It's Friday...Robin Takes on Shakespeare, Hollywood, and the Lack of Irony in Cosmic City!10/30/2015
Happy Halloween Eve everybody!
Cousin Fred and I are taking the day off from working on our concept for a TV reality show. We got to the step on that web site about how to sell your concept that requires you to call every stinking Hollywood producer listed in a book called the “Hollywood Creative Directory.” Mostly, we got hung up on. The idea of a Hollywood Creative Directory seems kind of odd to me. Have you been to the movies or watched TV over the past fifteen years or so? It’s all the same crap. Seriously. Movies that are re-makes from as far back as 1920. There is a dearth of creativity in Hollywood, me thinks. Nobody has any fresh ideas. I figure that’s where Cousin Fred and I can come in handy. We’re always full of ideas, fresh and otherwise. I’m also stepping out of my shell (and comfort zone) and will be doing some acting here in the area. I’ve agreed to play the part of a Baptist preacher on Oklahoma Statehood Day in a re-enactment (there we go, same old stuff) of a very short play performed on the eve of the day Oklahoma became a state. I’ll be marrying Mr. Oklahoma to Miss Indian Territory. For anyone who knows me well, the idea of me playing a Baptist preacher should raise a few snickers. When it was offered to me, I recalled the lyrics from an old Son House blues tune called, “Preachin’ Blues.” My favorite line of that song goes, “Yes, I’m gonna get me religion, I’m gonna join the Baptist church. You know I wanna be a Baptist preacher, just so I won’t have to work.” In fact, maybe I should perform that song just before or DURING the statehood play?! Unfortunately, I think the organizers of this event are planning to do it on the grounds of one of the elementary schools so no one but kids will be able to see my return to the Woodward stage. Oh sure, you could try to get in, but then you’ll likely have an angry vice principal spraying pepper spray in your face with one hand as she screams about breach of security and dialing OSBI on her official school cellphone with the other. I’ve also volunteered to play a part in an upcoming local production…more on that later. I suggested to some local artsy types that perhaps someone in this town should consider doing Shakespeare, but with a twist. As an example, I suggested doing “Henry V” with an all-female cast. Upon hearing my suggestion, I was met with blank stares. Finally, one of the artsy types said, “Oh. Irony. He’s being ironic. We don’t get a lot of that around here lately.” Hey! Speaking of Henry V…I FAILED miserably in alerting everyone to and wishing them a Happy St. Crispin’s Day, which was October 25th. I apologize. Here’s a link to the Crispin’s Day speech from the movie “Henry V”…it’s so cool. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1Ulz-Qwnx8 To bring you to this point, King Henry V of England has invaded France. He’s won a few battles in his quest to unseat the King of France. Now he meets the King’s forces on a field known as Agincourt, where he finds himself outnumbered 5:1. His speech, known in literature as the Crispin’s Day speech, spurs his men into battle despite overwhelming odds. Why this is relevant: It perhaps gives us a hint as to what spurs a soldier to keep moving forward in battle. Just a thought. Cousin Fred and I will be at the Twisted Horror Picture Show festival at the Woodward Arts Theatre downtown. The $5 admission gets you inside for a full-day of movies, two of which were filmed here in Woodward. See you there! Happy hump day everybody!
Hope you’re hanging in there, busy week ahead. Halloween is Saturday, that will be followed by Sunday and then the dreaded Monday. But enough with the early morning pleasantries, let’s jump in, shall we? So, yesterday Cousin Fred and I continued working on our new reality show idea we’re tentatively calling “Art in Pubic Places Race”. Step 2 in that web guide of pitching a reality show to important television moguls is to “Create a format for your show,” which the guide describes as providing an outline of what will happen during the show. Okay, well that’s easy enough. Naked people will race between the thirteen statues spread across Cosmic City, avoiding law enforcement and the subpoena slapping Arts Commission attorney along the way. One team per week, at the end of the season we’ll figure out who had the best time and they win prizes. Hmmmm…yeah, I see now that’s kind of lame. I suggested to Cousin Fred that maybe instead of having the racers take a time-stamped selfie at each statue, perhaps we’ll have a dance contest. We’ll have a real panel of clothed judges sitting there and making copious notes, but not saying anything substantive. Nah, still doesn’t work does it? Maybe we need to figure out a way to eliminate contestants. Yeah, that’s it…vote naked racers off the team. Eh, I guess the idea still needs a bit of polishing to get it done. The TV show “Naked and Afraid” didn’t just pop out of a guy’s head during a meeting or something. Well, actually it did. Sigh…back to storyboarding. In case you’ve been wondering why Cousin Fred is still hanging around, he’s really excited about the upcoming Junior Brown show at the Woodward Arts Theatre downtown in November (14th). Tickets are only $50 and include a reception and an opportunity to meet the man! Proceeds go the Plains Indians & Pioneers Museum and the Woodward Arts & Theatre Council. I knew I had heard of Junior Brown, but wasn’t all that familiar with the music. Cousin Fred, during a break from writing our reality show, played some of his videos on YouTube. I have to admit, I was hooked. He’s a great guitarist and one of those guys for whom it’s tough to pigeonhole in a particular genre. Probably his biggest hit was the song, “I’m the Highway Patrol”…speaking of the Highway Patrol… So, did you hear about the State Troopers and Oklahoma Game Warden who were disciplined for drinking too much and having extramarital sex during a narcotics assault training course being put on by the Oklahoma Bureau of Narcotics? I know, sounds like the start to bad joke, doesn’t it? Six State Troopers and a Game Warden go into a bar… Or, maybe, what do you get when you cross a State Trooper with a Game Warden? A gamey trooper. Nyuk, nyuk. NewsOK.com broke the story about the fun at Camp Gruber…Camp Gruber, eh? How come Camp Gruber wasn’t on the list of places for my parents to ship me off during the summer when I was a kid? 4-H camp was held at Boiling Springs. Nothing like this every happened. Oh sure, there was the occasional raccoon tipping over trash cans, but drinking to excess and illicit sex? Eh, that didn’t happen. One trooper was fired and two others resigned. Three other troopers were given suspensions, but remain on the job as does the female game warden who was also suspended. Ahem…by the way, she is the wife of a State Trooper who was not present at Camp. Believe I read in the article that sex between one of the troopers and the game warden was termed an accident. An accident? How in the world do you have accidental intercourse? I’m pretty certain you have to make an appointment for that. But, hey, what do I know? Okay, I’m back to working on pitching our idea for a reality show. I’ll make Cosmic City famous…you’ll see. Please don’t forget to get your tickets for the Junior Brown show November 14th. Tickets are available at outhousetickets.com or by calling the Theatre at 580-256-7120 (assuming the phones are back on). See you there! So friends, here we are. Day six of the latest escape/walk-off/got lost from William S. Keyless Country Club in Ft. Supply and the dude is still on the lam (or is it lamb? English just doesn’t make sense sometimes). O’ the humanities, when will this madness end?
