Mr. Robin Offers His Best Advice for Fighting Off Microbes, Gators, and Escapees This Weekend6/30/2015
Good morning everybody! There’s an action-packed weekend ahead for the annual Fourth of July celebration here in Woodward County. Cousin Fred from western Arkansas called last week to check if I wanted to re-open Lake Mountebank for camping over the weekend. I told him that I didn’t think we would. Frankly, the lake is beginning to shrivel a bit with the lack of additional rain recently and the more usual temperatures. There’s a 25 foot length of mud where the bountiful waters of Lake Mountebank once resided.
Cousin Fred, never one to miss an opportunity, suggested opening a therapeutic mud spa. He said he had seen a similar enterprise along the shore of the Dead Sea in Israel years ago. He said there were all sorts of people along the muddy shore there that would get naked and cover themselves in mud (for a fee). I thought to ask why in the world he would have been in Israel, not to mention a part of Israel that borders Jordan where muddy people cavort in the nude, but I was running late for a root canal appointment with that quack dentist I patronize at great personal risk and decided to let it go. Cousin Fred is planning to visit for the weekend and is expected to arrive Thursday evening. He promised to bring a few gallons of Mr. Kim’s plum wine hooch, so I’m sure it will be a lively time here at the compound. My other reason for not wanting to offer RV camp sites for the Fourth weekend is that I’ve finally gotten the wife to give up the hand-rolled tobacco and Jack Daniel’s straight from the bottle. When she heard Cousin Fred is visiting this weekend, she immediately began searching drawers in the kitchen looking for rolling papers. She seemed very relieved that we won’t be invaded by a swarm of modern day Bedouins. We’ll see how she feels once we’re into about one and a half gallons of Mr. Kim’s plum wine hooch and Cousin Fred enlightens us as to his latest entrepreneurial scam…er, opportunity. So, if you’re reading this and hoping to get a spot at Lake Mountebank, I’m sorry, we’re closed. There was an article in today’s Woodward News that essentially told people that if you don’t have a reservation for a campsite at Ft. Supply Lake or Canton Lake, fuhgettaboutit. Actually, the ranger at Ft. Supply indicated that there were still about a dozen sites remaining at Buffalo Point, but that was it. With all the people at the lake this weekend, I wonder if any of the membership at the William S. Key Country Club will walk off the 18th green in search of a picnic and/or vehicle to escape to Texas (why they go to Texas is beyond me). If you’re headed to Supply Lake, you may want to take along a baseball bat…just sayin’. Oh, and a case of personal disinfectant…sure the rangers say the water is safe for swimming, but what do they know? Also, the disinfectant comes in handy for rubbing in the eyes of the gators to keep them away. Also on the front page of Woodward News today was a run down on the events taking place at Crystal Beach Park on Friday and Saturday leading up to the fireworks Saturday evening at 10PM. The fun starts Friday evening at 8PM when Jenny Franck opens for the headlining act, the Kentucky Headhunters who go on at 9PM. It’s a free event at Crystal Beach Stadium and the Headhunters always put on a great show. Saturday, the Fourth kicks off with the annual Firecracker 5K race followed by a full day of fun and entertainment including my personal favorite turtle racing, which as I pointed yesterday, we at CCB Stables plan to win…now and in the future. Step aside kids, Mr. Robin is moving in. The events culminate in the evening with a 9PM show – the Loop Rawlins Wild West Show. I first heard of this guy when he competed on the “America’s Got Talent” TV show. That’s followed by the annual Crystal Beach fireworks display. So, big, big doings in Cosmic City this Friday and Saturday. Be safe, shower often, watch out for the goose crap, and use sunscreen! Hope everyone had a great weekend. We here at CCB are looking forward the Fourth of July events coming up this weekend. As always, I’m looking forward to the turtle races. Our stable of red-eyed box turtles have been training hard. I am considering a few equipment changes this year such as blinkers on a couple of our entries who seem to be more concerned about what’s going on around them rather than focusing on the line in front of them. Our box turtle racing facility here at the compound is setting a new standard that will ensure the compound’s legacy as a turtle racing dynasty (okay, actually this is our first year). I’ve reached out to Bob Baffert (trainer of this year’s Triple Crown winner) to enlist his professional assistance as a terrestrial turtle racing trainer, but so far he hasn’t gotten back to me.
