving ...

Washington, D.C.

October 3, 1863

By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards it's close , has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of such extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict, while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverences and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hands to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the United States the Eighty-eight.

By the President Abraham Lincoln

William H. Seward,
Secretary of State

The above is the proclamation which set the precedent for America's national day of Thanksgiving ... during his administration, President Lincoln issued many orders such as this ... for example, on November 28, 1861, he ordered government departments closed for a local day of thanksgiving.

Sarah Josepha Hale, a prominent magazine editor, wrote a letter to Lincoln in 1863, urging him to have the "day of our annual Thanksgiving made a National and fixed Union festival" ... she wrote, "You may have observed that, for some years past, there has been an increasing interest felt in our land to have the Thanksgiving held on the same day, in all the States; it now needs National recognition and authoritive fixation, only, to become permanently, an American custom and institution" -- this document sets apart the last Thursday of November "as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise."

According to an April 1, 1864, letter from John Nicolay, one of President Lincoln's secretaries, this document was written by Secretary of State William Seward, and the original was in his handwriting ... on October 3, 1863, fellow Cabinet member Gideon Welles recorded in his diary that he complimented Seward on his work ... a year later, the manuscript was sold to benefit Union troops.

*Proclamation text and other information taken from Abraham Lincoln Online --sja

End Of Innocence ...

2009-11-18T15:11:00.000-05:00

Unpredictable winds of change were swirling that sunny November day in 1963 as America's most glimmering flame of promise and hope was suddenly and unexpectedly extinguished ... sounds of gunshots echoed across Dealey Plaza, then round the world sending waves of shock and sorrow throughout the hearts of a stunned nation ... those who witnessed the terrible events of that day will never forget the moment they heard the unthinkable ... "President Kennedy is dead!" ... words forever seared into our national consciousness ... President John Fitzgerald Kennedy (1917-1963) was killed by an assassin's bullet as his motorcade wound through the streets of Dallas, Texas - he had barely completed his first one thousand days in office ... our noble hero was gone ... our hope became uncertainty ... our joy turned to sadness and grief ... our hearts forever broken ... it was the end of innocence.

John Kennedy was the youngest man ever elected President of the United States - he was also the youngest to die ... of Irish descent, he was born in Brookline, Massachusetts, May 29, 1917 ... after graduating from Harvard in 1940, he entered the U.S. Navy ... in 1943, while commanding a PT boat (PT-109) in the Pacific Theater during World War II, his boat was rammed and sunk by a Japanese destroyer ... Kennedy, despite grave injuries, led the survivors through perilous waters to safety ... for his bravery, he was awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal.

Back from the war, John Kennedy became a Democratic Congressman from the Boston area, advancing in 1953 to the Senate ... he married Jacqueline Lee Bouvier on September 12, 1953 ... in 1955, while recuperating from back surgery, he wrote Profiles in Courage, which won the Pulitzer Prize in history ... in 1956, Kennedy nearly gained the Democratic nomination for Vice President, and four years later was a first-ballot nominee for President ... winning by a narrow margin in the popular vote, Kennedy was the first Roman Catholic to become President of the United States.

Kennedy's Inaugural Address offered this memorable injunction -- "Ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your country" -- as President, he took vigorous action in the cause of equal rights, calling for new civil rights legislation ... his vision of America extended to the quality of the national culture and the central role of the arts in a vital society ... he wished America to resume it's old mission as the first nation dedicated to the revolution of human rights ... with the Alliance for Progress and the Peace Corps, he brought American idealism to the aid of developing nations ... before his untimely death, he laid plans for a massive assault on persisting pockets of privation and poverty.

As with any great leader, John Kennedy also had flaws and failures ... his most glaring occurring in April 1961 ... known as the Bay of Pigs Invasion, Kennedy permitted a group of armed and trained Cuban exiles to invade their homeland in an attempt to overthrow the regime of Fidel Castro ... this event became a disaster and an embarrassment for the young President ... soon thereafter, the Soviet Union renewed it's campaign against West Berlin ... however, Kennedy also displayed unfaltering creativity, courage and resolve, and decisively responded to the Soviets by reinforcing the Berlin garrison, and increased American military strength, including new efforts in outer space ... confronted by this reaction, Moscow, after the erection of the Berlin Wall, relaxed it's pressure in central Europe.

President Kennedy's most shining hour came in October 1962 ... discovered by air reconnaissance, the Russians were seeking to install nuclear missiles in Cuba just 90 miles from the coast of Florida ... enforced by a naval blockade, Kennedy imposed a quarantine on all offensive weapons bound for Cuba ... while the world trembled on the brink of nuclear war, the Soviets, under the direction of Nikita Khrushchev, backed down and agreed to take the missiles away, total global annihilation of all humankind had been averted ... Kennedy then contended that both sides had a vital interest in stopping the proliferation of nuclear weapons and slowing the arms race - a contention which led to the test ban treaty of 1963 ... the months that followed the Cuban Missile Crisis showed significant progress toward his goal of "a world of law and free choice, banishing the world of war and coercion." ... his administration saw the beginning of new hope for both equal rights of Americans and the peace of the entire world, but dark days lurked just beyond the horizon.

I will always remember the moment, when as a small boy, Walter Cronkite "the most trusted man in America" announced that President Kennedy had been shot while in Dallas, Texas ... then minutes later, Cronkite, his familiar voice breaking delivered the dreadful news to the anxious throngs that our President was dead ... the entire country languished in stunned silence and disbelief ... the President of the United States of America ... the most powerful nation on earth ... the leader of the free world ... gunned down in broad daylight ... like an animal ... in the middle of a public street before the gaping eyes of the entire world.

During the ensuing days, as America sat in a state of darkness and mourning, and as our slain prince was carried to his final resting place, many images and impressions were indelibly etched into my young psyche ... images of the President being struck by the assassin's bullets ... Jacqueline climbing onto the trunk of the presidential limousine in an effort to retrieve bits and pieces of her husband's skull which had been blown away by the gunshot ... her pink dress drenched with his blood from her attempts to protect him from further harm and conceal his grave injuries ... Vice President Lyndon Baines Johnson being sworn in as thirty-sixth President of the United States while standing beside Jacqueline Kennedy aboard Air Force One - which also contained her husband's body ... Jack Ruby gunning down Kennedy's alleged assassin Lee Harvey Oswald on live TV as he was being led from Dallas Police Headquarters en route to the county jail ... and a host of others.

Finally, the seemingly endless days involving the pageantry surrounding the fallen President's state funeral, which was patterned after that of Abraham Lincoln, came to a close ... the entire procession from the White House, to the Capitol, to St. Matthew's Cathedral, to Arlington National Cemetery was six miles ... an estimated one million people lined the route ... diplomats and heads of state from around the globe were in attendance, along with Kennedy's family members and close friends, all of whom stood with blank and empty expressions on their haggard faces ... the clopping of the horses' hooves striking the pavement as they proudly drew the caisson bearing the President's bier, haunting cries of bagpipes wailing in the distance and the steady cadence of muffled drum rolls which accompanied the cortege were particularly poignant and memorable ... perhaps the most heartrending moment took place on the steps outside St. Matthew's Cathedral as Jackie leaned over and whispered to little John-John ... who then smart and crisp ... proudly saluted his father's departing coffin ... the President was finally laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery, and at the end of the burial service, a soldier handed Jacqueline a lighted taper with which she lit the John F. Kennedy Eternal Flame ... the presidential memorial was inspired by the eternal flame at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, which she and her husband had seen during a visit to France in 1961, and/or took inspiration from The Candle in the Wind of Arthurian legend and the Broadway play "Camelot."

Scarce are words yet to be uttered as to this tragic and unspeakable act that graved a deep and painful scar on the furrowed brow of American history ... it matters not whether you agreed with Kennedy's political philosophies or religious beliefs ... it matters not whether you personally liked the man or the Kennedy family ... John Fitzgerald Kennedy was first and foremost a human being ... no human being deserves to be openly ambushed and slaughtered in such an inhuman manner ... John Kennedy, along with his brother Robert Francis (Bobby) Kennedy (1925-1968), who was also killed by an assassin's bullet on June 5, 1968 while campaigning for the Democratic nomination for President, both gave the ultimate sacrifice in service to their country ... it matters not whether you loved them or hated them, both deserve the utmost in honor and respect ... I often wonder what great accomplishments could have been made had Joseph and Rose's ennoble son - Jackie's beloved husband - Arabella, Caroline, John Jr. and Patrick's dear father - and America's most shining ray of hope and promise for a brighter future had not been swiftly robbed of his life ... other equally abominable and immoral acts have taken place since the disgraceful, public execution of our young prince - sadly, these acts are now often looked upon as being commonplace ... but the killing of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was the beginning of the end of innocence.

"He didn't even have the satisfaction of being killed for civil rights .... it had to be some silly little Communist" --Jacqueline Kennedy ... on hearing that a leftist had been arrested for her husband's murder.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:

I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be forever: nothing can be put to it, nor anything taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before Him --Ecclesiastes 3 ...

*Biographical information supplied by the U.S National Archives --sja

Dancin' With The Devil! ...

2009-11-14T18:33:00.000-05:00

Grandpa and Grandma DooLittle had just finished eating supper, so while Grandma was busy cleaning up the mess, Grandpa decided to ease on out to the barn and "sample" a bit of his homemade, hard apple cider that he kept hidden between a big pile of straw and stacks of baled hay ... he found one of his jugs, removed the cork and drizzled a stream of the delicious concoction onto his eager taste buds and down his gullet ... "across my teeth and past my gums, look out belly here it comes!" ... oh that stuff was good, and the more he "sampled" it the better it tasted, no sense stopping now ... so before Grandpa realized it, he was starting to feel his oats ... his ears began to ring ... his face heated up, and sweat began popping out all over his body 'till his clothes were drenched ... his eyes got blurry and his head went "round the bend" ... so he corked up his jug and sat down for a little spell.