Seriously, we’re all doomed. I’m guessing the authorities figure he’s moved out of the area. I suppose that’s entirely possible, but chances are he’s just hiding out in plain sight. Bet he’s taken a part-time job at the Crystal Beach golf course as a ball washer. Who will volunteer to go undercover to have their balls washed at Crystal Beach? But, I have bigger worries now. Cousin Fred has been toying with the idea of us writing for television. Specifically, writing and selling an idea for a new reality show. Precisely what that reality show will be remains to be determined. Perhaps we should simply face the reality that we’re incapable of writing a reality show…how’s that for keeping it real? At any rate, Cousin Fred found a web site that lays out the steps for getting your idea in front of the right people in Hollywood, at least I think it’s Hollywood, but who knows? Maybe it’s Sunnyvale, CA the city with the least attractive men in America. Step 1 is to create an idea. Well, that’s a start I guess. Says you should be able to explain your idea in 30 words or less. When I was enslaved to corporate America, agonizing over profit and loss, that was called an elevator pitch – the time it would take to go from the ground floor to the CEO’s luxurious penthouse office on an express elevator before he fired you. In the television world, it’s called a logline (see, you’re learning something new already). But, your 30 words have to lay out the premise and agenda of the show. So far, we have nothing that will actually roll. Oh, sure, we kicked around a few ideas while trying to find the worm in a bottle of mezcal…there was one we tentatively called Art in Pubic (sic) Places Race in which contestants race naked between the 13 different artsy statues that have been randomly placed around Cosmic City. Racers would be required to pose for a time-stamped selfie at each statue. We figure we could use drones to tape the action from above. Each week would be a different team and the season ender would be a compilation of the highlights of all the teams (well, okay, mostly low-lights) and a determination as to who had the best time. Course, all of the racers would have to dodge Cosmic City PD who are always offended by naked people running through the streets of Cosmic City. Oh, and then there will be the attorney for the Arts Commission chasing along with the racers trying to serve a subpoena. Hmmm…this is great television, I’m tellin’ ya! Oh my…that was more than 30 words. Let me try again: Art in Pubic Places Race with naked racers racing (it’s what racers do) between 13 random acts of art. New team every week. Winner is best time. Okay, that got it under 30 words, but left out the angry police and the determined subpoena-slapping attorney…oh, and the selfies and the drones. Back to the drawing board. Well, in the middle of those deliberations, I came across an article about a study done by an infamous UN organization, known as the World Health Organization (WHO, who, who?) which places bacon (yes, sweet delicious can’t turn it down bacon, the best part of the pig) in the same danger category as smoking (ummmm, well they do smoke bacon to give it that hickory flavor) and asbestos in terms of being a cancer causing thing. WHAT?! Oh, it gets worse brothers and sisters, it gets much worse. In fact, the study also derides any processed meats including…dare I say it…sausage and salami! AND THEY DON’T STOP THERE! The study also points a finger at ALL red meat as being carcinogenic. It actually says that one hot dog a day is enough to cause cancer. What are these people? Chicken farmers? Oh, wait…it seems the study was done in France. That explains a lot. Bet they want us to all start eating snails. Hey, I tried smoking a snail once, it just shrivels up! Okay, a quick survey. Who among you will stop eating luscious red and processed meats because of this study? I don’t see any raised hands. Non! I say to the jack-booted UN thugs of France! Ah…wait. Maybe this is why the escapee/walk-off/got lost from Ft. Supply hasn’t returned. He was concerned about the peanut butter and bologna sandwiches served three times a day at William S. Keyless. Who could blame him? Robin is a Handsome Devil (We Have Data to Back That Up) and There's a 50% Chance You Are Too!10/26/2015
Sheesh…I miss a couple of days of posting last week and you would think I had been committed war crimes against small mammals or something! People writing and whining that they couldn’t get their daily dose of whatever manner of crap I post. SORRY! I'll try to do better! But, hey, keep the cards and letters coming folks!