But, in the midst of all of the July 4th goings on, there was an interesting piece in the Woodward News late last week. Let me preface this, by asking you, fair (pardon the pun yet to come) readers of CCB (all four of you at last count, including the guy who sends me threatening emails every day…he’s back!), if you’ve ever read something and then realized that something about what you read was a bit disturbing, but you couldn’t put your finger on it? The Woodward County Fair Board finally announced the hiring of a General Manager for the freshly renovated County Fair Grounds buildings and brand new Events Center. They’ve desperately needed that to ensure that the new facilities get the most use and bring increased revenue from tourist/visitor buckage to the city and county. The Fair Board began advertising for the position of General Manager sometime in May, I think. They were looking for someone with a lot of experience in everything from events coordination to facility management to marketing experience. The veritable blue plate special of General Managers. I even discovered the job announcement ads were running in Texas…they certainly cast a wide net. Why do I know so much about the hiring search? Admittedly, I submitted an application for the position. I received a very nice rejection email from someone on the Fair Board the day before the selection of General Manager was announced in the paper. I actually appreciated that…it’s more than I can say for the last three publishers that I approached about publishing my book. Two of the publishers actually indicated they wanted me to forward the entire book, which I did. After months of hearing nothing and after repeated inquiries as to the status of the manuscript, I’ve finally decided to publish through Amazon.com…the book will be available soon through Kindle. But, I digress… In the Woodward News article last week, it identified the new General Manager as Andy Maher and discussed some of his qualifications for the position. There were quotes from the chair of the hiring committee regarding Mr. Maher and his ideas for ensuring the Fair Grounds facilities are booked every weekend. There was even a quote from one of the County Commissioners that Mr. Maher has traveled a lot and knows people worldwide. That seemed kind of an odd thing to say, I’m not sure Woodward County will be able to attract a French croissant makers convention to Woodward County, but what do I know. Frankly, if he’s hoping to attract business from overseas, I’m holding out hope for the introduction of Japanese Sumo Wrestling to Northwest Oklahoma. Let me say, that despite the fact that I wasn’t selected for the position, I am happy to see someone hired who can help move Woodward and Woodward County forward. I was planning to write a blog post that highlighted the benefits of having a full-time, we’re-not-kidding-this-time-manager at the Fair Grounds. It is definitely win-win. But, there was something about the article that tripped something in my brain that didn’t really jump to the forefront…until today. As I was doing some research for the posting, I found a Woodward News article that was published in February 2015, when the Fair Grounds renovations were nearing completion. The County Fair Board was meeting with the Woodward County Commission to discuss future plans for the Fair Grounds facilities including the brand new Events Center. According to the article, much of the discussion that day centered on marketing the facilities and even working hand-in-glove with the city’s Convention and Tourism Bureau. And there it was…a quote near the end of the section about the County Fair Board from the Chairman of the Woodward County Fair Board, Andy Maher, who indicated the board was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Probably not the right thing to say when the Fair Grounds renovations have been paid for with bond money. So, the same guy who as Chairman of the Fair Board was feeling overwhelmed was hired into the position of General Manager of the Fair Grounds? Is that legal? I’m sure the County wouldn’t have moved to hire Mr. Maher if there was a legal issue. Is it ethical? I’ll just say, yes, this is after all Oklahoma, where state Corporation Commissioners receive sacks of cash from the people they’re supposed to be regulating. I wonder if he’ll have to resign his position as Chairman of the Fair Board? Back in the 1980’s I worked for a Navy four-star who measured his day by whether or not his name appeared on the front page of the Washington Post…the best days were those when his name was nowhere to be found. It just seems to me that Woodward County is walking a line here, but then again, it is Oklahoma. Just sayin... I wish Mr. Maher the best in his endeavors to make the Woodward County Fair Grounds a world-class entertainment and event venue. Let me start this by pre-qualifying myself…I am not a rich man. I am, however, very capable and altogether thrilled to spend someone else’s money…kind of like the morons at 2300 North Lincoln Blvd in Oklahoma City. Yeah, I don’t know exactly where my money goes. I’m really a man of few vices and those that I do have are relatively harmless. There are the after-market parts for my motorcycle, like my new helmet with Bluetooth speakers built into the thing, oh and it comes with a Blue-Ray DVD player that projects video onto the visor. There is the occasional trip to the racetrack…love them thoroughbreds. Then there’s my favorite vice of all, my daughter, who seems to keep switching majors to ensure she’ll finish college long after I’m dead. Oh, and then there’s the lottery.
I know, I know, it’s a fool’s game, but so what? They have to give the money to someone…right? Plus, supposedly the state’s cut goes to education here in the state…uh huh. Even though the morons in the state legislature can’t seem to fund pay raises for our educators without raiding the teacher’s pension funds. I’ll bet that money goes to the Oklahoma Attorney General for his “evidence fund” whatever the hell that is. So when I saw that rabid pack of lemmings otherwise known as the Oklahoma media go into a frenzy over the mystery of the individual who won $2 million playing PowerBall two weeks ago, I thought I should weigh in. The media is just aghast that no one has yet stepped forward to claim the prize, as evidenced in an article published on the NewsOK.com site. Actually, I’m kind of wondering that myself…why the person hasn’t come forward by now. It’s only a $2 million win. Honestly, $2 million isn’t that much money nowadays. Seriously, I’ll bet presidential-hopeful Trump spends that much having the string mop atop his skull coiffed on a daily basis. Hopefully, our mysterious lotto winner, we’ll call him/her McCash for purposes of this posting isn’t hiring a “consultant” – an attorney and/or financial advisor - to tell them how to “manage” their winnings. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. McCash, the first line item on my recommendations for managing your new wealth is for you to sign a check to me for my consulting fee. I’m only asking for 30%, a discount from my usual fee of 40% because I like you.” I mean, okay, I get it. If I had won that $475 million PowerBall two years ago, I would likely have hired someone too. Not necessarily for consultation, but a bodyguard to keep the long lost relatives at bay. “Hey, Robin you old dog, long time never met, it’s Reggie, your mother’s cousin by marriage eight times removed calling from Toledo. I have a great opportunity for you to own your own lucha libre franchise up here. Call me.” Lucha libre (Mexican freestyle wrestling) in Ohio? Actually, I might jump at that. $475 million…that’s some serious dough…as Howard Stern might say, “That’s F-U cash.” But, I’m pretty sure that $2 million wouldn’t last anyone very long, no matter how frugal you think you are. Think about it…no, really, think about it. What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think about winning $2 million? I’ll bet it was splurging on something you’ve always wanted, but didn’t really need. Am I right? Before thoughts of taxes or socking away a chunk for a rainy day or maybe giving your close relatives a taste or taking your spouse on a romantic cruise to Bulgaria aboard the SS Sepsis…you’re thinking