The next thing Grandpa knew, an enormous, dark figure stood before him as pitch black as midnight at the height of a new moon ... his sinister eyes glowing like hot coals in a raging blast furnace ... long, pointed tail ... sharp, curved horns protruding from his wrinkled forehead ... a sizzling poker in one hand, a four-pronged pitchfork in the other ... when he spoke, a thick vapor of vile smoke spewed into the evening air ... "Old man! ... Old man!! ... why are you drinking from my jug?" ... poor ol' Grandpa DooLittle was nearly speechless, but managed to ask the beast his name ... "Why I'm Lucifer! ... and you've been sipping from my jug ... you owe me old man ... and now you must pay!" ... "but how?" begged Grandpa as the Devil roared in hideous laughter ... "Why you'll dance with me old man, you'll barn dance ...and if you don't dance, and dance well ... you'll go with me, you'll go with me back to Hell! ... now rise to your feet, and follow along!"

Grandpa slowly stood up and began to dance as best he could, and as Lucifer called out the dance he took turns poking the piteous, old drunkard in the gut with that blistering poker and cracking him over the head with the pitchfork handle ... "dance old man ... faster, dance faster ... if you want to avoid your fate, get yourself straight ... better not wait, best not be late ...swing your partner, swing me hard ... allemande left in your own barnyard ... right and left all around that hay ... meet your partner, meet me halfway ... keep on dancin' 'till the break of day ... swing that jug way up high,swing that jug way down low ... now turn that jug loose, and I'll let you go! ... now you're straight ... you're free to go and do-si-do ... stay out of my jug ... if you want to stay out of my Hell! ... Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaa!!!"

Grandpa DooLittle woke up lying face down in the middle of that big heap of straw shaking all over like a leaf in a wind storm, still clutching his now empty cider jug in his trembling hand ... his head was throbbing something awful, and his stomach burned like fire ... he sat up and looked all around, then cautiously called out "Lucifer ... where are you Lucifer?" ... but there was no reply ... nobody else was there ... just Bessie the milk cow chewing her cud as she stared at him in a state of wonderment ... as soon as Grandpa was certain Satan had gone, he sprang to his feet, slammed that jug against his big iron anvil shattering it to pieces, then ran like a scalded rabbit toward the house ... by this time Grandma DooLittle had gone to bed, knowing that Grandpa was most likely outside sipping on those spirits ... he tried to sneak into the bedroom, but Grandma was wide awake and waiting for him as usual ... "where've you been old man, you've been gone for hours?" she inquired ... "oh, I just went for a walk out by the barn, that good supper made be sleepy, so I took me a nap in the hay" he said ... Grandma knew all the while where he'd been and what he'd been doing and so replied "Sure you did! ... but if you don't quit your lying, and stop drinking that cider ... one day you'll end up dancin' with the Devil!"

--sja

The Forgotten Days ...

2009-11-12T11:39:00.000-05:00

The young man walking along the garbage-strewn street one cold and windy day came upon a homeless man sitting in a wheelchair near the entrance to a crowded cafe ... a tattered American flag crudely attached to his chair and a plastic bucket with the words "homeless veteran - help please!" wedged between his crippled knees compelled the passerby to drop a few dollars in ... "God bless you young man" said the grateful veteran with forced smile, ragged clothes, unkempt beard and hair, and tired, empty eyes ... the curious lad then unsure of what to say exclaimed, "Sir, I bet you've experienced some horrible things in your day" ... deep furrows tightened on the old soldier's leathery brow as he hesitantly replied, "Yes I certainly have ... but nobody wants to hear that stuff ... nobody really cares" ... feeling obligated to listen, the young man urged him go ahead ... so the old man cleared his throat and began ...

"Well I've seen men, women and children die in the cruelest of ways ...shot, stabbed, butchered, lynched and burned alive ... or blown apart, tortured and raped, innocent little babies too ... I've heard their screams in the night as they've suffered and died ... I've seen scores lank and frail from hunger and thirst, having no shelter or place to go, naked and shivering from cold and from fright ... I've seen dead bodies left lying beneath bridges and beside of the road ... helpless children abused by the heartless ... the elderly, the sick and the powerless sitting abandoned, hopeless and alone ...and I too have experienced pain, hunger and cold, spending countless nights outside, lonely, sad and afraid ... I've seen hatred, indifference and wickedness swelling in the hearts of men ... yes, I reckon I have seen some shameful and inhuman things" ... then asked the young man, now speechless and dismayed, "that's terrible Sir, on what faraway battlefield did you see all those horrible things?" ... the old veteran just slowly shook his head then said, "oh no son, you don't understand ... it all happened right here in our own homeland!" ...

One day a year on Veteran's Day, we honor those distinguished souls who have bravely and selflessly served our country ... let us not forget about them during the other 364 days ... according to the National Coalition for Homeless Veterans, an estimated 130,000 to 200,000 veterans are homeless on any given night in this great country, with twice that many experiencing homelessness over the course of a year, comprising 25% of all homeless people in America ... many factors affect all homelessness such as shortages of affordable housing, livable income and access to health care ... veterans are impacted to a further degree from lingering effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and substance abuse, compounded by a lack of family and social support networks ... the Department of Veterans Affairs has made some progress in helping our veterans, but it is far from being enough ... there are steps we can all take to make sure veterans are adequately taken care of -- determine the needs in your community -- involve others -- participate in local homeless coalitions -- send a financial donation -- and contact your elected officials.

By all means, if you encounter a homeless veteran who needs a helping hand, please give it ... do whatever is necessary within your means to assist these precious people ... express your appreciation for their sacrifice and dedicated service, let them know that you are genuinely concerned about their welfare, and that you respect and support them ... if there were but one needy or homeless veteran left on our streets without adequate shelter, food, clothing or medical care... that one is one too many! ... it's a shame and a disgrace for any loyal veteran to endure such demeaning treatment from the nation they helped to protect and preserve ... we hear this plea nearly every day ... "God bless America" ... well God has blessed America ... I wonder what goes through the mind of God when he sees a homeless veteran, young or old sitting near a busy thoroughfare ... flag proudly waving in the chilly air ... ragged clothes ... unkempt beard and hair ... forced smile and tired, empty stare ... with no place to go ... asking passersby for help ... hungry, tired and confused ... in the midst of a land as blessed as America? ...

"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God" --Matthew 5:9

--sja

Time Honored ...

2009-11-09T23:01:00.000-05:00

Veterans Day, usually observed on November 11, is a legal federal holiday on which we honor those who have served in the armed forces of the United States. The observation was originally designated in 1919 by President Woodrow Wilson as Armistice Day. Wilson selected November 11 because the Armistice ending World War I had been signed on this date in 1918. Wilson wanted to make sure that Americans did not forget the tragedies of the war. In 1938, Congress passed legislation which designated Armistice Day as a federal holiday. The name was changed to Veterans Day in 1954 so that all veterans would be honored. For a brief period (1971-1977), the holiday was celebrated on the fourth Monday in October. On Veterans Day, special services take place at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery and all across the United States.

Of those deserving of honor on this day, one man in particular merits special recognition ... 108-year-old Frank Woodruff Buckles, the last known living American-born veteran of World War I ... born in Harrison County, Missouri in 1901, and raised in Oklahoma, Buckles visited a string of military recruiters after the United States entered the "war to end all wars" in April 1917 ... an underage but eager recruit, he was rejected by the Marines and by the Navy, but after eventually persuading an Army captain that he was 18-years-of-age, and that Missouri did not keep public records of birth, he was permitted to enlist ... Buckles subsequently sailed for England in 1917 aboard the Carpathia, which is known for it's rescue of Titanic survivors, and spent his tour of duty working mainly as a diver and a warehouse clerk in Germany and France ... he rose to rank of corporal, and after Armistice Day he helped return prisoners of war to Germany ... he drove motorcycles, cars, and ambulances in England and France, and during the Occupation, he guarded German prisoners ... Buckles eventually went to work for the White Star steamship line and was in Manila on business in December 1941 when the Japanese invaded ... he spent over three years as a prisoner of war at the city's University of Santo Tomas.

Frank Buckles, who now resides in Charles Town, West Virginia, has been an invited guest at the Pentagon, met with President Bush in Washington, D.C. and rode in the annual Armed Forces Day Parade in his home state since his status as one of the last living from the "Great War" was discovered nearly three years ago ... in 2008, his photograph was hung in the main hallway of the National World War I Museum, which he toured for the first time, and the Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States presented him with the Gold Medal of Merit ... federal officials have also arranged for his eventual burial at Arlington National Cemetery ... "I had a feeling of longevity and that I might be among those who survived, but I didn't know I'd be the No. 1" ... --Frank Buckles

A word from Frank Buckles ...

Dear Fellow Patriot:

Thank-you for your interest in my story as America's last World War One Survivor. I appreciate your thoughts and prayers and am humbled to be the representative of nearly 5 million Americans who served with me.

92 years ago I was stationed in France to serve the United States of America when I heard the news that the war had ended. 92 years have passed and there is still not a memorial to our service in our nations capitol- Washington, DC.