Friday was a busy day here at the compound. Cousin Fred insisted that we go out searching for the walk-off/escapee/wayward member who walked off the 19th green at the William S. Keyless Country Club last week. HE STILL HASN’T BEEN FOUND! Cousin Fred had me up at dawn on Friday to go out on the hunt. According to him, escapees tend to do most of their moving just before dawn, while it’s cool and the darkness provides cover. I guess that makes sense. Cousin Fred received an official Bob the Bounty Hunter PRO Kit on Thursday. He bought this on eBay and I have to admit, the box was stuffed full of gear every bounty hunter worth his salt probably needs. Let’s see, there was a set of handcuffs with keys (always good to have those - the keys, I mean). It came with two (stinkin’) badges made from some sort of metal that read “Official Bounty Hunter”…very cool though I’m pretty certain that wearing a badge in the state of Oklahoma in any sort of capacity not recognized by the state palace as official will get alleged badger busted. There was a night-vision scope that we never did get to work. There was a pen that supposedly writes in secret invisible ink, though we couldn’t figure out how to make the invisible writing appear. There was a fill-in-the-blank warrant signed by Bob the Bounty Hunter (judge in exile). There was a thumb drive containing a Word template for a wanted poster so you (as a PRO bounty hunter) could hand out flyers to citizens when you started banging on doors at 0600 in the morning searching for bad guys. Oh, and there was a scroll with burnt edges also signed by Bob the Bounty Hunter himself that listed the rules for “Proper Professional Bounty Hunting” in a highly stylized calligraphy. Rule number one is “Make certain there is actually a bounty on the head of the person you wish to hunt.” Wow, good rule, Bob the Bounty Hunter. Good rule. I asked Cousin Fred if he had checked in with the Sheriff’s Office to see if there was a bounty on the dude that we could collect in the unlikely event we actually captured said alleged country club member. Cousin Fred responded with a “negatory.” Seems there is no bounty on the brave hapless dumbass criminals who walk off the 19th hole at William S. Keyless. The authorities are afraid that if they offer a reward or bounty, idiot amateurs like Cousin Fred and I will be out hunting down anyone who looks the least suspicious, which is just about everybody in Woodward County. I suggested to Cousin Fred that there wasn’t much point in hunting down someone that we couldn’t collect on. Cousin Fred said he had a plan, which was to capture alleged country club member and hold him hostage until the Sheriff’s Office paid up. At that point, I knew I wanted out, but I went along for the ride just to keep an eye on Cousin Fred. Fortunately, for all concerned, we didn’t find the dude and Cousin Fred has a very short attention span. We did find an alleged couple having what was likely an alleged illicit tryst in the back of a pearl white Ford Explorer with an Oklahoma personalized tag that read “HMPNTYM” over near the public hunting grounds south of Ft. Supply Lake. Who knows, maybe it was actually a licit tryst, but why would they be doing the nasty in the back of a Ford if it were? A GMC maybe, but definitely not a Ford. Begs the question, right? At any rate, Cousin Fred says he got video. Course, the night-vision scope wasn’t working, so who knows? Hey, speaking of begging the question (must get better at smoothing out awkward transitions and segues)…I stumbled upon an important dataset from BroBible.com. Never heard of them? Nor have I. But, it must be a legitimate data source. They have their own web site and everything! So, they were pushing a dataset that was compiled from “proprietary” data to create a dataset (what else are you going to do with proprietary data?) known as “The Most Attractive Cities & States”…no, it’s not what you think. It isn’t Chamber of Commerce propaganda. This tells you which states and cities have the most attractive men and women. It also has a listing for the least attractive men and women by state and city. Ready? Here we go. By the way, don’t shoot the messenger! Topping the Most Attractive Women lists were (state) Connecticut and (city) Manhattan, NY. Topping the Least Attractive Women lists were (state) Mississippi and (city) OKLAHOMA CITY, OK. Hey, I didn’t make this up! Although there were no number one Oklahoma winners(?) for the men’s list, the Most Attractive Men can be found in (state) Montana (darn that Marlboro man) and (city) Jacksonville, FL (home of the original Hooters). Least Attractive Men can be found in (state) Rhode Island (probably the oysters) and (city) Sunnyvale, CA (who knows). NOW…here’s the real news flash in all of this. Ladies, prepare to get your Sadie Hawkins mojo working… Number 6 on the list of states with the Most Attractive Men is (my nipples are simply tingling with anticipation) OKLAHOMA! I know, right? Bet it has something to do with me moving here. The chicks dig the arctic fox on the face look! Of course, there was nothing that spelled out the criteria for making these important findings. So we have no idea what they used to measure with…probably why they stuck a “proprietary” label on it. That way they don't have to explain a darned thing. Still, number six out of fifty is pretty darned good! Guess there’s something to be said for chicken fried steaks smothered in gravy! Eat up, men...eat up! Oh...and stay out of Oklahoma City! Let’s see here…checking the calendar...ah, yes, it’s Thursday. Time for yet another escape/walk-off/play from the 19th hole of the William S. Keyless (new official CCB name for the place, thanks to the wife) Country Club in Ft. Supply.