a fleet of Harley-Davidson motorcycles with custom paint, one for every day of the week. “…Wait, did he just say something about taxes?” Yup, HE did. Let’s say, for purposes of illustration that half of your $2 million will go to the Federal government (rat bastards) and the morons on North Lincoln Blvd (they have to fund their lunch subsidies somehow). So now you’re left with $1 million. Okay, still a lot of dough, but half as much as when the Oklahoma media was pondering your whereabouts and identity right after the drawing. So, in the glow of being a winner, you promptly walk into your job and tell your boss, whom you can’t stand, to kiss your ass. Robin Advice #1: Don’t do it. Don’t burn bridges, don’t quit the day job. You’ll regret it. After the company security officer perp-walks you out the door, you immediately head to Oklahoma City and the Porsche dealership to buy the Carrera GT in flame red. On that long stretch of I-40 coming out of OKC you decide to see if the car can actually go 200+ mph like the sales consultant said it would do. As you speed along, weaving in and out of traffic (how dare those peasant motorists get in your way) and smiling at the OHP phalanx eight miles back, but in “hot” pursuit nevertheless, you forget that you live in Oklahoma and are subject to ODOT’s whimsies when it comes to closing lanes or not repairing potholes. After all the rains we’ve had, you hit a pothole large enough and filled with enough water to be declared a man-made lake. Your Carrera GT becomes airborne and you sail across the median and the traffic lanes on the other side and total the machine when it hits the billboard advertising the Porsche dealership in Oklahoma City. So, let’s see. There’s the $450,000 you spent on the Carrera GT. A real loss since you failed to ensure your current auto policy would cover fine German automobiles. Fines, court costs, hospital costs, etc. after OHP finally catches up to and begins Tasering you at will. There’s all of the people you frightened to near death as you careened past them on the interstate…they’re suing now, figuring that anyone who can drive a $450,000 car must have some cash in the bank. The Porsche dealership is suing you for the billboard. In the end, you’re back to where you started before you won the lottery. You don’t even have a job. “No seriously, Boss. Kiss my ass is a term of endearment in my family.” Robin Advice #2 – If you need a car, buy a Toyota. Take the rest of the money and put it into some sort of income producing fund and shut up. Robin Advice #3 – PowerBall jackpot is $50 million for Saturday night. Go get a ticket. If you win, call me…my consulting fee is only 10%...8% if I like you. Have a great weekend! You know, I’ve been called a lot of things in life…just ask any of my ex-wives, they’ll be happy to share. Over the years I don’t recall anyone ever referring to me as a genius. But now at this very moment in Robin history, I’m stepping up to make that claim…yes, gentle readers, I am a genius! And, what makes me so special you ask? Because I tapped into the meaning of life and a great source of happiness years ago (and didn’t realize it). And, no, it has nothing to do with sipping Jack Daniel’s in front of a Robin campfire (though that probably qualifies as a close second). Allow me to explain…
I’ve always been a music fan. Just about any kind of music. My sister and I were exposed to music constantly throughout our childhood. My Dad is a real gigging musician with an innate ability to pick up an instrument and teach himself to play it by ear (hate that about him…I always had to work hard at it). In fact, he’s a Western Swing hall of famer. My mother used to play Elvis and Johnny Rivers records at home. To this day, I can’t wait to finish the Thanksgiving meal so I can strike up Elvis’ “Blue Christmas”…what a great song (I do a really cool version of that song singing as Elmer Fudd – another reason to invite me to your next Christmas party and give me wine). When we would stay with my Aunt Deane during the day in the summer, she often played Andy Williams or Frank Sinatra albums. The genre never seemed to matter…Classical, Opera, Rock, Country Western, Hard Rock, Punk, Glam-Punk, Metal, Jazz, Outlaw Country, Texas Blues, Delta Blues, Chicago Blues, Methodist Hymns, odd-ball tunes from the ‘20’s and ‘30’s (thanks to Dr. Demento)…I love it all. Hell, I even have a CD of Bulgarian folk dance music…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz So, I was surprised when people were shocked about my plan to hold a CCB Thrash Metal Jam Festival here at the compound this summer. I’ve always enjoyed metal music…Judas Priest, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Pantera…there is something about crunching guitar chords and singers screaming out lyrics at three octaves above the range of a normal human being that I find enjoyable…downright pleasurable, really. Now I know why… I came across an article on the Huffington Post web site about a study conducted by Australia’s University of Queensland and published in the “Frontiers in Human Neuroscience” scientific journal (What, you don’t subscribe? Me either…my only magazine subscriptions nowadays are “Rolling Stone” and “MAD”). In the study, they used 39 subjects all of whom were subjected (haha…subjects subjected…get it? I crack myself up.) to an anger-inducing process (bet they made them drive around Oklahoma City at rush hour) to make them really, well…angry. Baseline angry-subject measurements were taken (heart-rate, etc.). Some of the participants were told to sit quietly in isolation for ten minutes, the rest were exposed to metal music. Turns out the metal heads calmed down much faster than the quiet sitters. The Australian findings were backed by a similar study done in Israel. No one is sure exactly why it works. There was some mention of angry, aggressive music being played for someone feeling angry and aggressive triggering something in the brain that eases their pain. Guess when I used to blast Judas Priest’s “You’ve Gotta Another Thing Comin’” through headphones at a sound level equivalent to an F/A-18 in afterburner, I was doing more than causing irreversible hearing loss, I was soothing my brain. GENIUS! And to think, I used to believe the meaning of life was clean smelling sheets (let it roll around in your head for a bit, it’ll come to you). Maybe, just maybe, it’s actually Ted Nugent (aka, Uncle Ted) cranking “Wango Tango”…who knew? So…plans are proceeding apace for the CCB Thrash Metal Jam Festival here at the compound this summer. The headlining band will be Texas Grapefruit Lies…my personal fav (okay, actually they’re the only band to agree to do the gig so far). The entire line-up will be announced as the day grows closer. We were considering doing the festival over the Fourth of July weekend, but that puts us in head-to-head competition with the City of Woodward’s brand of Fourth fun and it’s always difficult to compete with turtle races. Besides, on Friday night there’s a free show with “The Kentucky Headhunters”…I don’t want to miss that. Great band. Figure if Lake Mountebank hasn’t fully receded by then, we’ll just pass out inner-tubes and let people float during the festival. Bang your heads, Brothers and Sisters…bang your heads! Another disclaimer from our disbarred and disgraced (non)attorney spokesperson: Despite our fearless founder’s claims of genius, we at CCB strongly recommend against listening to anything he has to say…he’s an idiot. Further, CCB recommends against playing any kind of music through headphones “at a sound level equivalent to an F/A-18 in afterburner”…you’ll ruin your hearing! Finally, there is nothing wrong with Bulgarian folk dance music, we at CCB really enjoy it so please stop sending us “newer, better” New Wave Bulgarian Folk Dance Music CDs. We have all we need. As a young man, I was always a guy willing to take a chance. You know, to leap out there while my contemporaries hung back and denied any knowledge of me or my stupid schemes. Course, the older I get, the less likely (or capable) I am to leap anywhere. Besides, I’m really getting too old (and am far too handsome…and humble) to go to jail for doing something stupid. Ah, but back then I was something of a reckless daredevil (wannabe).