4,734,991 Americans served and 116,561 Americans died during WWI. It is my last hope and my desire that there will be a monument in Washington DC so that our sacrifice will not be forgotten. If you wish to thank me please write your congressmen and ask them to support HR 482 by Congressmen Ted Poe. For more information and to sign the petition, please visit www.wwimemorial.org

Patriotically yours,

Frank Woodruff Buckles

A special thank you to all veterans for their dedicated and loyal service to America --sja

Leon Takes The Fall ...

2009-11-04T14:54:00.000-05:00

Ol' Blue's hapless escapade in the story "Sloughfoot's Ghost" brings to memory yet another calamitous incident involving a canine, Lester DooLittle's own Redbone coonhound called Leon ... with Lester DooLittle's Redbone ... his Mama Mamie's white poodle ... and Grandpa DooLittle's Bluetick ... the DooLittle clan appeared to be one of the most patriotic families in the county ... anyhow, Lester borrowed his daddy's old Dodge pickup truck, reason being that he and Lamar Beefeater were going to haul a load of firewood to the Widow VanMeter's place on the other side of town, but in actuality the boys were going to transport 10 gallons of the widow's homemade "tonic," hide it in the root cellar behind Lamar's house ... then just sip on it occasionally ... so Lester boosted Leon up into the cab of the truck, then he climbed in, slid beneath the wheel, and off to Lamar's place they sped ... after picking up Lamar, the trio proceeded to the Widow VanMeter's house and acquired the tonic, then they headed back toward town -- sipping all the way!

Needless to say, by the time the boys made it back to the Beefeater's root cellar to hide what was left of their cargo, they were really feeling their oats -- and the affects of all that "greased lightning" they'd been drinking ... well Lester reckoned he should get back to the house forthwith with his daddy's truck, which was probably a good idea, in theory ... however, Lester's sense of time and space as it related to his position in the universe was playing tricks on him as he weaved back and forth up the road as fast and as hard as that tired Dodge truck would allow ... unfortunately, none of this went unnoticed by the Widow VanMeter's nephew, Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter, who was hidden as usual behind a huge billboard at the edge of the highway which advertised Sunbeam enriched bread.

Now Clarence was a fairly proficient sheriff, as sheriffs go ... however, Clarence A. VanMeter was nearly as blind as a bat, and wore glasses with lenses as thick as the bottoms of glass Coke bottles ... consequently, Sheriff VanMeter was only able to determine that it was the DooLittle's rattletrap of a truck that had raced past him nearly peeling the big gold star from off the door of his police car, but he wasn't able to see who the driver was ... but Sheriff Clarence A. VanMeter was now officially in hot pursuit! ... now it was just getting dark, and Lester could see the flashing blue lights behind him in his rear view mirrors, and could hear the shrill siren's mournful cry ... the pursuer and the pursued both had their respective peddles to the metal, but the sheriff's big V8 was beginning to close the gap between he and Lester ... luckily, at that moment, Lester turned off the paved highway onto the dirt road leading home, leaving Sheriff VanMeter in a cloud of choking, thick dust ... Lester slid the overheating, straining Dodge through the gate and onto the DooLittle lawn ... then jumped out, slammed the door shut behind him and ran toward the house to hide.

All the while, poor Leon the Redbone coonhound had been lying on the floorboard of the truck scared nearly out of his wits ... when Lester bailed out, he had forgotten all about his closest friend and prized huntin' dog, now trapped inside the cab of the truck ... I think you already know the rest of the story ... but for those who may not ... after the dust had settled and the sheriff had regained his regular composure, along with a smidgen of sight, he flew up that road and skidded to a halt right up against the bumper of the previously fleeing suspect vehicle ... then quickly jumped out to effect an arrest ... by this time, Lester's daddy had interpreted what was taking place, and had already apprehended Lester by the back of the neck, angrily jostling the intoxicated, stumbling young man along in the direction of the sheriff's flashing blue lights ... just as proud father and wayward son approached Sheriff VanMeter, who was now standing just outside the cab of the truck, Lester's daddy heard the sheriff say ... "and boy, it's a doggone good thing you ain't been drinkin' like your twin brother there, else you wouldn't be gettin' off with just a speedin' ticket ... you'd be on your way to jail!"

*Please remember to keep a watchful eye on our children ... you can be certain child predators are! --sja

Sloughfoot's Ghost! ...

2009-10-31T13:45:00.000-04:00

Grandpa DooLittle often told frightening tales of a rogue black bear that had roamed the nearby countryside for the greater part of two decades ... a legendary and infamous creature affectionately known as "Sloughfoot" ... duly named for the elusive critter's propensity to prowl the thickets and bogs which bordered the entire length of a craggy trail which led from town all the way to the head of DooLittle Hollow, with sheer cliffs, towering spruce trees and moss covered boulders making up the landscape on the opposite side of the path ... anyhow, rumor had it that Sloughfoot would sleep for most of the day hidden in some secluded lair way back in the wetlands, then come out at night to forage for food which consisted of traveling salesmen, wayward children, drunkards, family pets, lost hikers, wild berries and fruit, or the contents of neighborhood garbage cans ... the most disconcerting thing about Sloughfoot's behavior was his tendency to silently stalk unwary wayfarers in the darkness as they traversed the hills and hollows, often following so closely behind these unsuspecting amblers that his warm, odoriferous breath could be felt against the backs of their necks ... hence, Ol' Sloughfoot had terrified more folks and been the inspiration for more vivid nightmares than even Lucifer himself ... although there were neither recollections nor confirmations that anybody had actually been harmed by the big Ursus americanus.

Lester DooLittle and his pal Lamar Beefeater were both definitely relieved when they heard the welcome news that Sloughfoot had been shot and killed by Lester's cousin Luther DooLittle during bear hunting season a couple years earlier ... although the bear's carcass had never been recovered as evidence, excuse being that it was too large and too far back in the bog for any reasonable recovery to be made ... at least that was the story being told, but you see, the DooLittle clan was known to manipulate the truth whenever it was to their advantage ... scores of hunters had come from miles around each year for the purpose of bagging Sloughfoot, only to return without as much as a sighting, so Luther DooLittle had become somewhat of a folk hero for ridding the community of this mangy, cantankerous menace of a beast ... and Sloughfoot hadn't been seen or heard from since reports of his alleged demise.

Well it was Halloween night, and Lester's daddy had asked Lester and Lamar to walk up to Grandpa & Grandma DooLittle's place to check on their well-being, and to make sure that none of the local hooligans had been causing the elderly couple any trouble ... they had lived in that ramshackle, little cabin in DooLittle Hollow for the past fifty years, with nobody to keep them company other than Grandpa's flea-bitten, old hound dog named Blue ... so up that miserable path trod Luther and Lamar, mindful of the days when Sloughfoot claimed that entire area as his domain ... the trek was uneventful, the boys found Grandpa and Grandma in a jovial mood and healthy as usual ... Grandma had been hanging the wash out to dry all afternoon, while Grandpa had nodded off and on for most of the day seated under an apple tree with Blue ... so after finding the DooLittles to be safe and sound, the boys each had a helping of Grandma's stuffed pumpkin with cranberry-raisin bread pudding and a huge chunk of homemade chocolate fudge, then set off toward home in the pitch-black darkness to report on their findings.

No sooner had the boys made it out of earshot of the DooLittle place, than they heard something sprinting down through the woods in the dry, fallen leaves toward them at a frenzied pace, huffing and puffing, snorting and snarling, popping it's jaws and breathing so hard it sounded like a roaring steam engine ... Lamar squinted his eyes in the darkness in an effort to see what it was coming toward them ... and there it was, a huge white form about the size of a young bull headed straight for them at full gait ... it had to be the ghost of ... SLOUGHFOOT!! ... Luther and Lamar raced down that path screaming like a couple of scalded chimpanzees, with whatever that thing was that was chasing them gaining on them at each footfall ... they hightailed it down that treacherous footpath in record time, Lamar leading by a nose for most of the way ... and more than once, Luther thought he felt something's hot breath and wet nose brushing against the back of his hand ... finally Luther's daddy's house came into view just as they thought they couldn't run another step further... in total exhaustion the boys landed on the front porch as Luther jerked open the door, and they came to rest up against the living room wall!

Luther's daddy was standing there arms folded in a state of immense dismay and perturbation, "What's wrong with you crazy boys?" he demanded! ... Luther breathlessly proclaimed that the ghost of Sloughfoot had chased them all the way down that dark and dreadful path from Grandpa DooLittle's house to the front door, and that Sloughfoot's wet nose had brushed against his hand more than once during the horrible pursuit ... then Lamar chimed in ... "Yes indeed Mr. DooLittle, it's true ... ol' Sloughfoot is standing out there on yer front porch right now a waitin' fer us ... look fer yerself!" ... Luther's daddy opened the door and peered out ... and there it stood ... he slowly closed the door, then turned and looked at the daffy pair lying there on the floor ... "Boys, I don't scare that easy ... now go take ol' Blue back up to your Grandpa before he misses him ... and take your Grandma's fresh washed bedspread off him too!"

--sja

Urgent Commentary by Jack O' Lantern ...

2009-10-25T12:02:00.000-04:00

Jack here ... listen ... my pal Jack Squat just posted a story about how everybody deserves to be kept safe from those who would do them harm ... I agree ... and how certain groups can now safely walk the streets and sleep in their beds at night without fear of harm ... all well and good ... however, what about us Pumpkins??