Gadzooks! And what is this? According to Woodward News (whose motto translated from the Latin is “Yes, we know where our print edition is printed, but we’re not going to tell you!” – it’s a conspiracy I’m tellin’ you!) the SECOND inmate/prisoner/country club member in a week has done run off…yesterday…a day ahead of schedule! Grab your flashlights and raincoats citizens, we have an escapee/runner/bad attitude golfer out among us. Here is an official CCB BOLO (that’s law-speak for be-on-look-out – hey, I watch NCIS same as everybody): Hint, if you’re standing in the line-from-hell at Walmart – you know the one, where the cash register keeps breaking down and the line, like a conga snake line, keeps moving to the next register all while the cashier insists on hearing about ALL of her friend Gertrude’s eleven grandchildren and thirty-two great grandchildren (Gertrude’s family is mighty fertile) – and there’s a guy in an orange jumpsuit with DOC stenciled on his back standing in front of you he is NOT: 1) a lineman for OG&E and the DOC does not stand for Destruction of Cottonwoods (inside joke – sort of); 2) the team doctor for OSU’s football team (slightly different shade of orange); 3) a hunter eagerly anticipating the start of quail season and the DOC does not stand for Death on Colinus (look it up). Oh wait, I need to be better about my journalistic practices. After all, CCB has become the sole news source for one or two of you. Let’s see here… Okay, so yesterday afternoon, the second ALLEGED inmate/prisoner/country club member in a week walked away from the ALLEGED William S. Keyless prison/correctional facility/country club…eh, you get the idea. So, WHAT THE HELL? By my count and fortunately it doesn’t involve more fingers than I possess on two hands…yesterday was number six this year. I heard someone throw out the figure of an average of seven escapes per year. Any bets on number seven? Maybe the state should provide Official State of Oklahoma Walk-off Kits to all of the Country Club members. It could contain a rain poncho (yesterday’s hiker likely got wet last night), a AAA map of Scenic Oklahoma By-ways and Highways with an official palace-approved photo of Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin up in the corner, a flashlight for when it gets dark at night (‘cuz it tends to do that around here), and a compass that has the words KANSAS set where north would be; TEXAS where south would be; PANHANDLE=DESOLATION where west would be; and, FUHGETABOUTIT where east would be (long walk out of Oklahoma that direction). Oh, and maybe a handy dandy Pioneer cell phone that only dials the WW County Sheriff’s Office when alleged runner tries to head east (we told you not to do that) and decides he is better off back at the Country Club. We at CCB take this very seriously, which is why we never fail to make fun of the William S. Keyless Country Club whenever we can (it’s such an easy target). Consequently, after the announcement that the second club member in a week had walked off the 19th hole, I convened an emergency round table (okay, it’s square, but to say it was a round table discussion sounds more official) to look at what it is that’s making members leave. Here are a few thoughts… Number one: The food sucks. Yeah probably. But peanut butter and bologna sandwiches three times a day still beats grasshoppers and milkweed leaves on the run. Number two: William S. Keyless is dangerously overcrowded. No doubt. CCB’s independent research (thanks to the Oklahoma DOC web site) indicates there are 1,099 resident member – okay, make that 1,098 as of yesterday afternoon. Granted, I’ve never been inside the Country Club, but from eyeballing the outside that seems an extraordinary number. Number three: The sole television in the place only gets one channel – KFOR. Three-plus hours of Mike Morgan is enough to drive anyone off the property. Hey! Maybe Metro Mike should get a special segment every evening where he forecasts the likelihood of an alleged escape/walk-off/whatever from William S. Keyless Country Club. He could even have a web cam shot of the exterior where we law-abiders (silly us) could watch as the alleged prisoners/inmates/members walk away. Fixing the problem. Let’s start with a fence. Preferably, electrified with razor wire across the top. Oh, right, can’t do that because then it becomes a medium security facility which means the state would have to pony up more $$$ which it doesn’t have because it’s too busy arguing court cases in court (best place to have those) about what monuments should be put up on the State Capitol grounds. Morons! Hey, maybe we should tap the Attorney General’s cash rich Evidence Fund (whatever the hell that is) to pay for a fence. Seriously, sooner or later someone, is going to be hurt or killed by one of these people escaping. Most likely it will be a runner trying to steal someone’s vehicle to make his getaway. At which point, HRH will point fingers at the legislature, who will in turn convene a grand jury (at additional tax payer expense) to get to the bottom of things. The bottom of things is that the legislature in this state is made up of underemployed do-nothings who have a pretty good life. Fix this...now! Dedicated readers of CCB, you’ll be happy to hear that it is once again safe to climb into your beds wearing your Batman pajamas (emblazoned with the phrase “Batter Up” across the crotch) and listening to Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” on your iPhone. Sleep away, Northwest Oklahoma, sleep away!