Let’s see, there was the time that Captain Time (aka, me) planned to jump the North Canadian River (mostly a dry riverbed at the time) on a bicycle. My friend, John Bumpass, hijacked his trigonometry class to figure out what it would take for me to make the jump and live to tell the tale. I seem to recall that the riverbed’s width was around 50 feet with an assortment of rocks, rolled strands of rusty barbwire, and broken beer bottles in the sand bottom. Evel Knievel never made a jump so daring…14 Greyhound buses?...that’s nothing! The trig class’ calculation was that I would have to hit the top of the ramp at a speed no one could possibly achieve on a bicycle. The plan was doomed to fail, but that didn’t stop me. I even had teachers coming up to me in between classes, saying they had heard what I was planning to do and begging me not to do it. That, of course, just egged me on. In the end, I didn’t do it. April rolled into summer and Dad enslaved me to the farm for wheat harvest and the plowing that followed. Probably just as well…they would still be finding parts of me in the riverbed and selling them on eBay as remains of the “Lost Ancestor” found in Woodward County, OK. But, wait, there’s more. So it was, in the mid-70’s that streaking became all the rage. All the college kids were doing it. Being the kind of person who was always finding ways to bring the latest trends to sleepy Woodward (I was probably the only teenager in Western Oklahoma to own a New York Dolls album – the true origins of Punk), I decided to give streaking a try. One night as my friends – Doug, Mick and I – were dragging Main. For those of you born after, well, I have no idea…dragging Main was the chief source of entertainment for Woodward teenagers back in the day. You started at Sonic and moved east down Main Street made a circle through Crystal Beach and then back to Sonic…all night long sometimes. I think after gas prices began to shoot up in the ‘80’s people stopped dragging Main. But, I digress… So, I had opened my mouth that I was going to streak down Main Street. Doug, of course, wasn’t going to let that go and kept egging me on. Fortunately, for the good people of Cosmic City, some sense of modesty and decency (not sure I’ve ever actually used those two words when talking about myself) prevailed and I chickened out. Doug wasn’t going to let me hear the end of it though and kept up with the goading. Mick was in the backseat and just laughing about it all. Up and down Main we rolled along, with Doug constantly telling me to let him know if I wanted him to pull over so I could strip and run. Finally, I think he suggested going out of the city limits on a dirt road and I could just try it out. Next thing I knew, we were on Cheyenne Drive, just off of 28th Street, which at the time was still a dirt road though it was still in city limits. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, I stripped and got out. Off I began running toward the west. Doug was staying behind me with lights on bright. Honestly, it was kind of a liberating experience…if you’ve never run naked, I would recommend at least trying it (oh, come on, no one is watching). I was laughing so hard I could barely run, but run I did…until a car came racing up behind Doug. I jumped back into the car and away we went. The very next day, my mother let me know that she knew I had done it. I caught a huge load of guff about it, but it soon died out. Soon thereafter she bought me a pillow with a graphic of a naked guy running and the words “Keep on Streaking” across the top. She also included in my “prize” package a 45rpm of Ray Stevens’ “The Streak”. Not long after that, my Aunt Dee Ann gave me a T-shirt emblazoned with “If it feels good, do it.” Words to live by, me thinks. I don’t know if they were encouraging me or trying to embarrass me in my family’s own special way. Thankfully, it was a soft landing. In case you’re wondering why I’m taking a nostalgic trip down days past, all of this came back to mind as I reading about two knuckleheads who could be my illegitimate offspring (always wondered about that). WKYT television station in Pike County, Kentucky (I swear, I’ve never been there) ran a story about the surrender on warrants and subsequent arrest of both for streaking. They’re being held without bond. For streaking? Really? Seems our two daredevils donned masks while one ran naked through a Wal-Mart screaming that he was “on fire” and “burning up.” The other was following to film the whole thing for social media. When Johnny the Human Torch got to the back of the store, he reached into the dairy case and poured two gallons of milk all over himself (duh…to put the flames out…sheesh, keep up!). If you follow the link above, you can see the video. During their arraignment, both stressed that it was a prank and had been previously planned. Guess the judge wasn’t impressed. Thus, he ordered them held without bond. Who knows, maybe da judge’s elderly Aunt Fanny was shopping in Wal-Mart at the time (it was half-off previously frozen chicken parts Tuesday) and the sight of Johnny the Human Torch's nakedity gave her the vapors. So if there is anyone from the ACLU reading this, please send someone to the Pike County jail and let’s free these idiots. Ummm…I gotta go. There are people at the door. I let my daughter read this after I finished it. Apparently, she’s trying to have me committed. On a more somber note today, I’m sure you’ve all heard of the tragic death of Bob Barry, Jr., sports director at KFOR in Oklahoma City. For any of you who may be reading this and are not familiar with the name, Bob Barry, Jr., and his father, Bob Barry, Sr. were icons in terms of Oklahoma sports broadcasting and reporting. Our condolences to his family.