Each year, as turning leaves begin to splatter the hills with brilliant colors and a crisp chill fills the autumn air, millions upon millions of us pumpkins are dissected, eviscerated and carved into all sorts of weird and hideous shapes and forms ... then to add insult to injury, we're placed on stoops and window sills, usually with burning candles stuck inside of us, and our innards are used to make pies and other various and sundry treats ... oh the pain and humiliation! ... talk about your hate crimes, this is nothing less than blatant discrimination, commercial exploitation, overt violation of civil rights, systematic genocide and murder.

Year after year, I've been forced to sit idly by in my pumpkin patch and helplessly watch countless Cucurbita pepos and autumn squashes being violently severed from their vines and taken away screaming in terror as the stark realization of their tragic fates overcame them ... a particularly agonizing and atrocious event of this nature took place right here last fall ... it saddens me to talk about it, but ... my Uncle Girth, ever the jovial sort, who sat here all last year while being fattened up by Farmer Joe, was without warning loaded onto a flatbed truck by a forklift, paraded all over town, displayed at the county fair ... then ... sorry ... give me a minute ... then poor Girth was sliced and gutted, his innards saved for pie making ... then carved to look like some ugly monster, and put on display for Halloween in the center of the town square ... but the worst part of all that was the impact it had on the local children ... Uncle Girth always loved the children, and was delighted to be in their company ... they would come to the pumpkin patch from miles around just to see him, and have their pictures taken with the big fellow sitting in the background ... but after Uncle Girth was unmercifully carved up to look like a grotesque bogeyman, all the kids were scared to death of him, and would cry and run away from him screaming at the tops of their lungs, while their parents would laugh cruelly and point their fingers at him in disdain ... Girth was then left there all alone to rot away ... so sad!

Here's the gist of my complaint ... the government has taken measures to protect certain groups, so in the interest of fairness and equal rights, why not give us pumpkins some of that protection too? ... stop the madness! ... give us a break, go back to the days when turnips -- rutabagas -- gourds -- potatoes -- beets and other ignoble vegetables were misused as Halloween decorations or to appease evil spirits ... use those cheap, plastic versions from Walmart ... or simply sit there with a hot, smoking candle in your own big mouth ... and frighten the children yourself!!

This has been a pumpkin service announcement from Jack O' Lantern --sja

Commentary By Jack Squat ...

2009-10-23T10:39:00.000-04:00

"Senate passes measure that would protect gays -- Obama expected to sign legislation on hate crimes"

I sure am glad to hear that Obama and his administration are moving above and beyond in their efforts to protect gays & lesbians ... hell, in the interest of fairness, all human beings deserve to be kept safe from those who would do them harm ... but ... according to the government, gays & lesbians now deserve a bigger slice of that fairness than the rest of us ... I suppose laws already in place that should keep the general public safe just wasn't good enough for that crowd.

Just yesterday, in Florida, another innocent child was found murdered ... the lifeless body of a 7-year-old girl (Somer Thompson) who had been missing since Monday, obviously abducted while walking home from school, was found discarded like a sack of garbage in a filthy landfill ... that little angel, along with countless others who fall victim to similar shameful acts, certainly deserve a bigger slice of fairness and protection than what they've received ... wouldn't you say?

America -- get your priorities straight! ... no individual or group, regardless of race, color, creed, sexual orientation or political affiliation deserves special, preferential treatment above and beyond any other individual or group ... ALL human beings deserve to be kept safe from those who would do them harm ... Barack Obama and that bunch in Washington have shown us just where their priorities lie ... so now that they've made sure that those in the gay & lesbian culture can safely walk the streets and sleep in their beds at night without fear of harm -- how about affording that same level of protective covering to our irreproachable and powerless children???

How about protecting the children rather than the predator? ... how about enforcing laws already on the books, or enacting sufficient, new laws that will get these rapists, kidnappers, pedophiles, murderers and all lowlife weirdos, who live and breathe to do nothing other than hurt our children, the hell off our streets and far away from decent folk? ... how about seating judges who possess the courage, character and brass to avail themselves to the severest extent of the sentencing guidelines already in place for these crimes against humanity, and put these habitual scumbags in their place? ... jail ... prison ... a deserted island ... or a grave -- and that ain't just Jack Squat!

UPDATE: The body of another missing child, 9-year-old Elizabeth Olten, has been found in Missouri ...

--sja

Hoax? ...

2009-10-19T23:30:00.000-04:00

Maybe I shouldn't share bare details as to the following tragic event, but the recent media frenzy created by Falcon "balloon boy" Heene, who was supposedly carried helplessly adrift for miles, thousands of feet up in the air, reminded me of a similar, yet equally unfortunate incident which took place many years ago.

Maude Beefeater had contracted an extremely severe case of the green apple trots, or for you more refined folk ... diarrhea ... and back in those days, the Beefeaters had yet to avail themselves of indoor plumbing, and their only "facility" was a wooden outhouse which sat down at the edge of the creek, just downstream a tad from where they retrieved their potable water ... unfortunately, the placid, little brook was prone to flashflooding, thus the trusty privy had been washed away several times in the past ... a frantic search would then ensue until the homemade loo was located, toted back to the edge of the creek and set back on it's foundation.

Back to Maude's conundrum ... poor thing had been out to the toilet that day too many times to count ... just when she reckoned things had calmed down a bit, she heard another growl and felt another tremor, within and below ... she jumped up from the kitchen table and darted out the door for yet another urgent laxation ... well it was pouring down the rain by the bucketfuls, had been all day, and relief stood nearly 200 feet away ... Maude knew she couldn't make it that far before letting go, so she ran behind the corncrib ... boosted her skirt ... lowered her knickers ... grasped the side of the crib ... then quickly assumed the squating position ... that's when Maude ... and Henry ... and Lamar ... and just about everybody else living up that hollar heard a most frightening rumble and roar, like a locomotive rolling down between the ridges ... Flashflood!! ... Maude braced herself real good, then proceeded with the business at hand, while that raging water turned the tinkling waterway into a violent torrent of mayhem and destruction.

After a few minutes, the deluge was over, and the angry stream had returned to it's normal gait ... the big water had gone ... and so had the old outhouse ... Henry and Lamar ran outside to check on Maude and survey the damage ... goodness! ... Maude had gone to the outhouse ... the outhouse was gone ... Maude was gone ... Maude was inside the outhouse ... Maude and the outhouse had most assuredly been swept down the creek ... without a paddle ... goodness! ... Henry screamed ... "Laaamarrrr! ... go dial 9-1-1 ... the number's writ down right next to the phone!"

To capsulize a potentially long-drawn-out, see-through story ... a despairing, although fruitless search was conducted ... everybody in the hollar gathered with the Beefeaters back at the Beefeater place to mourn the loss of Maude, and the outhouse ... only to discover Maude sitting there in the kitchen wondering why everybody was so sorrowful, and if they'd found her cherished privy ... the sheriff was fixin' to arrest ol' Henry and Lamar for "facilitating" a hoax and for wasting their time and resources, until Maude explained the true particulars of what had just transpired ... sort of like "balloon boy" ... only different.

--sja

Lamar Lands A Sea Monster ...

2009-10-18T13:10:00.000-04:00

I reckon I'll tell you fellers another story about my ol' friend Lamar Beefeater, Henry T. Beefeater's son ... so go ahead and settle in, 'cause it might take a while ... now then ... not only was Lamar a self ascribed inventor ... he was also an inveterate thief ... and to make matters worse ... Lamar was also a connoisseur of fine tobaccos, along with some of the cheap stuff too ... especially when it was Henry Beefeater's fine tobaccos, which Henry kept hidden beneath a stack of underwear in his dresser drawer ... however, Lamar's cravings for the herbaceous plant, combined with his habitual proclivity for "borrowing" other folks' stuff, would soon bring about a passel of frightful events for the ambitious, albeit dissolute young man ... each time Henry caught Lamar in possession of any of his beloved private stock of "baccy" ... he would forthwith drag Lamar out to the wood shed for some lessons on not stealin' and not chewin' ... however, these lessons weren't producing the desired affect ... so Lamar's daddy cogitated and cerebrated as to a positive solution to this puzzling conundrum ... now Henry Beefeater wasn't all that concerned about the stealing ... because he too was known to have sticky fingers on various and convenient occasions ... oh no ... the thing that bothered Henry most was that Lamar was constantly pilfering "his" tobacco ... and Henry T. Beefeater was getting fed up to the gills with the situation ... somehow he had to convince Lamar to stop chewing altogether ... and he thought that maybe he had figured out how to go about doing just that ... he knew Lamar had a morbidly dreadful fear of ghoulish creatures and monsters of all sorts ... that bit of inside knowledge had given Henry T. a potentially brilliant idea ... the next time he apprehended Lamar stealing his baccy ... he would tell the up-and-coming larcenist that if he continued his crooked ways, he would no doubt turn into a slimy sea monster, or worse ... likely doomed to swim around in some murky lake or ocean all by his lonesome for the remainder of his miserable existence ... and it worked! ... for a while.

There was another unscrupulous character who resided nearby by the name of Lester DooLittle... a well-known and infamous town fixture, and close yokefellow of Lamar's ... now Lester was nothing more than an older, seasoned version of Lamar ... and he too was an aspirant thief ... and he loved his baccy ... or your baccy if he could get his hands on it ... well one night the old general store got robbed ... so when the high sheriff arrived, he discovered the only items missing were two cases of Mail Pouch Chewing Tobacco and a roll of Copenhagen snuff ... case cracked! ... the sheriff went straightaway to Lester DooLittle's place, and there he sat on his front porch with what was left of those two pillaged cases of chewing tobacco and that plundered roll of snuff ... 'ol Lester was wearing this big ol' grin, while at the same time trying to hold in a whole bagful of tobacco and an entire canful of snuff within his stretched out cheeks ... to make a long story short ... Lester DooLittle got to spend the next eight months as a guest of the county jail ... and while most of the town folk knew what Lester's fate was ... the only thing Lamar knew was that Lester DooLittle had robbed the general store ... Lester had took a bunch of tobacco ... Lester had chewed nearly all of that tobacco ... Lester had got caught ... and Lester had mysteriously disappeared ... consequently, Lamar had settled on the solid conclusion that because of the tobacco caper, Lester DooLittle had without a doubt been turned into a slimy sea monster, or worse ... and was now most likely doomed to swim around out there in some murky lake or ocean all by his lonesome for the rest of his miserable existence.