The escapee/walk-off/wayward club member from the William S. Key Country Club in Ft. Supply was captured yesterday! He was found about four miles north of the Woodward County/Harper County. Wait…huh? Dude hit the road Thursday night…gets captured Monday afternoon and that’s all the further he got? Hell, I’d have been sitting in a bar in Anacortes, Washington in that amount of time (where most outlaws, societal rejects, and people who want to disappear wind up – I know, I used to live there). Guess he was making his way to Kansas. It’s cheaper up there you know! Actually, I had a real conversation last night with a real unnamed city official with keen insight into the club membership walking off the 19th hole. According to CCB’s unnamed source, Oklahoma law may be part of the problem. Apparently, there’s an automatic tack-on to a sentence when someone escapes or attempts an escape. CCB’s unnamed source wasn’t certain if it was five or ten years, but it’s automatic, no questions asked. The real puzzlement for Country Club management is why a person would walk off the 19th hole when they had only had six months or so remaining on their sentence. It seems that a lot of them do it because there’s nothing for them on the outside. Most are career petty criminals with zero prospects. Prison/correctional center/country club is all they have, it’s all they know. Why would they leave? Apparently, a lot of these take the walk so they can stay in. Okay, so there you have it. Mystery solved. Real news is kind of depressing. I think I'll stick with fake news from now on. People manipulating the system so they can remain in the system. Sad, sad, sad. But, I digress… So on Sunday, Cousin Fred and I were sitting around watching a mini-marathon of CNN’s “Parts Unknown” with Anthony Bourdain. If you’ve never watched the show I would highly recommend it. I became a big Tony B fan when he was on the Travel Channel with his show “No Reservations”, which Travel Channel still runs with some regularity. For those of you who have never watched or just skipped over it, I have to tell you that both shows are definitely worth watching. Bourdain is a chef by training, a skilled writer bordering on genius, and he has a snarky sense of humor that I find delightful. In the Travel Channel shows, he would move all around the world, exploring “cuisine” in various locations while bringing a fresh sort of geo-political perspective of the lunacy that is this world and interspersing that with snarky comments about his hosts. I recall seeing a "Pearls Before Swine" comic strip years ago wherein the characters were talking about Anthony Bourdain. The gist of the strip was, "He travels the world, eats like a pig, he smokes, he drinks, he ridicules his hosts, he cusses. He's living the dream!" Since moving over the CNN with “Parts Unknown” it’s been pretty much the same format, though with slightly less emphasis on the food piece. Turns out I sort of ran into Anthony Bourdain years ago. We were in Atlantic City, NJ staying at one of the hotels along the Boardwalk there. I sitting on a bench waiting for the wife who was shopping. Some guy came out of one of the hotels and sat on the bench next to me. He was smoking…a lot. Kind of acted nervous about something. The wife comes out of the shop and I see her burning holes through the guy. After we walked away, she said, “You know who that is?” No doubt interested, I respond with, “Who?” “The guy sitting on the bench next to you.” Me, “Oh, no.” The wife, “That’s Anthony Bourdain. He’s a chef on TV.” Me, “Huh. Can we go back into the casino now?” I have to admit, I became an instant and rabid fan of “No Reservations” when I started watching it. It was well produced and very entertaining. I was sorry to hear the Travel Channel announce that the show was ending. They didn’t tell us that Bourdain was jumping ship to CNN at that point. A friend of mine sent me an email and suggested that I should apply for his job. He pointed out that I had probably been in every country that Bourdain had visited, which is true…and then some. I have also sampled weird crap…let’s see there was the shared bowl of fermented mare’s milk, little birds fried to a crispy critter state with feathers and legs still attached, jellyfish, beer and borscht for breakfast, lamb in more ways that I’ll ever be able to recall, plum wine that was easily 150 proof, the list goes on. Yeah, I could definitely do this. Hey, Travel Channel if you’re reading this and are looking for someone to replace the guy who goes out of his way to eat weird stuff (Andrew Zimmern) let me know. I’m available. Or, if you’re Anthony Bourdain, we should talk. Hey, Here's a Surprise...There's Been Another Escape From the Country Club at Ft. Supply!10/19/2015
Well, it was a wild weekend out at the Woodward County Fairgrounds this weekend. As you may recall, Cousin Fred and I were exiled to the far northern edge of the parking lot after being denied entry as vendors to the actual Events Center.
I didn’t mind so much, but Cousin Fred seemed to be carrying a chip (a Buffalo Chip perhaps?) on his shoulder about it. We were out there with the guy from Oklahoma City who was dressed only in a miniskirt and packing an old rusty Colt Peacemaker. He was trying to unload the remainder of the miniskirts he had made in and shipped from Indonesia. Cousin Fred bought a few of them to give away as Christmas presents back in Arkansas. He was hoping Mr. Crazy-Skirt would reciprocate and buy some (okay, many) bags of Buffalo Chips, but he told Cousin Fred he wouldn’t touch “those nasty things!” I got back to our spot late Saturday morning after teaching my class on Criminal Enterprise 101 at the vo-tech that morning, which by the way I’ll never do again. The only people who signed up were law enforcement here in the area. They were taking notes and eyeballing me in a rather suspicious manner. Mr. Crazy-Skirt was getting antsy that no one was buying anything from us. Finally, he draws his Peacemaker and starts making like Yosemite Sam, jumping from one leg to the other and shooting the gun into the air with calls of, “Yaaaahoo! I’m the rootinest’ tootinest miniskirt wearinest’ and sellinest’ hombre this side of the Oklahoma River! Buy somethin’ dang it or I’ll fill you full of lead!” I guess all the hollering and shooting was making Cousin Fred nervous he actually opened a bag of Buffalo Chips and started snacking. He promptly spit out what he tried to eat and looked at me. “These suck,” he said. Our new-found colleague’s antics didn’t attract much in the way of paying customers, though we did soon find ourselves surrounded by SWAT who dragged Crazy-Skirt off in a padded van. They seized the remaining stock of his miniskirts as “evidence” and were eyeing Cousin Fred and me. The senior SWAT guy came over and suggested it was time for us to depart the area, which we did…promptly. I’ve since learned that Mr. Crazy-Skirt has been charged with brandishing a weapon, discharge of a weapon in city limits, illegal possession of a firearm by a felon (tsk tsk), making terroristic threats, and indecent exposure (when they picked him up by his limbs to throw his barely clad ass in the van they discovered he wasn’t wearing underwear). As we were driving back to the compound and plotting what we would do with the remaining three gross of Buffalo Chips in the