Making this particularly tragic is the fact that he died in a motorcycle accident caused by an unlicensed driver making an illegal U turn. Barry’s bike slammed into the driver’s side door. I find this particularly egregious since I ride too. I know, I know, motorcycle riding is by its very nature inherently dangerous. If you choose to ride a bike, you have to accept a certain amount of risk. Collisions with four-wheeled vehicles will never end well. I’ve t-boned a car that ran a red light (I never hurt so bad in my life) and then two years ago on a BRAND NEW bike, I was rear ended by a guy who just wasn’t paying attention and even admitted he wasn’t paying attention (I wanted to beat the guy to death with my helmet, but I was pinned under the bike). And I can tell you that close calls are nearly a daily event…people changing lanes nearly on top of you, cars suddenly darting out from a side street, and my favorite, I’m in the right lane and a guy swerves into the side of the road to pass me on the right spraying me with gravel and dirt as he went past. Dumbasses abound…the important thing is to constantly be on the lookout for them. And it isn’t always the motorists, I’ve seen dummies on bikes too…everybody wants to be an outlaw biker. When we were living in Northern Virginia, it was particularly bad. There were a lot of young kids coming back from overseas duty in Iraq or Afghanistan with a pocket full of cash and the first thing they would do is go out and buy something on the order of a Hayabusa and punch themselves into a highway retaining wall somewhere at 150mph. Or, some maniac would run them off the road or challenge a light and basically run over them. A long time ago I started thinking about ways to get motorists to pay closer attention to what the hell they’re doing…make them look for motorcycles. I came up with a scheme that might work, though I realize that getting the morons at 2300 North Lincoln Blvd to do anything that doesn’t involve their getting kickbacks from the oil/gas sector or proposing legislation to criminalize rampant masturbation means it’s dead on arrival. But still… So my idea is to start holding drivers of vehicles accountable, particularly in cases where the motorcyclist is killed. Here’s a sketch of how this would work: First, you have to run some sort of public education campaign about what the new motorcycle safety law means for them personally. I realize that translates into money which HRH Mary of Fallin has declared a scarce state resource, but maybe, just maybe the news outlets around the state would be willing to carry spots on TV and radio, and ads in papers as a public service. Maybe drive it into motorists’ brains (pun intended) that it takes a motorcycle twice the distance to get stopped. Once the law is implemented here is how I think it might work: First offense vehicle driver is at fault for a collision with a motorcycle, but there is no debilitating injury or death. Mandatory road safety course (at least 40 hours) and a $1,000 fine. First offense when the driver is at fault for a collision with a motorcycle with debilitating injury or death. One month suspended driver’s license, $5000 fine, mandatory road safety course. In either case on a first offense, if the driver of the vehicle is impaired (drugs or alcohol), mandatory jail time (30 days), one year license suspension, $10,000 fine, plus whatever comes with the DUI/DWI charges. Subsequent at-fault offense with no debilitating injury or death. Three days jail time, three months suspended license, $5,000 fine. Subsequent at-fault offense with debilitating injury or death. Charge with manslaughter and whatever sentencing comes with that, six months suspended license, $10,000 fine. Subsequent at-fault offense with impaired driver. Charge them with murder. At a minimum they lose their license for good. I’m not law enforcement, nor am I an attorney (though I do watch a lot of Law & Order) so I’m certain there’s a lot of reasons you can’t do something like this. Or, who knows, maybe this stuff is already on the books…if it is, I don’t think it’s being enforced. I’m also not so naïve as to believe there’s a prayer for getting the dummies on North Lincoln Blvd to do anything about this. They would be trying to figure ways to slide other legislation inside this bill to ensure that their “donors” will be able to frack away in the great state of Oklahoma until there isn’t a drop of potable water to be found anywhere. And while I’m at it. Allow me to take a swipe at those bikers who prefer not to wear a helmet as you’re pushing your scooter down that long stretch of highway at 90+ mph (trust me, I’ve done it). If you’ve never seen what pavement can do to an unprotected human skull as it bounces off and slides down the road, I do pray you’ll never experience that firsthand. I can tell you, it ain’t pretty. Protect yourselves, Brothers and Sisters…them cars is out to get us. Friends, have you ever had one of those moments, when, out of the blue, something your mother said when you were a kid pops into your brain like the bridge from a really bad 1970’s pop song (hint, we’re all brainwashed)? I refer to that as déjà mom. In my particular case, it was the mid-60’s and the TV show “Batman” was on. I know, the TV Batman was kind of campy, but it still had its cool elements…no uber-cool, brooding, mysterious Dark Knight here…it was a paunchy, chicken-armed Adam West in a Lycra body suit and blue cape.
But, I digress… Back to the déjà mom, the Penguin likely was lowering the Caped Crusader (at an excruciatingly slow pace) into a vat of boiling purple acid filled with purple-acid-loving, man-eating guppies, when Mom pipes up with, “Why don’t they just shoot him?” That moment came back to me over the weekend as I was alerted by the CCB command center about a breaking AP story pushed out by the Huffington Post web site. It seems that a woman in Los Angeles attacked her live-in partner with canned goods (peas, carrots, and broth). Unfortunately, the poor fellow died as a result of this canned carnage. CCB has twice reported diabolically bizarre female violence perpetrated against men. No guns used here…only weapons that would make any comic book villain proud. First, there was the woman in Ohio who stabbed her boyfriend/lover/partner in the groin with a pen because he ate all of the salsa in the house. We at CCB issued a warning to all men to never, ever eat all the salsa in the house and to stay the hell out of Ohio. Not two weeks later, we reported on a woman in Japan who attacked her boyfriend/lover/partner with a knife after said partner made a doody that stunk to high heaven. We urged all men then to start using the bathroom down at the corner gas station and hide all the knives. Following the second incident we put our team of crack investigators from the CCB Institute for the Study of Female Histrionics (CCBIFTSOFH) onto the research trail of just what is happening. Okay, they’ve not accomplished much of anything. As is often the case when you put noted scholars onto the trail of anything, they have to hold a lot of meetings and symposia regarding the direction of the investigation, the color of the paper that will be used for the final report, and even which font to use. (sigh) Perhaps it’s a good thing that the investigation remains in its infancy. They can now include this latest episode from Los Angeles in their data compilation. KNBC-TV (Los Angeles) reported that murder charges were filed against the woman last week and bail was set at more than $1 million. No motive has been disclosed. So, we have no idea what prompted this alleged woman to allegedly launch a one-woman barrage. Maybe, just maybe, the poor fellow ate all of the lima beans (an important ingredient in any succotash recipe) and she was at the end of her rope. Now I’m not saying that all of the above women weren’t without good reasons for perpetrating their alleged assaults on their respective alleged men. Yeah, okay…eating all the salsa in the house and creating horrific bathroom odors do seem a bit low on the scale of frenzied attack reasoning. This why we’re hoping that CCBIFTSOFH will get to the bottom of things soon. How many more men must suffer Joker/King Tut/Penguin-style attacks? Here is our best CCB advice for avoiding similar situations: Start sleeping in your vehicle with the doors locked and one eye open; Keep a secret stash of salsa hidden so you can keep it stocked in the house; Install commercial grade exhaust in your bathroom; Put deadbolts on the pantry door; and, Stay the hell out of Japan, Ohio, and Los Angeles. Hope everyone had a great Father’s Day. See you tomorrow…same Bat time, same Bat channel! Quick…don’t think about it. Man or woman, I don’t care. Off the top of your head, how many pairs of underwear do you own? And why are they on top of your head (nyuk, nyuk)? How many? If you’re like me (my sympathies if you are), I can go an entire week with two extra days (if I’m being lazy about doing wash) before it becomes a full-blown commando emergency. Okay, actually I can stretch it to three extra days if I wear the synthetic bikinis emblazoned with “I’ve been a naughty boy!” across the backside. I know, I know, TMI.