I'm getting close to the finale of it all now ... a couple weeks later, Lamar and Ansel Poteet, another of Lamar's best pals, reasoned out that they should squander away the afternoon in some productive fashion, so they proceeded down to the Beefeater's farm pond for a hearty bout of catfishin' ... the boys skillfully angled all afternoon without as much as a nibble ... it seemed as though those fish were nervous about something ... spooked even ... so Lamar tossed his trusty bamboo pole down on the grassy bank, reached into the ragged hip pocket of his vintage Round House bibs, and pulled out a brand-new, shiny poke of Mail Pouch Chewing Tobacco ... "Where'd you git that?" enquired Ansel ... Lamar just grinned as he replied, "Out of my ol' pappy's dresser drawer" ... "But won't that cause you to turn into a monster, or something worse, like your daddy warned you about??" replied Ansel ... "Pure bunk!" snapped Lamar, as he loaded the entire bag of fresh, moist tobacco into his mouth and began working up some juice ... just when he had worked up a good spit they heard Mr. Beefeater's old Dodge pickup rattling up the dirt road leaving behind a trailing cloud of thick dust as it bounced along ... "Shucks!" ... "What am I going to do now?" Lamar screamed ..." If pappy catches me with this chaw, he just might kill me good this time!"... "Hurl 'er over in the pond!" cried Ansel ... so Lamar spit out that big wad right onto the palm of his hand, then with little time for thought, set that vile chaw firmly onto the big treble hook which was attached to his fishing line ... which also sported three or four heavy lead weights and a bright red and yellow, plastic bobber ... he then drew back and with all his might cast that contraption all the way out into the middle of the pond, where it landed with a loud clunk, then it slowly settled down to the bottom with nothing but that bobber visible above the surface of the muddy water ... and just in the nick of time ... 'cause there stood Henry Beefeater ... "Any luck boys?" Henry asked ... "No!" they answered in unison ... "Well you fellers better call it a day, and come on up to the house for some supper" ... and as Henry T. turned to walk away, there was the biggest commotion out there in the middle of that pond that had ever been heard or seen in those parts ... Lamar's bright red and yellow, plastic bobber had completely disappeared, and he was holding onto his trusty bamboo pole for dear life as something big was trying to drag him and his fishing gear right out into the water ... Henry Beefeater ran down to the edge of the pond and grabbed Lamar around the waist while yelling "Reel him in boy, reeeel him in!" ... and with the help of Ansel Poteet, after nearly an hour of tusslin' with whatever it was on the other end of that line, they drug an enormous beast up out of the water and onto the sedgy bank ... a beast later determined to be nothing more than an angry Great Northern Pike ... unfortunately, neither Lamar Beefeater nor Ansel Poteet had ever known of such a critter, nor had they ever had the displeasure of actually seeing one with their own eyeballs ... I reckon some of the local juvenile delinquents had caught the hideous leviathan at the lake, then slipped it into Henry Beefeater's farm pond as a practical joke ... the creature was probably more than five feet long, and even homelier than Lamar ... and there lying just inside it's jutted out jaw was that big chaw of "baccy" still stuck to the treble hook which was now solidly embedded in it's fat lip ... needless to say ... when Lamar saw that big wad of tobacco, in what he most assuredly thought was the mouth of a sea monster ... he turned as pale as a new, white bed sheet ... then nearly passed out ... but before he could lift as much as an eyebrow ... he looked that grand and wondrous mammal straight in the eyes, and ruefully exclaimed ... "I sure am glad to see ya agin ... Lester DooLittle!"

--sja

Bartholomew Goodfellow's Rule ...

2009-10-14T01:15:00.000-04:00

The weathered, little schoolhouse had been standing idle for nearly two years ... although numerous souls had nobly taken on the often thankless task of educating scores of children who had funneled in from the surrounding hills and hollows, some lasting longer than others, but all eventually departing for the same reason ... a guileful bully by the name of Bartholomew Goodfellow.

It was common practice during those days that just one teacher kept charge of pupils consisting of first through twelfth graders in the small, one-room schoolhouses ... youngsters intermingled with larger teens in a single classroom for an entire school year ... naturally, this combination brought together fickle elements liable for potential trouble ... and Bartholomew Goodfellow had always been extremely adept at sowing seeds of discord which eventually developed into the desired fruits of his labor ... that being his prolonged truancy from the dreaded learning institution of which he so stoutly detested ... by simply "running off" any and all teachers ... now Mister Crabtree, a meek and refined, old gentleman, who had been an highly efficacious educator for the past thirty-five years or so, had undertaken the daunting endeavor of assuming the position of schoolmaster at the storied edifice, and was fully aware of the challenges at hand, having spent many sleepless nights in operose thought trying to determine the best course of action for handling almost certain confrontation with Master Goodfellow ... consequently, he had settled on a theory, maybe if he were to give the young man the impression that he and his classmates were ultimately in charge of maintaining discipline, and directly responsible for determining rules for good behavior, the ploy just might dissuade Bartholomew's intent from menace and mayhem to that of peace and placidity, after all, Mister Crabtree knew he could neither physically control nor forcefully restrain the boy's 'oft tetchiness and fits of hostility ... however, after enduring more than three and a half decades of successful adolescent didactics, he was known to be extremely proficient at psychological manipulation ... particularly at the juvenile level.

Standing in the back of the room like a swaggering peafowl was a rugged fellow well over six feet tall ... a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves exposed strong, sinewy arms, and scruffy locks of auburn hair lay crammed 'neath a well-worn newsboy hat ... more notable was the intimidatingly icy stare and persistent sneer on his sparsely whiskered face ... hovering around the imposing hulk was a group of smaller lads, which in appearance seemed to be equally tough ... however, truth be told, they were terrified of him, along with the rest of his classmates ... and many grown men around those parts had no desire to tussle with this overgrown, juvenile behemoth ... the infamous Bartholomew Goodfellow.

Mister Crabtree cleared his throat, introduced himself to the class, then announced that he would be permitting each enrollee to offer up one proposed rule, which upon approval by the entire student body, would be adopted as official schoolhouse policy for the remainder of that year ... everyone seemed quite agreeable to this unusual course of action, especially Bartholomew, who figured he could use it to his advantage sometime in the very near future ... so each student scribbled their proposal on a small piece of scrap paper, and Mister Crabtree collected each of them in an old cigar box ... he then read each suggestion aloud as the class voiced either a yea or a nay ... every rule was unanimously accepted ... even Bartholomew Goodfellow's rule, which was that anyone caught stealing was to receive three stinging blows across the bare back from a willow switch by whomsoever may have fallen victim to said theft ... no exceptions ... Mister Crabtree didn't like this rule in the least, but judged that the mere possibility of such severe punishment would likely deter any thoughts of thievery by any right-minded mortal.

Although still early, the fall semester seemed to be moving along exceptionally well, there had been no grievous or life-threatening problems ... that is, until this particular afternoon ... there before the class stood a manifestly umbrageous Bartholomew Goodfellow, one hand grasping a long, thick willow switch, with which he was methodically striking the wide palm of his other hand with loud, sinister smacks ... then Bart angrily announced that some despicable larcenist had committed an unpardonable act of outright villainy ... some shifty-eyed culprit had pilfered his lunch, and he was now demanding that the worthless vagabond be straightaway apprehended and brought to swift and sudden justice ... that being three stinging blows across the bare back from that willow switch ... no exceptions ... which he was menacingly waving through the air for all to behold ..... that which Mister Crabtree greatly feared had been dumped right in his lap!

The distinguished pedigog reminded the class that Bartholomew Goodfellow's rule had been formally adopted by one and all, and reluctantly demanded that whomsoever was responsible for the alleged theft immediately stand to their feet, step forward, and present themselves before the entire class to receive the prescribed punishment ... the old man hoped and prayed for the sake of the guilty party that he or she would just simply remain quietly seated ... but to his dismay, little Melvin Proctor wearily rose to his feet and slowly plodded to the front of the room ... Melvin was a scrawny, underweight young boy, who came from an unfortunately poor family which lived in a dilapidated shack near the head of Mill Hollar ... his father had been killed in a war that Melvin never had come to understand, and his mother had always told the skinny lad that he was now the man of the house, and that he should conduct himself accordingly ... well, now Melvin was being a man, and conducting himself accordingly ... ragged clothes ... growling stomach ... hollow gaze, and all ... he looked right up into the glaring eyes of Bartholomew Goodfellow, told him that he was sorry for taking his lunch, and that he would somehow make it right, then explained that there had been no food at the Proctor house for nearly a week, his baby sister had been awful hungry, and had cried herself to sleep each night ... Melvin then declared that he could no longer bear to hear his little sister cry because of hunger, so he had swiped someones' lunch so she would have something to eat that night ... and now prepared to accept full responsibility for his actions, Melvin removed a thin, threadbare shirt to reveal his skinny torso -- spine and rib cage clearly protruding through his pale skin ... and as he bent over to brace himself against the big oak desk, the piteous sound of huge tears could be heard dropping onto the dusty planking of the classroom floor.

