Today, I’m going to depart from my usual sort of format and try something new, like…enlightening you people! We’ll start with me introducing two new words…the first is facetious: a word that means treating serious issues with deliberately inappropriate humor. It’s what I do with this blog on nearly a daily basis (except weekends, I’m too busy drinking then). The next word is trolling: Now, trolling is an old word that has taken on new meaning. The old form is dragging a baited hook behind a slow moving boat in the hopes of hooking a fish. The newest form of the word means making a deliberately offensive or provocative posting online in order to elicit a response. Again, something I do with some regularity. Here are a couple of examples of how these words are employed… The photo above is a dog with a piece of ham on his face. That’s all it is…ham. I eat it, you probably have had some in your life. It runs a steady third place behind bacon and ribs as far as eating pig parts, but it’s up there! And, until you’ve had a plate of fried eggs, grits and a thick ham steak smothered in red-eye gravy, you haven’t lived. But, I digress… I’m really very certain that within milliseconds of that photo being taken that dog snarfed down that slice of ham, licked its chops, and looked to its human for more. But, no, human companion posted the photo to his Facebook page announcing that the dog had its face burned off while trying to rescue his family from a house fire. It’s a piece of deli meat on a dog’s face! He ended his post asking people to pray for poor, brave Fido with: one like=one prayer, one share=ten prayers. He wound up with 62,559 likes, 1,282 comments, 117,178 shares. And if you think the comments were all, “Hahaha, that’s a piece of ham on a dogs face. Obviously this guy is being facetious and trolling us.” Nope. He garnered comments such as (and I’m not making this up), “Praying awesome are dogs each dog have saved me in one form or other.” (that poster got 8 likes) or “Please help this dog. He helped his family save them.” (that guy got 9 likes). I can’t figure out if they’re actually praying for a dog with ham on his face, or praying that the dog will find a home with a less facetious and troll-like human. And, maybe, just maybe we’re a nation that needs glasses. That’s ham on the dog’s face. If you’re so cloistered that you spend your days watching the Fox News whores or playing Call of Duty that you can’t tell the difference between a burned off face and a piece of meat, you have problems the likes of which I’ll never be able to solve! And, yes, I get it. Generally, on Facebook I’m so busy trying to wade through the sea of birthday wishes, new friend requests, and the ever present I’m-lonely-please-prove-you’re-my-friend requests that sometimes I only briefly scan something before hitting “like”. I also know that sometimes you soooo want to believe something that you overlook the obvious - like it’s a piece of delectable deli meat on a dog’s face (lucky mutt). I experienced that myself yesterday, when one of the folks in my office (the local daily print periodical that won’t allow me to say their name in this blog) passed around something he found on Facebook. It was a supposedly genuine news report about a woman in Wisconsin who stabbed her boyfriend five times after she caught him having sex with a frozen turkey. Now, I’ll admit, I was thrilled with the prospect of posting their alleged mug shots (police supposedly charged him with indecent liberties on a flightless fowl I think) to my blog this morning. I’m just cynical enough to believe the worst in humanity, because…and you can believe this…I have seen the worst that humanity can throw at itself. It isn’t pretty! But, then I started thinking about that story, which didn’t quite ring true. It finally hit me when I figured out that the news logo identifying the station in Wisconsin that originally reported the story was Now8News…get it? No Wait News. It’s a parody site filled with bogus news reports such as (an actual report on the site) “Congress orders Statue of Liberty dismantled and scrapped”. I actually applied to write for them. The good news for you people is that everything you read on this site is true. Cousin Fred does exist. I live on a fortified compound on the western edge of Woodward County. The Wife, when she’s angry with me, actually sits on the front porch swigging Jack Daniel’s, smoking filterless Camels and singing “My Philadelphia Home”. You want real news…you found it, Baby! Well, here we are on the precipice of yet another New Year. One more year with which to excel. One more year with which to break out (maybe that only counts if you’re a member of the William S. Key Country Club). One more year with which to make a fresh start (hell, I’ve made so many fresh starts over the years that I think I’m coming full