So…the reason I ask such a personal question is to lead into today’s post. According to the Huffington Post web site, there is a woman down in Georgia who for some reason decided to allegedly steal…hopefully you’re sitting down…131 pairs of underwear worth $749.95 from a Walmart. HUH, you say? Oh, that’s only the opening tidbit. There’s more…oh yes, there’s more. But before I get too far down the road here. Can anyone explain to me why we refer to underwear as a pair? Writing above, I wouldn’t have said, “…131 underwears from a…” Right? Underwear, undies, panties, drawers, BVDs, boxers, skivvies…whatever…they’re referred to as pairs even if they come in a single pack. Perhaps it’s because you slip a pair of legs through them (unless of course you prefer to wear the panties on your head – we’ll cover that another time). But you wouldn’t say, “I have five pairs of t-shirts.” Ah…butt (pun intended), it’s singular if you’re referring to a thong. Hmmm…see this is the kind of crap that keeps me awake at night. If you know the answer please clue me in and I’ll share it in the next post. But, I digress…back to the matter at hand (my woefully underpaid editor/agent tells me I need to focus more). Our alleged purloiner of panties (we’ll call her Purl) allegedly went into an alleged Walmart in Kennesaw, GA where she was allegedly caught stuffing panties into her handbag and grocery bags. She was arrested and charged with felony shoplifting. She was released the next day on a $5,000 bond. And that’s when things got really weird. There’s no indication in the HuffPost as to what she told the police after she was arrested. Maybe she confessed, maybe not. As any decent defense attorney would tell you…”Shut up, they have to prove you did it!” But, not Purl…she became a defense attorney’s worst case scenario. Apparently, many of her Facebook “friends” got wind of her one-woman crime spree and began tagging her on the news stories of her alleged crime. It got to the point where Purl was so overwhelmed by the attention, that she did a really dumb thing. She lashed out at those well-meaning taggers. On Facebook, Purl issued a lengthy Facebook statement in which she hinted (and I am paraphrasing here) that there may be more to the situation than what everyone heard in news reporting. That there may be a reason that happened…blah, blah, blah. O’ woe is me! She went on to say that the next person who posted something or tagged her would get a really mean posting from her! So there! She’s keeping us in suspense as to her motive. I’m sure it’s a good one. Maybe she’ll tell the judge? Note to self: Keep an eye on the Cobb County courts for when this comes to the preliminary hearing. After reading the article online, I considered my next move. Far be it from me to post anything without a complete and thorough investigation of the other stuff that can fluff out this post a bit more. So here we go… The thing that occurred to me is that there was nothing in the article about the type, size, or even color of the underwear that were stolen. That would have been very telling, I think. In an effort to have more data at my fingertips, I drove to the Walmart in Woodward at 3AM to do some investigating. The first thing I noticed…have you ever been in a 24-hour Walmart at 3AM and seen firsthand the customer demographic shopping at that hour? When I lived there in the late 90’s, I used to think Anacortes, WA at 3AM was a freak parade, but nothing that compares to Woodward’s Walmart at 3AM. Okay, Robin, focus…focus. So there I am in Walmart at 3AM in the Ladies Intimates section doing an inventory of women’s unmentionables. To be really honest, I don’t think I found 131 pairs of undies that were the same size. Oh, there were a variety of colors and fashions…especially loved the granny panties with the peach and plum designs. Those were just so special. I’m guessing then that Purl was just randomly grabbing panties of all sizes, colors, and types to stuff into her bags. Although my investigation didn’t really turn up anything substantive, I did come away from Walmart with a stern warning (courtesy of Woodward PD called by Walmart management at 3:17AM) that unless I wanted to be arrested for trespassing (hey, the store is open 24 hours a day) or lewdness/lasciviousness prior to dawn (hey, I was just counting the panties) I should depart immediately and not return for a period of no less than 72 hours. Sheesh…try to do a little investigating in Woodward, OK and you see what it gets you? Upon a little further “investigating” I discovered a story from an Atlanta TV news site that also in Georgia back in February, a woman (different woman from I could see in the store surveillance pics) stole 785 “pairs of underwear” worth $10,500 from a Victoria’s Secret store. Judas priest…what is it with Georgia women and underwear for crying out loud? I mean, I get it (okay, not really). Women love underwear in ways men will never understand. Men will wear their skivvies until the damned things become loincloths or their wives/girlfriends/partners/whatever get tired of seeing the crack of their butt through the giant hole in back and buy them more…whichever comes first. But, 785? That’s gotta be some kind of record. Who knows, maybe there’s some sort of black market for women’s panties. “…Hey, you. Yeah you. Need some silky panties? Got some right here. Bargain prices. Wait…I have to ask. You aren’t a cop are you?” CCB BREAKING NEWS…our CCB Math Expert, who actually teaches math at Woodward Middle School and interns for CCB during the summer break, has just finished some agonizingly in-depth analysis. Here’s what he found: 131 “units” (his analytical technical name for panties) at $749.95 is an average price of $5.72 per unit. Sheesh…were they disposable panties? 785 units at $10,500 is an average of $13.38 per unit. Still not too bad considering that it was Victoria’s Secret. Maybe Purl2 was raiding the bargain bins. So…if you’re so inclined as to steal largish amounts of women’s underwears (sic) for whatever purpose, it seems that Victoria’s Secret is the better value in terms of resale or whatever the heck you’re going to do with 100+ pairs. By the way, I’m still under my 72-hour-no-return-to-Walmart order. If you’re out by the Walmart in Woodward could you please pick up some dog food for me? Thanks…the mutts are looking a might peeked. Have a great weekend everyone! Not that anyone ever listens to me, but…