Everyone stood breathlessly silent with tearful eyes awaiting Batholomew Goodfellow's response ... and with voice breaking for the first time ever, Bartholomew looked at Mister Crabtree and asked if he would be permitted to make an amendment to his rule ... Mister Crabtree told him that it would be permissible if the rest of the class agreed, of which they gladly did ... so Bart offered that if anyone were to step forward and stand in place of any guilty person, that they could receive any due punishment in their stead ... Mister Crabtree, along with the entire class cautiously concurred ... then Bartholomew handed the sturdy switch to Mister Crabtree, picked up Melvin's tattered shirt from off the dirty floor, and gently placed it on his bony back as he led the quivering, frightened boy back to his seat ... then he returned to the front, removed his shirt, grabbed the corners of the desk and directed Mister Crabtree to administer Melvin Proctor's scourging to his own bare back.

From that day forward, Bartholomew Goodfellow would always bring two lunches to school, one for himself, and the other packed a bit heavier for Melvin Proctor, with enough for Melvin to eat his fill, and plenty leftover to take home to his baby sister and mother ... his classmates would toss in extra goodies too ... and Bartholomew Goodfellow seemed to have a better demeanor as of late ... he was turning into a man ... a man just like little Melvin Proctor!

--sja

"The Greatest Show On Earth!" ...

2009-10-09T20:38:00.000-04:00

I ran into my lifelong pal Henry Beefeater who was accompanied by his delightful wife Maude over at the local Piggly Wiggly ... they were recounting an incredible story pertaining to another of their mutual son Lamar's more temerarious misadventures ... so, I will now undertake to convey to you said narrative for your likely edutainment and reading pleasure, verbatim ... seems as if Lamar and a small contingent of his most trustable friends had gone to take in Barnum & Bailey's "Greatest Show on Earth" under the marvellous, red & white "big top" which had been set up earlier that day in the center of town square ... as the boys were unknowingly standing there wide-eyed in a mixture of straw, sawdust and elephant droppings, obviously enthralled with various beasts which were obediently doing stunts under the watchful eyes of their handlers, and as talented circus performers did their amazing acts, an extremely spiffy, well-dressed ringmaster walked right up to ol' Lamar and offered him a job with the circus ... Lamar eagerly accepted, then anxiously enquired as to exactly what it was that had influenced Barnum & Bailey to make such a sudden and generous offer to an inexperient novice such as he ... the spiffy, well-groomed master of ceremonies explained to Lamar that he had been curiously observing him since he and his merry band of cohorts had first sauntered into the tent, and as a result of those astute observations , he was certain that the lanky lad would be an absolute natural for circus work ... Lamar then enquired as to suitable fashion and attire required for the job ... the distinguished gentleman informed him that the exact clothing he was wearing at that moment was ideally befitting of the task at hand, and that Lamar could begin work immediately, the only thing he had to do was walk around and simply be himself ... he could chat with folks ... entertain the children ... pet the animals ... and play with all the circus equipment.

Lamar was beside himself with excitement, and could hardly believe that anyone would actually pay him to just walk around and "simply be himself!" ... without hesitation, Lamar enthusiastically proceeded out into the middle of the huge, bustling ring amid the skilled acrobats, hoopers, tightrope walkers, jugglers, clowns and trapeze acts, and anon began trying out the circus equipment, wildly riding a clangorous motor scooter in tight circles near the edge of the big oval ... then he did the same with a tiny bicycle ... then, although unsuccessful and a bit humorous, he attempted to mount a tall unicycle ... moving rapidly along while bouncing an enormous beach ball ... then hopping on a pogo stick ... and finally, he and a very polite chimpanzee had grand fun together on a squeaky teeter-totter ... then Lamar commenced to pet the animals, such as musical donkeys, zebras and spirited horses ... geese, ducks, roosters and other funny looking birds ... tremendous elephants ... weird looking apes and monkeys ... frogs, dogs, lions, tigers, bears and a pair of what appeared to be black panthers ... a couple of the monkeys tried to bite him, but he never gave those big cats equal opportunity.

All circus goers seemed to really enjoy watching Lamar just walk around while having so much fun, and would laugh and carry on right along with him ... consequently, he ran right up amongst the crowd and quickly made a whole bunch of new friends ... and all the little kids especially enjoyed Lamar's company, and would laugh and chuckle 'till nearly breathless ... eventually, Lamar practically tuckered himself out on his first day of work, and was more than a little glad and relieved when it finally drew to a conclusion and all the nice folks had gone.

Then it struck Lamar ... during the excitement of landing his new career, he had forgotten to ask that nice ringmaster just what his pay would be ... so he located the fellow and enquired as to what his wages were for that day's work ... the stately, old ringmaster cast his sparkling eyes directly at an exhausted Lamar, and with a wry simper replied, "Well, I don't know what sort of wages you are expecting young man ... but it certainly won't be a cent more than our other 'CLOWNS' are paid!"

--sja

Daydreaming ...

2009-10-06T22:24:00.000-04:00

On a crisp, autumn morning, as I watched the waking sun begin to spray golden bands of light just above the distant horizon, I caught my mind drifting back in time with fond memories of my beloved grandfather ... reminiscing as to how, as a young, impressible boy, I would sit at his feet on an overturned wooden crate as he rhythmically rocked away the hours nestled comfortably in his old chair telling stories of exotic, far away places of which he had visited, and of the scores of intriguing people he had encountered throughout his many travels around the globe.

With wry grin and piercing eyes, that grand, old adventurer told of sailing the boisterous inlets of the Gulf of Alaska, as majestic Blue Whales swam playfully alongside his boat launching frothy mists of water high into the briny air ... of observing pairs of bald eagles feeding their young eaglets along the sand bars and cottonwood trees as he fished for King Salmon on the Chilkat River ... of big game hunting in Zimbabwe in pursuit of Black Rhino and Cape Buffalo, and a host of other dangerous, big game animals ... of going after trophy Bighorn Mountain Sheep and gigantic Brown Bear in the vast and remote wilderness areas of Alaska and British Columbia ... he told of hospitable tribesmen who dwelt near the cliffs of the Nile Valley that took him rafting down the treacherous Nile River ... of touring the immense Pyramids, viewing the Great Sphinx of Egypt and seeing ancient Egyptian mummies ... of climbing expeditions on Mt. Sinai and treks across the immense and geologically diverse Sinai Desert ... of walking the bustling streets of great cities such as Paris, London, Rome, Bangkok, Munich, Cape Town, Sydney, Singapore, Istanbul and countless others ... he had left behind footprints on every continent ... he had set sail on the seven seas ... he had beheld the seven wonders of the world ... he had dined with rich and poor ... and so much more.

Each time my grandfather recounted one of his marvelous adventures, I would express to him just how much I wished that I too could have been right there by his side at each and every instance ... his riposte would always be that "I had always been right there with him 'in my imagination,' and that was just as good" ... one lazy afternoon, I asked him if there was anyplace that he desired to visit of which he had not yet been ... he began to slowly rock his creaky chair back and forth as he gazed toward me with beguiling, blue eyes, then a rare tear began to inch slowly down his weathered cheek as he softly replied, "well boy, about the only place I haven't been yet is to the Emerald City, where my Father sits on His beautiful throne ... I sure would like to stroll down those golden thoroughfares ... fall down on my knees before my precious Lord, and offer praise and thanks for all He has done ... then maybe just sit in my chair and rest for a bit 'neath the tree of life, and watch that pure river of water of life flow by, clear as crystal ... yes indeed, I sure would like to go there."

One cold, winter evening, I received the sad news that my grandfather had passed away ... the old man had made his way outside to sit in his favorite chair, and after a few short minutes, the sound of his rocking abruptly ceased ... he had at last embarked on his final journey ... only recently, to my shock and surprise, I learned that grandad had never ventured beyond a fifty mile radius of the mountain homestead where he was born and had ultimately lived out all his days ... he had spent the majority of his existence thousands of feet beneath the earth's surface, crawling on his hands and knees, his strong, calloused hands gripping pick and shovel, digging coal by the dim light of a carbide lamp strapped to his head ... when work was scarce in the mines, he fell timber with a crosscut saw and heavy double-bitted axe atop the steep ridges that surround the grassy valley ... he raised livestock and grew crops on that rocky farm in his 'spare time', earning just enough money for necessities ... he could neither read nor write beyond third grade level ... nor could he 'legally' drive the old flatbed truck which he nervously wrestled to the feed mill in town every Saturday.

How could this possibly be true? ... all those wondrous adventures ... all those fantastic, far away places ... then it suddenly dawned on me as I recalled grandad's words ... "I had always been right there with him 'in my imagination,' and that was just as good" ... he had been clearly illustrating to me, by telling those remarkable tales, how I had no limits as to what I could become ... or where I could go ... or what I might achieve with mere imagination ... and I must now say, that I too have traversed the four corners of the globe, and experienced many incredible things ... while strapped in the passenger seat, peering through the windows of my mind ... and I know with certainty, that as the waking sun begins to spray golden bands of light above some distant horizon, grandpa is slowly rocking away idle hours in his favorite, creaky chair ... in the midst of the Emerald City ... 'neath the tree of life ... watching that pure river of water of life flow by, clear as crystal ... while at his feet ... awaits an overturned wooden crate ...

Written some time ago for my friend Bob, one of his favorites --sja

Time Travelin' Machine ...