back, Cousin Fred was reading the weekend edition of the Woodward News. There was an article in there about yet another member of the William S. Key Country Club walking off the 18th hole without coming in for evening cocktails. Again? Really? Granted, I think it’s been awhile since the last member walked off the 18th hole. Apparently, prison (oh sorry, Correctional Center – they’re sensitive about that) officials prefer the term walk-off to escape. That seems kind of dumb if you ask me. A walk-off seems to imply that everyone stood waving goodbye as the escapee…er, walkee…er, walker…oh to hell with it, escapee disappears over the horizon. Using the term escape seems to imply that there is something more sinister afoot and that the Head Grounds Keeper has a huge effort underway to track down the escapee. This coming on the heels of an article on the NewsOK.com site that Oklahoma’s private prisons (which I believe the WSK Country Club falls under) are costing taxpayers nearly $92.2 million a year. $92.2 million and they can’t keep the country club membership on the grounds? Oh, forgot, there aren’t any locks on the doors. In the end, what are you going to do? State operated facilities cost nearly twice as much to run. So, maybe with more walk-offs walking off, that will reduce the overall cost, but only if they walk to Texas or Kansas or someplace and become someone else’s problem. But, I digress. Cousin Fred was reading the article with interest and taking notes regarding the member’s tatts and vital stats. I knew where this was headed. I told him firmly that we were NOT going to become bounty hunters. I said that I was pretty certain there is no bounty on walk-offs. And then I started thinking that if no one at Ft. Supply is actually watching the country club membership, what’s to keep all of them from walking away. Could you imagine being a guard (sorry, greens keeper) there and calling everyone in for a head count and there are no heads to count? Guess that’s more bologna sandwiches for the staff! Me thinks they need to put a fence up around the place, for crying out loud. I’m betting the cost would be a hell of a lot less than $92 million and make those of us who are not confined feel a lot safer. As Cousin Fred and I stood in line waiting to get checked in at the Fall-A-Days Festival at the Woodward County Fairground yesterday…
BY THE WAY…loyal fans (I’ve given up trying to figure out who’s a fan and who isn’t – people come and people go – they send hate emails, they send love emails, some with naked selfies attached, others with pictures of their pet pig’s butt, sometimes I can’t tell the difference between the two…eh, it’s a mixed bag) of this here blog may recall when CCB personally took on the Woodward County Commission about their refusal to raise the POW-MIA flag on the third flag pole at the new Events Center, with one commissioner commenting that he wasn’t sure it was a legal flag to raise. HA! Guess what was flying yesterday at the Events Center? Yep, the POW-MIA flag. Now do I deserve credit for making that happen? Probably not, but I’ll pretend I do and get as much mileage out of it as I can. But, I digress. …so anyway, Cousin Fred and I were standing in line waiting to check-in. Cousin Fred began throwing out ideas for our next entrepreneurial enterprise. The Buffalo Chip thing is short-lived. First of all hedge apples have kind of a short shelf life…who knew? Someone suggested freezing them, but the freezer here at the compound is already filled with frozen badger meat (long story). Plus, once the wife decided to come out of her room, she was appalled at the condition of the kitchen where we’d been producing product (producing product – I just come by it naturally – such a gift) and threatened to feed Cousin Fred and I to the Nephew’s pigs if we didn’t cease production (producing product thru production - I'm a genius I'm tellin' ya). Next thing I know she’s on the phone with the FDA’s hotline ratting us out. Supposedly, the sheriff’s department is serving a cease and desist injunction on us, but I figure it’ll be Monday before they get someone to the compound (the injunction serving deputy is conducting an undercover operation at the Cosmic City Sonic) and by then we will have sold all of our stock. Cousin Fred is thinking big. He wants us to go Hollywood, in a manner of speaking. With all the outdoor reality shows going on, he figures there must be something we can do since there appears to be a lot of outdoors around here. He claims he knows some big time TV and movie producers out in California and says they’re always looking for fresh ideas. He suggested that we become storm cellar inspectors. The idea is to go around to storm cellars in the area where we conduct free inspections without actually asking if we can conduct an inspection. Of course, that means a trip down into some of the scariest holes in the ground on earth! When I was a little guy and my grandparents still lived on the “Old Place” (the Old Place is the original farm homestead that my great-great-grandmother settled soon after coming to America) the storm cellar was…well, scary…no, that’s not a strong enough word. The storm cellar was terrifying…no, horrifying…almost there…eh, I’ll think of it. Anyway, there were snakes, mice, all manner of things that go bump in the night down there. The walls were lined with jars of fruit that had been canned and carefully placed in the storm cellar sometime before Lola Hall (look it up) was born. The canned fruit, of course, attracted the stuff that goes bump in the night. Actually, the sound of something going bump in the night was a snake knocking a fruit jar off the shelf which brought in the rats/mice which the snake then ate (ain’t the cycle of life in nature grand?). Frankly, I’d rather have taken a chance on an F-5 tornado than have to spend more than 10 seconds on the top step of that cellar. I related all of that to Cousin Fred, who in turn said that was precisely the point. His plan is for us to descend into really old (we’re talking land run cellars) storm cellars at 3AM during a new moon with nothing but candles to light the way. There will be farm dogs barking in the background and someone yelling “Who’s out there” just before firing both barrels of a side-by-side shotgun at us. According to Cousin Fred, it’ll make for great television. I was still considering all of this when we finally got to the front of the line where the big burly guy with a clipboard in hand was looking for our names. Finally, he showed us where we had been scratched off the list by the event promoter. Seems I pissed the guy off with some of my comments in this blog…imagine that. So, now Cousin Fred and I will be selling our Buffalo Chips from the far northern end of the Fairgrounds parking lot along with the guy in a pair of women’s panties selling Indonesian mini-skirts and shooting a pistol into the air. Please do look for us out there. As an incentive, I’ll be making my world-famous Rib Ranch Replication ribs and serving Rib Ranch Cole slaw. It’ll be a long weekend. And keep those naked selfies coming in! Happy Hump-Day everybody! And, isn’t it a grand day to be reading mindless crap poured from the head of a guy who increasingly resembles a deranged Santa Claus? Wait, that’s actually the next blog over. We’re nothing but serious crap here at CCB!