In my years of living, the one single immutable truth of the Universe that I’ve learned is that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Here’s an example…a few years ago I read a very lengthy biography of George Washington by Ron Chernow. It’s a great book and a great read…highly recommend it. I learned things about General George that were, to that point, unknown to me. For instance, after George Washington became president, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison (I think it was those two) hired a scholar from Boston to move to Philadelphia and set up shop as a publisher. His sole purpose in life was to publish a newspaper that was highly critical of George Washington. Day in and day out, this person published his paper with stories bordering on outright fabrications, innuendo, and seething criticism of every single thing Washington did. Over time, it caused George Washington to begin to second guess any decision he made and become nearly obsessed with what people thought of him. And, you thought Fox News and/or MSNBC is something new? As the song goes, “it’s all been done.” So here we find ourselves in the midst of another presidential election cycle with a virtual herd of candidates on the Republican side and a smaller pack of maybes and wannabes on the Democrat side. I make it a point to avoid discussing politics in these daily missives mostly because this country has become so divisive in terms of political beliefs that I would just be another murmur in a cacophony of noise. We need to get past whether something is on the right or the left…but then again, it’s always been like that. I try not to align myself with one side or the other, I try to find some hint of intelligence and a few reasonably expressed ideas that may have a chance of finding their way to solutions. But, that’s a rare thing. Years ago…many, many years ago, I recall my father commenting that no one actually qualified for the job of president wants it. Why would they? Ah, so there you have another example of the more things change, the more they stay the same. Two days ago, Donald Trump announced he’s running for president. He made a rather fluffy speech with a lot of stuff that people want to hear, but no real substance or solutions. Is his heart really in it? Who knows? There’s been a lot of chatter since then that this is simply a publicity stunt for him, etc. Maybe. I thought it was interesting that he felt compelled to inform us of his net worth. Good for him. I don’t have that kind of money and will likely never see anything near that amount. Do I care how much he has? Not really. I do recall thinking that if he has that kind of money why doesn’t he do something about whatever that is on his head? Frankly, it looks like a wet string mop hanging over the top of a squinty-eyed fence post. Just one man’s opinion. But I digress… What we’re really here to discuss today is not politics…oh no. Today, we’re here to discuss something we can all get behind despising (unless of course you’re some whack-job arachnologist). Namely, spiders. So, the Woodward News in their Farm & Ranch section on Wednesday ran a piece that was fed from OSU’s Department of Etymology & Plant Pathology (whose motto translated from the Greek is, “Sure We’re Bug Nerds, But We’re Really Fun Bug Nerds”). The lengthy article entitled, “Spider Identification 101”, was a primer aimed at insect killers (me among them) on separating the spiders that can kill you from those that you leave alone because they’re our friends. Uh huh. Personally, my policy regarding spiders is the same as my policy regarding snakes, which is the only good snake is a dead snake. The article goes into great detail about markings on spiders and how to tell if it’s really a venomous spider or merely a harmless spider that looks like a venomous spider. Judas priest…like I’m going to get close enough to check? For instance, there was a paragraph describing the much maligned and misunderstood cellar spider which resembles the brown recluse (aka, the fiddleback). Now the brown recluse is bad, but its near twin the cellar spider is good. The best way to tell them apart (I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP) is that the cellar spiders like to reside near the ceiling of a home while the brown recluse prefers to be nearer the floor. WHO CARES?! Die spiders, die! Still, I’m sure some grad student got extra points for putting that article together and getting the Woodward News (whose motto translated from the Latin is, “We’ll Tell You What You Need to Know”) to publish it. If you’re like me (and I do pray you aren’t) and are quick with the shoe or rolled up magazine when it comes to bugs, I have a few safety tips that you may wish to apply when dealing with household pests…particularly spiders. I was able to find two articles, both are from last summer (coincidence?…I think not) about the use of fire in ridding your home of spiders. Believe me, you’re better off living with the spiders. The first article comes to us from the Newser web site about a dude in Seattle, Washington (whose state motto was recently changed to “Toke, Toke, Toke It Up!) who tried to kill a spider in his laundry room using a can of spray paint and a lighter. Hahaha…insert your own joke about legalized marijuana here. Yeah, that didn’t work out so well for Spiderman. He wound up with $60,000 in damage to his home (it was a rental…bet the landlord was thrilled). The second is also from the Newser site (Ha! I may have a new favorite!) about a woman in Kansas (it’s cheaper there, you know) who used her cigarette lighter to set fire to a pile of towels in an effort to kill a spider. Once the fire was out, she was arrested for arson and arachnoid cruelty (okay, just kidding about the cruelty charge…she was only arrested for arson). So my best advice to all of you reading this (all two of you now…even the guy sending me the threatening emails has given up) is to deal with your spiders the old fashioned way…the sole of your shoe or a rolled up copy of the Woodward News…I knew that fish wrap would come in handy for something. Tell me, have you ever considered just how connected we all are…digitally speaking? I’m sure you have pondered this at some point. Here at the compound we have at last count: two laptops; two…nope, three kindles; one aging desktop; three tablets; three smartphones; two smart DVD players; and, an Xbox…for two people. It’s a miracle we have any bandwidth left after running all of those devices simultaneously.