2009-10-03T21:39:00.000-04:00

My favorite boyhood friend ... and self-proclaimed prolific inventor ... Lamar Beefeater ... who lived just down the road from our place, kept himself busy each summer in his daddy's workshop "inventin' stuff" ... ol' Lamar was disturbingly ambitious to a fault ... although his daddy Henry was ever asseverating the widely known fact that his son was four cents shy of a whole nickel as far as reasonable "cogitatin'" was concerned ... I had long before settled on the conclusion that limited reasonable cogitation just might have inflicted the entire Beefeater clan ... now the most precarious thing about Lamar's proclivity for "inventin' stuff" was that he would often request hands-on assistance from his pals ... upon whom he usually ended up casting blame for most of his unfortunate flops.

One lazy afternoon, Lamar came running breathlessly into our backyard and excitedly announced his latest idea for yet another invention ... he had affectionately dubbed it his "time travelin' machine" ... Lamar explained how he wanted to travel back in time to the 1932 World Series between the Yankees and Cubs ... "to see for hisself if the legend of Babe Ruth's 'called shot' was true or not," so I followed him back to his place and cautiously entered the "lab" ... there in the center of the workshop's slanted, plank floor sat an antiquated Model#10 Maytag wringer washing machine - with copper tub ... "ain't she a beaut!?" exclaimed Lamar ... he had already removed the wringer from the washer, and had flipped over his mama's big metal garbage can that she kept on the back porch, of which he had fabricated into a "time capsule," then he tethered that metal can to the washer with frayed cargo straps ... he had also attached the garbage can lid, which was to serve as an "escape hatch" to the "time capsule" with over-sized, galvanized barn door hinges ... he had bored two large holes in the side of the can to see through, and welded three metal coat hangers on its lid for aerials (just in case he encountered some friendly Martians) ... most interestingly though were the ten dozen or so Cherry bombs glued to the bottom of this contraption, all of which were wired to a single fuse ... Lamar explained that these were the "essential propellants" which would lift the grand machine far above the boundless heavens into timeless space, or, just really far! ... well, Lammy put on his brother's football helmet and his daddy's welding gloves, then proceeded to give me my instructions ... "after I git in and close the hatch, you plug it into the 'lectrc' socket... light that fuse ... then run!

"Then run!?" ... with a chuckle or two, I plugged the old Maytag into an extension cord that Lamar had strung all the way from the house ... and when that tired, old motor sprang to life, that machine began walking itself all across the crooked floor oscillating wildly while flinging Lamar around inside like a greased marble inside that copper tub ... I reckon Lamar hadn't thought to disengage the washer's agitator before "powering her up," at least that's my theory, scientifically speaking ... now all that dancing around made it nearly impossible for me to light that fuse, but I finally got it done, then I ran from that workshop as fast as my feet could carry me, just like Lamar had instructed ... just as I cleared the doorway I heard it ... "BOOOOOOOMMMM!!!" ... followed by several smaller booms ... some rattling noises ... a crash ... then a bit of agonized moaning ... as soon as the smoke cleared enough for me to breathe, I ran back in to check on Lamar ... what was left of the Maytag lie smoldering in a corner ... the garbage can had come to rest in another ... and there was a stunned and scorched Lamar Beefeater sprawled in the middle of the floor ... "where am I?" ... "what year is it?" ... "are you the Bambino?" ... "how far did I travel?" ... my reply ... "well ... maybe six or seven feet I reckon" ... Lamar removed the helmet from his throbbing head, glared up at me and in angry frustration declared ... "I just knew you'd mess it up somehow!!"

--sja

Joe ...

2009-10-01T20:02:00.000-04:00

Just after first light each morning, the debile old man would slip on a woolen pea jacket, cover his snow-white head with his threadbare Filson Duckbill cap, then he and a dog named Joe would exit their cozy abode and set forth on their daily jaunt ... they would unhurriedly amble alongside the roughhewn, split rail fence which bordered the meadow, around the slimy farm pond, then wind their way back toward the little bungalow through a dense stand of spruce pine and spurge laurel ... at times a bracing mountain breeze would intermingle with wafting scents of evergreens and wildflowers to yield an invigorating redolence ... Joe never wandered far from the old man's heels, at times he trailed along so closely that his curious, wet nose would brush against the backs of his master's trouser legs while he proudly wagged his tail ... the aged gentleman had lost his beloved wife of nearly forty years to a stroke about two decades ago, and he reckoned that Joe was the best friend he had ever known ... his sole companion for the past nine years ... the shivering and frightened dog had turned up on the porch one cold, rainy evening ... two days passed before the piteous, half-starved pup dared approach the kind looking stranger who had been offering him homemade biscuits soaked in warm bacon grease ... the hungry pooch could no longer resist gulping down the irresistible grub, and the pair had been inseparable ever since

This particular morning as they embarked on their usual stroll, they were greeted by a dark, overcast sky, and a glistening layer of ice had covered everything in sight during the previous night ... as they approached the pond, the old man carefully placed each of his steps as he walked on the slippery embankment ... suddenly, the soles of his worn boots lost traction causing the old man to slam painfully onto the hard, frozen ground as he helplessly grasped for the sparse undergrowth before sliding into the frigid water ... in a matter of seconds the lethal cold stripped all life from his body and he was gone ... a now panic-stricken Joe began to woefully howl as he realized that his master had fallen into the pond ... without hesitation, the loyal dog desperately leaped into the water, and swam around frantically searching for his friend until all strength had drained from his exhausted body, then he too succumbed to the cold as he disappeared beneath the surface of the deadly pool ...

Instantly the old fellow found himself on an unfamiliar and seemingly endless path with massive walls on each side, ol' Joe still at his heels sniffing the ground as they walked along ... finally the duo came upon a very wide gate with an extremely determined looking gatekeeper standing its guard ..."Enter weary traveler!" the doorman cried, we've been expecting you" ... the old man stretched out his neck and peered in through the enormous gate ... therein the sun shone like a jasper stone upon a beautiful city made of pure gold, lying foursquare, having twelve foundations garnished with all manner of precious stones ... twelve gates all told, made of pearls upon its walls ... and streets made of solid gold transparent as glass ... the old man had heard stories of a place such as this, but was never sure if they were true ... so he hurried through the gate expecting Joe to follow, only to look back and see his best friend being forcefully restrained by the stern gatekeeper just outside the gate ... "dogs are not allowed within this gate!" declared the furious doorman ... "but is this not Heaven?" asked the old man ... "of course it is, but dogs are never permitted within!" exclaimed the irate gatekeeper ... the old man quickly came back outside the gate and snatched a snarling Joe from the grasp of the heartless sentry, then proceeded on up that long way ... "don't you want to enter in?" ... if you go away now, you shall never again be allowed entrance through this gate!" screamed the now disappointed doorman ... "anyplace where Joe ain't welcome, ain't Heaven!" replied the angry old man ...

The exhausted twosome continued trudging along that forever lane until the old man grew so tired he thought he might go no further ... just then, they came upon another gate much narrower than the first, with a much kinder looking keeper standing its guard ... "welcome weary travelers, enter ye in to the joys of our Lord, we've been expecting you!" the doorman softly said ... "but is this really Heaven? ... and is Joe permitted within?" enquired the old man ... "why yes, this most assuredly is Heaven, and Joe is indeed welcome within! ... why do you ask?" replied the gracious sentry ... "because he at the first gate also permitted me to enter within, but not Joe ... and he too proclaimed that to be Heaven ... how can I now trust one such as you?" cried the man ... "oh no, that was not Heaven ... 'twas that beguiling Deceiver enticing thee to enter within the gates of hell! ... for wide is that gate, and broad is that way which leadeth to destruction, any many there be which go in thereat" exclaimed the gatekeeper ... "enter ye in at this straight and narrow gate ... you and Joe!" he uttered ... the old man slowly stepped forward through the gate with Joe ... his curious, wet nose brushing against the backs of his master's trouser legs, as they unhurriedly ambled alongside the roughhewn split rail rail fence bordering a meadow, around a slimy farm pond, then through a dense stand of spruce pine and spurge laurel ... a bracing mountain breeze intermingled with wafting scents of evergreens and wildflowers yielding its invigorating redolence ... "I reckon this must really be Heaven ol' friend!" the old man declared ... as Joe proudly wagged his tail.

Because straight is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it ... Matthew 7:14

--sja

The Big Bang! ...

2009-09-30T00:09:00.000-04:00

Several years ago, a day or so before a particular July Fourth, Lamar Beefeater and his chief cohort in fatuity, the infamous Lester DooLittle, decided to travel into town to acquire a ready supply of cheap fireworks ... as luck would have it, as the eager lads ambled past the Piggly Wiggly grocery store, there stood an enterprising young gentleman peddling all kinds of "discount" fireworks from the back of an old De Soto automobile, its trunk chockful of an impressive assortment of Roman candles, bottle rockets, sparklers, Cherry bombs, skyrockets, firecrackers ... and a huge explosive device the size and shape of a 3lb. coffee cannister ... the word "FLASHPOWDER" clearly printed down its side ... this thing resembled the ones the local fire department sets off alongside the river as the main feature of each Fourth of July celebration, and was nearly as large ... so the boys made their selections, first choice being that of the "big bomb" ... they anxiously forked over the agreed upon currency, both buyers and seller supposedly making out like smug bandits in the transaction, and before heading home with the goods, they stopped by the Piggly Wiggly and purchased 2 enormous watermelons, and were now flat broke, albeit filled with excitement and anticipation at their invaluable acquisitions ... and because of their newly concocted plans for that afternoon.