It’s an exciting time here at the compound. Preparations have long been underway in packaging Buffalo Chips, the new product Cousin Fred and I came up with. For those of you who fail to read CCB on a daily basis (why would you do that to me?), Buffalo Chips are made from thinly sliced hedge apples (nothing says fall like an airborne fresh hedge apple clobbering you upside the head), smothered in Aunt Daisy’s secret caramel recipe (your dentist loves the stuff and will finally send you a Christmas card), and sprinkled with jalapeno seasoning (feel the burn, relish the burn, burn baby burn). Glad you aren't me? I don’t blame you. There was a lot of arguing about the packaging. Cousin Fred wanted to include the purported anecdotal, folkloric, legendary, bullsh*t health properties of hedge apples. But the FDA shut that nonsense down with a cease and desist order hand-delivered here to the compound by Federal marshals. Something about snake oil sales (our next enterprise). Cousin Fred pointed out that without any health benefits being listed on the package, we’re left with a spicy, sticky sweet, horribly bitter snack. I see his point…so we tested the waters at FDA and said we would only print what we can prove. So the packaging now includes the promise of accelerated tooth decay (brush your damn teeth, people), painless tooth extraction (Daisy’s caramel doesn’t let go and the jalapeno seasoning will deaden your nerve endings), oh, and we slipped in that it will cure male pattern baldness and kill pubic lice. The dudes at FDA gave us a temporary waiver (before they slap an injunction down on the table next week) while they consider the evidence of those claims. By then, Cousin Fred and I will be distilling snake oil. Cousin Fred was able to get us exhibit space at this weekend’s Fall-A-Days festival at the Fairgrounds. We’ll be passing out free samples of Buffalo Chips to those unfortunate few passing by our booth (“Hey you! Yeah, you. Try these…don’t run away from me! You get back here!”) as well as selling large bags of the stuff (there’s a lot to get rid of). We’ll have “D List” celebrities stopping by, like the guy at the Scoreboard every Friday and Saturday night who gets really wasted and begins loudly proclaiming the finer points of Calvinist Doctrine before passing out on the floor. Let’s see, oh there’s the woman who is always looking for a ride to Hollywood so she can finally get her big break (hint, hide your car keys). Of course, she’s also the one who keeps getting herself arrested for cyber stalking George Clooney. It’s gonna be great! Unfortunately, I’ll be a little late getting there on Saturday, but Cousin Fred can handle the booth. I’ve been asked by the folks at the local vo-tech to teach a course in Criminal Enterprise, since criminal behavior (or, misbehavior depending upon your perspective) appears on the rise (despite assurances from local law that all is well…”Be calm and go about your business, citizens”). The vo-tech, always looking for a way to capitalize on the latest trends, asked me to put together a course of instruction. I plan to kick off the course with examples of what not to do if you’re embarking on a life of crime. Criminals after all, aren’t rocket scientists or brain surgeons…there’s too dang many of those anyway! I came across several recent examples of dumbass criminals being, well…dumbasses. I’ll share a sneak-peek preview with you now as a teaser. Frankly, I hear from the vo-tech that no one is signing up. Apparently, those considering crime as a career are afraid it’s a trap. Click here for the theme from “Dragnet” before proceeding (sets the mood). Take for example, Mr. Rodney Hendrix, petty thief. According to our pals at the Huffington Post, Mr. Hendrix allegedly broke into an alleged pre-school and church in August 2014. He allegedly wound up walking away with two guitars and a s**tload (hahaha, you’ll see why in a second) of electronics gear valued at more than $4,000. Only problem was, during the heist, Brother Hendrix, ummmmm soiled himself and left his poopy drawers in a bathroom trash can. The local (Denver CO) police took possession of said poopy drawers and began a 13.5 month process of DNA testing. Okay, now you’re thinking that in 13.5 months you could be long gone from Denver, right? That’s because you’re probably eligible to be a rocket scientist or brain surgeon. But, not the Rodster, nope…not him. Turns out that in the time it took to get the DNA results back (why is it that on “NCIS” they can do it in less than five minutes?), Sir Rodney had been locked up on unrelated theft and drug charges. So the cops had only to go to his cell and serve another arrest warrant on him for the church break-in. Needless to say, Not-Jimi Hendrix finds himself in a real shi**y situation here. Nyuk nyuk! So, budding crime-dawgs, what have we learned from this in-depth case study? Lesson #1: LEAVE NOTHING BEHIND THAT LAW ENFORCEMENT CAN USE TO TEST DNA. Bury your infant’s/toddler’s/weird fetishist husband’s diapers where the po-po can’t find the poo-poo. There is NO privacy left in this world! One, more time…the theme from “Dragnet” That concludes our lesson for today! Until next time, be safe you thievin’ bastards! Ahhhh…smell that? Go ahead, take a whiff. That smell of four-week old dead skunk and a 97-year-old man’s bath towel. Yep, it’s Monday.