Plus, the computers, tablets, and smartphones all need anti-virus/anti-spyware software to ensure they keep running. Lest the Chinese, Russians, or FBI (pick your poison) attack my network and shut me down. Oh…I forgot…there’s the two-path alarm system here at the compound. One path over a landline and one over IP (haha…am I paranoid, or what?). Oh, oh, oh and how could I forget the surveillance cameras that broadcast to my smartphone over a static IP (okay…I really am paranoid), which I check constantly at night. Even if you aren’t anywhere near my level of paranoia (took me years to get here), I’m certain that at some point you’ve looked around at the increasing pile of “totally necessary” technology in your home and said, “Hmmmm…maybe living in a sod-covered dugout near Slapout wouldn’t be so bad.” Okay, you’ve probably never even thought that. It’s really getting kind of ridiculous. I have friends on the east coast who live in smarthomes. They can open an app on their iPhone to lock/unlock doors, turn on sprinklers, and turn lights on and off. Their thermostat is in constant contact with someone (or something) over the internet. I even have a friend whose refrigerator is connected to the internet 24/7. The refrigerator? Seriously? He claimed that it kept track of food and notified him via text if he needed to stop at the store on the way home. Judas priest. I think the internet-connected fridge is where I would draw the line. With my luck, my refrigerator would be downloading appliance porn all night and I would run over on my data plan. Admittedly, there are times when I think…okay, I’ll disconnect the wireless router, shut everything down and enjoy an electronics-free existence. But then I find a marathon of one of my favorite shows like, “Mountain Men” is on and I crank up the DVR (oops, also attached to the internet) to record what I miss after I fall asleep trying to watch. See what I mean? There’s no end to this madness! Speaking of “Mountain Men”, have you ever watched it? It follows the day-to-day lives of five (sometimes six or seven or eight) dudes who have set out to live a simpler life. Uh huh. There was a time in my life (I was young and stupid) back in the ‘70’s when I thought it would be cool to go live in the mountains, hunt and fish for my food, build my own shelter…you know the drill. I was a little too steeped in the movie “Jeremiah Johnson” and the weekly TV show “Grizzly Adams” (like I said, young and stupid). I even went out and bought a Hawken .50 Cal mountain rifle kit (never finished putting that together…didn’t want to shoot the rifle that Robin built) and a coonskin cap. Wish I still had the coonskin cap…I could wear it now and feel like I still have hair (“Did you notice my ponytail?”). I realized after reading about people like Claude Dallas and others, that the modern world (okay, actually the late ‘70’s were still pretty primitive…no cell phones yet) didn’t have a lot of tolerance for guys who fancied themselves as mountain men. But I digress… If you’ve not watched “Mountain Men”…it can be kind of entertaining in small doses. Here’s all you need to know to start watching and not feel you’ve missed a darned thing: There’s a guy (his name is Eustace) who lives in the mountains of North Carolina. He has it the toughest from what I’ve seen. Nothing goes right for this poor slob. He ekes out a living chopping wood for people, but then there’s always a lot of drama surrounding delivery of the wood because he doesn’t own a vehicle with a combustion engine. So he has a few old draft horses that he hooks to a wagon and they run firewood up and down the mountain worrying about whether or not the wheels will stay on the axle or the road is passable. He has a friend named, Preston, who always seems to be around to help out with Eustace’s newest crisis. Now keep in mind that Friend Preston has a nice pickup…hmmm. Honestly, every time I see that guy’s newest plight, I want to send him money. Please dude, go rent yourself a damned condo in Florida and get off the side of that mountain. Next up is one of two guys who live up in Montana. This guy (Tom) lives in the Yaak Valley and is a former rodeo star who apparently sustained a lot of injuries during his career. He has a tough time getting around, particularly in the deep snow of Montana. Every week, he’s having to fight off wolves, bears, and/or mountain lions. Yeesh, too much job. The other guy in Montana (lives in the Ruby Valley) bears a striking resemblance to my friend, Mick. They even have some of the same mannerisms. This guy, he’s named Rich, hates mountain lions. Seriously hates mountain lions. He has a pack of beagles that he uses to chase the mountain lions presumably out of the Ruby Valley and into the Yaak Valley where they become Tom’s problem. Then there’s the guy in Alaska named Marty. He owns a plane that he flies up to the North Slope to trap and hunt to bring in enough food and money to keep his family going in whatever village they live in up there. There’s always a lot of drama surrounding his flying in and out of whatever frigging valley he is “working” up there. Interestingly, the camera crew always seems to make it out okay (probably on a luxuriously equipped helo). Oh, there’s more, but I’ll spare you the rest. I remind myself that this is a “reality” show of sorts. I’m sure these guys are being paid something for their appearance (Eustace…brother…take some of the money that give you for that danged show and move to Florida. I’ll sleep better at night.). I’m also certain that some of the scenarios are staged: “Okay, Tom, we’re coming into sweeps week. We really need something spectacular this week. Any chance you could wrestle a grizzly bear to the ground for us?” “Huh? Eh…” “You know, take the bear down, force its jaw open with your hands and put your face into the bear’s mouth. Whaddya think?” After too many hours of watching that crap I come out of my stupor and declare to the wife that I could have been a mountain man. At which point she will always remind me, “Dumbass (it’s her term of endearment for me), there’s no broadband in the mountains. You wouldn’t last three nights.” She’s probably right, of course…stupid technology. |
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