When they arrived back at Lamar's daddy's place, they placed the watermelons on the corn crib floor and spread out all the the fireworks next to the melons ... the very same corn crib floor where Lamar had previously failed at development of his "time travelin' machine" ... I'll save that tale for another day ... a plan was then devised in which they would consume the smaller of the two watermelons, carve a hole in the remaining larger melon, then place that huge explosive device with the word "flashpowder" printed down its side right inside of that big melon ... then touch it off ... so there in the middle of the corn crib floor, the boys propped up that big ol' watermelon with the hole carved in its center, right there in the middle of the corn crib floor ... then slid the "big bomb" down inside it ... then Lester Doolittle lit a homemade fuse with a kitchen match as they ran as hard as they could from that corn crib and out into the woods behind the Beefeater property.

Well there was this explosion ... an explosion of Brobdingnagian proportions ... surpassed in magnitude only by that of the Mount Vesuvius eruption, accompanied by a towering fireball and rising plumes of thick, black smoke, this followed by numerous blasts of lesser intensity or significance ... now Lamar's mama Maude, upon hearing the grand explosion from her kitchen, and aware that Lamar and Lester were going out to the corn crib to consume their watermelons and admire their newly acquired fireworks, was now certain that a tragic accident had most assuredly occurred ... so she ran out to the corn crib to check on the welfare of the boys ... as she approached the corn crib, which was now missing most of it's roof, she saw what appeared to be chunks of some sort of red substance strewn in every direction and splattered all over what was left of the floor and walls of the old shack, along with several pieces of whitish looking fragments, shrapnel and watermelon seeds ... then it struck her ... Lamar and Lester had been blown to bits!! ... overcome with sudden grief, Maude let out this awful, long and loud, bloodcurdling scream, sank down face first right into the worst of that pile of gory muck and fainted away dead to the world ... now Lamar, upon hearing his mama Maude's anguished scream, came running from the woods, Lester DooLittle right at his heels, to see what the matter was ... there they found wooden planks and sheets of metal roofing scattered across the yard amongst the watermelon remains ... and what was left of the still smoking corn crib ... as Lamar inched his way toward the door for a peek, there lay his mama Maude's apparently lifeless body, face down in all that mess ... that's when it struck him ... his mama Maude had been kilt in that explosion!! ... then he too passed out and dropped face down in that pile of gory muck right beside his mama Maude ... poor Lester DooLittle, overcome with awestruck wonder and befuddlement, straightaway headed for home.

To make a long story short, Lamar's daddy Henry had been watching this entire sequence of events unfold, from start to finish, from the safety and comfort of the barn, and could hardly contain himself, convulsing in laughter as he came to the aid of his fallen wife Maude and hapless son Lamar ... and after dumping a bucket full of cold water on the duo, thus bringing them both back to the land of the conscious and living, he explained to them both the graphic details of just how they had come to be in such awkward positions ... last I heard, Maude was still searching for a fleeing Lamar, rolling pin in hand ... and Lamar has been hiding in the woods, surviving on wild herbs, acorns ... and chunks of seared watermelon rinds.

--sja

Cash for Geezers ...

2009-09-24T09:51:00.000-04:00

Rumor has it that the government is ready to unveil a new program similar to that of "cash for clunkers" which supposedly boosted sales for struggling, cash-strapped auto makers while removing older, gas-guzzling vehicles from our public highways. I'm sure most of you know how it worked. Certain pre-selected autos deemed "unacceptable" by the government for further use by consumers could be traded for certain new vehicles which were deemed "preferrable." In exchange for that "clunker," cash from $3,000 to $4,000 was given toward the purchase of a new, government approved automobile. The main requirement being the immediate destruction of said "clunker" by dumping a solution into it's running engine until it seized up.

Now there's more good news for the consumer ... in the interminable struggle to assure free healthcare for every living creature upon the face of the entire earth, a brand new program is ready for implementation ... "Cash for Geezers" ... that's right, "cash for geezers," eerily similar to "cash for clunkers." With this plan, any "geezer" deemed "worthless or useless" for further use may be turned over to the government in exchange for cash vouchers which must be used toward future healthcare expenses incurred by any consumer deemed preferrable. The ultimate goal of this innovative program is to rid the world of those folks who are draining the healthcare system like a busted sieve, thus easing the strain on healthcare providers and preventing it's ultimate collapse ... the only requirement being the pouring in of that "solution" ...

--sja

It's Bleep'n Golden ...

2009-09-22T11:19:00.000-04:00

Rod Blagojevich's hair is legendary -- and fodder for late night punch lines ... and now the befouled former governor's bushy locks have spawned a new line of hair care products. "Blago: It's Bleep'n Golden Volumizing Shampoo and Conditioner" was launched by the owner of a suburban Chicago company after the idea came to him in a dream. "We're swamped," said Dennis Fath, owner of Delta Laboratories Inc. in Elk Grove Village ... "I don't know what to do. We're a very small company, and we've had over 200 orders today. And they're still coming in every minute."

It was essential, he said, that the product be volumizing in order to be faithful to the voluminous coif that inspired it. This is the first time Delta, which makes hair care products for other companies, has retailed it's own brand. "We made the bottles golden, so it's bleep'n golden," Fath said. "And we made them volumizing so you could look more like him. He has great hair -- no one can deny that."

Blago's publicist Glenn Selig said that his client has yet to try them. "He's aware of it yes, but he has not used it," Selig said. "We hope it passes the smell test." Selig said that Blagojevich will not be endorsing the products, but has no plans to put the kibosh on them, either. The bottles sell for $8 each or $15 for two at blagohair.com ... Delta Labs joins a long line of companies hoping to make a buck off of the indicted former governor.

--sja

You Da Man! -- Motley Discourse ...

2009-09-20T18:49:00.000-04:00

Manny: Hey Alex ... look, I picking too! ...

A-Rod: Manny you're gross ... I picking a guitar ... I picking a Yankee guitar ...

Manny: Look, recently, I saw a physician for a personal health issue, he gave me a medication, not a steroid, which he thought was OK to give to me ...

A-Rod: You should have seen someone about your foul personal hygiene problems ... and a groomer!

Manny: Unfortunately, the medication was banned under our drug policy, just
like that stuff you took Alex.

A-Rod: Oh, you funny guy now huh? ... like I say before, I was under enormous pressure ... the weight of the world was on top of me ... I needed to perform ... perform at a high level ... every day ... things were loose ... a loosey goosey era.

Manny: Under the drug policy, that mistake is my responsibility ... I suspended feefty games!

A-Rod: But it was not my fault ... I was young ... I was stupid ... very stupid ... I was naive ... very naive.

Manny: I been advised not to say anything more for now ... I say just one other thing more ... I take and pass approximately feefteen drug tests during the past five seasons, I take full responsibility for what I do, unlike those other slyboots such as Clemens, Pettitte, Giambi, Tejada, McGwire, Palmeiro and Bonds ... maybe even Slammin' Sammy Sosa ... and now you Alex Rodriguez!

Slammin' Sammy: Look here, I no take nothing illegal, only drink plenty water, see bottles? ... baseball been barry, barry good to me ... but my Binglish not barry good, I no understand good ... I go now ... tank you barry much ... Big Mac, I love you man!

McGwire: I love you too Sammy, you da man! ... but I'm not here to talk about the past ... I'm only here to be positive about this subject.

Sammy: No Big Mac ... you da man!

Barry Bonds: Hey guys ... does the clear and the cream make my head look BIG?

Sammy: No Barry ... your head look barry, barry good to me ... you da man!

Rafael Palmeiro: Let me start by telling you this ... there is absolutely nothing disproportionate about the size of Barry Bond's head in relation to his steroid enhanced body ... furthermore, I myself have never used steroids ... period!

Barry Bonds: You da man Raffy!

Roger Clemens: Look fellas, in case some of you might have misremembered ... steroids can cause heart problems ... and my family has a history of heart conditions, hell, my stepfather died from heart disease ... so it would be suicidal for me to even think about taking any of these dangerous drugs ... or to have an affair with that yucky Mindy McCready from the time she was of the age of 15 ... impossible! ... besides, does this look like the swollen gourd of a steroid user? ... I think not ... I'm da man!

A-Rod: I admit, I did take some kind of substance ... I was negligent ... very negligent ... I not really sure what the heck I took ... or which substances I'm guilty of taking ... I didn't ask the right questions ... I didn't ask any questions ... I needed to push to the next level ... a higher level ... I trusted the wrong people ... others were taking whatever it was that I was taking ... it was just too danged hot! ... blah, blah, blah ...

Manny: OK, enough already Alex, it's obvious that you are stupid ... anyhow, I want to apologize to Mister McCourt, Mrs. McCourt, Mister Joe Torre, my teammates, the Dodger organization and to all the great Dodger fans ...

A-Rod: You better watch it man! ... I've played the best baseball of my career ... I've won some eeM Veee Peeees ... I've never felt better ... I'm very proud now ...

Manny: L.A. is special place to me ... I know everybody is disappointed in me ... so am I ... I'm real sorry about this whole situation ... mostly really sorry that I got caught ... you know, just Manny being Manny, etc ...

A-Rod: You da man Manny!

Manny: No, you da man Alex! ... you wanna go get a couple of those Dodger dogs?

Bud Selig: Look fellas, I can pick too ... wait up ... I want a Dodger dog ... MLB is buying! ... I'm not mad at you ... come on guys ... you are the men!

A-Rod: Pay no attention to anything those other losers say baby ... I love you Alex ... you are my eeM Veee Peeee ... you da man!

--sja