If you have the day off, good for you. For me, the world of fake news doesn’t stop even for 564-year-old Italians on a fishing expedition. I’m happy to say I emerged from beneath my bedding here at the compound this morning and realized I had actually survived a traumatic weekend. Let’s count it down, shall we? Saturday saw the hugely disappointing, but not altogether surprising butt-whooping of OU by a Texas team whose motto before Saturday was, “Hey, at least we’re better than Kansas.” I took some grief over a post I made on Facebook in which I seemed to hint that it was time for a return of Switzer. You people take stuff too literally! I’m not too certain Brother Barry would want the job or that any of us would actually want him to have the job. But I recall seeing all of those clips on YouTube in which Switzer is telling his team that the Sooners are double-digit favorites and the other team is scared of them, but (he pointed out) they (Sooners) need to hunker down and play football, because a scared man is a dangerous man. Sage advice, Brother Barry, sage advice. I’m sure the Sooners were prepared, they were just outplayed. Poor Mayfield was running for his life back there every time the O-line broke down. So it is that I find my beloved Sooners dropped from 10 to 19 in the rankings. Maybe I should just go back to bed and hide until next Saturday. No wait, next Saturday is K-State. Ugh! Saturday also marked yet another birthday for me. They just keep coming! Which, in the big scheme of things is not a bad thing, me thinks…at least they’re still coming. I tend to ignore my birthday for the most part. Probably that whole face-your-own-mortality thing. But, it’s hard to do when everyone (non-family) from my dentist (on the East Coast…he hasn’t yet noticed I’m gone) to the Shining Bankruptcy Casino in Slapout sends me a card, postcard or email wishing me a happy birthday and wouldn’t I like to schedule an appointment for a session of painless (sic) dentistry or an emptying of my checking account at a casino ATM in celebration. Actually, come to think of it, I empty my checking account in either scenario. Hmmmmm…comparing dentistry to casino gambling…sounds like a blog post! You know, I’m as hip a 43-year-old guy as the next 57-year-old…or at least I think I am. I do my best to stay up on new trends, like #combingbernie where people do their best to resemble Bernie Sanders if he didn’t look like an unmade bed (all the kids are doing it!). I subscribe to Rolling Stone, MAD Magazine, and the Woodward News, but every once in a while…some new trend sneaks past me. And, I only hear about it because I’m always digging for some new crap to write about in this blog (Oh, right…I also have a blog…see how hip I am?). So it was this morning, when I came across something called a FrozenChook. That’s #frozenchook for those of you altogether TOO cool people. The FrozenChook-ers have their own Facebook page and everything! Still not sure what the hell I’m talking about? “That Hohweiler boy sure is strange. And he came from such a good family! Good, decent people. It’s just a shame. Bless his heart.” Allow the king of hip to explain, my babies… First, let us turn to the frozen food aisle in your brain. No scratch that, let us turn to the not-yet-completely-defrosted meats in the “Fresh Meat” aisle of your brain. Okay, you see those partially frozen chicken carcasses over in the corner? Over there…right next to the magazine rack in your brain with skin magazines next to the cashier stand with the cashier from hell that’s staring at you and daring you to peep inside those magazines on her shift. “Feeling lucky you little punk?” Yeah, those dead chickens…in sealed plastic bags…don’t worry about freeing them, they’re dead. Okay, now hold that image in your brain. There you go! That’s FrozenChook…well, sort of. The idea with FrozenChook is to get yourself naked…totally naked. Curl yourself into a sort of upright fetal position and get your picture taken in front of some recognizable landmark. Is that cool, or what? My favorite is the guy who had his pic taken in front of the KFC (ghost of Col Sanders will be after his naked ass, I’m thinking). Homeland Security (whose motto taken from the Latin is, “You civilians don’t need no Social Security Entitlement, we ARE your social security”) has issued a warning to federal, state, local and tribal first responders to be on the lookout for naked chicken chuckers (they’re a bit behind at Homeland Security in catching on to new trends). The bulletin, obtained by CCB, goes on to say, “These naked chicken chuckers (NCCs hereafter) are a menace to society, pubic (sic) decency, and good order and discipline.” Thank you, Richard Nixon (wait, isn’t he dead?). Obviously, it’s a slow month at Homeland Security. Hey, here’s a thought, maybe it’s time to dismantle Homeland Security. I could go on and on about that, but will save it for later this week when I’m really out of things to post about. Be safe…oh, and Boomer Sooner! |
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