circle to one of my old left behind years). Truth be told, I no longer make resolutions for the New Year. I’m less disappointed in myself that way. Instead, at the stroke of midnight, I shrug my shoulders and trudge on ahead. Much simpler that way. Cousin Fred tells me that he’s been working on the design of a new invention that he’s certain will make him rich. He told me confidently that he plans to share his idea with me on January 1st. I can hardly wait. Faithful readers may remember his last invention of the boonie hat that combines an insect deterrent with a bug zapper. It nearly killed me, I think. In the meantime, Cousin Fred had a truckload of lumber and roofing materials delivered to the Compound yesterday. Says he has plans to build an open sided shelter around and over Hellkat One’s trailer. As he pointed out, trailers left out in the elements don’t last very long. As I could easily have predicted, the Wife isn’t happy about the most recent turn of events. She has concerns that Cousin Fred will turn the Compound into, as she put it, an Arkansas hillbilly estate. I quickly moved through the house removing any matches or lighters for fear the pile of wood outside Hellkat One’s trailer would go up in smoke like so much kindling with the trailer on top of it. Friends, as you know, we here at CCB are always looking for trends. We’re trendy that way. In the past week, I believe we have, on more than one occasion, demonstrated that Walmart stores are hell on earth. I’ve even gone so far as to compare them to coin-op laundromats. This morning, we here at CCB continue that trend with a report I found on the PalmBeachPost.com web site. It seems that a young man of 20 entered a Walmart store in the wee hours of the morning. By the way, if you’ve never been in a Walmart store at 3AM, it’s definitely worth the trip. There are all sorts of freaks in there shopping at that hour. That’s not even mentioning the shenanigans of the over-night shift employees who have produce fights on the meat aisle or cereal fights over in the hardware section…you know, just mixing things up a bit. By the time most of us “regular” folks begin trudging in there at 6AM, everything has been cleaned up and the freaks have scurried back home to hide from the daylight. But, I digress… Our 20-year-old, I’m going to call him Leo Sayer. For those of you born after the 70’s, just Google the name and compare the pics with the mug shot above. You’ll get it. Leo Sayer enters a Delray Beach Walmart at around 3AM and promptly pulls a hoodie and sweat pants from a rack and puts them on over the clothes he’s wearing. Guess he felt like dancing! Hahahahahaha (sigh, okay that’s an obscure Leo Sayer reference…sheesh, do I have to explain everything to you people?) And, let’s stop here for a moment. Have any of you dedicated CCB readers noticed how much weirdness there seems to be coming out of Florida lately? What the heck is going on down there? Walmart weirdness can happen anywhere…seriously, spend some time in the Cosmic City Walmart, you’ll see what I mean. It’s just that I think this is the fourth story I’ve reported in a week that originated in Florida. But, back to the story at hand. So Leo Sayer after donning his new outfit heads for the manager’s office where he helps himself to the trash bag in the store manager’s trashcan and fills it with electronics and other stuff the manager had laying around. Hmmmmmm…now where was the manager? Probably home asleep. How else could the unsupervised night shift get away with cereal fights on the hardware aisle? Insert theme from Dragnet here. So now the police arrive and catch Leo Sayer red handed with the stolen merch. Of course, Leo Sayer plays stupid (look at the face in the mug shot, it wasn’t much of a stretch frankly) and announces he was in the manager’s office trying to find an application because he wanted to apply for a job as a mystery shopper. He told police, he thought it would, “…be a cool job.” Right you are, Leo Sayer, right you are! Hahahahaha…That’s the job I want! You’ve probably seen those emails tucked in with the other junk emails you receive offering penis enhancement and “love her long time this night, tiger” products. Do you suppose Walmart actually does hire mystery shoppers? I could have a field day with the Cosmic City Walmart if they turned me loose in there. The cops, not believing this story (imagine that) search Leo Sayer and find a 9mm handgun, a packet of heroin, and a Mentos gum box filled with someone’s Xanax pills. Me thinks Leo Sayer is in a heap of trouble now. Police charged him with grand theft, armed burglary, possession of a concealed firearm, possession of drugs, and being a general douchebag who is also an insult to mystery shoppers everywhere. Oh, when asked where he got the gun, he replied that he got it from, “…a tall, skinny black guy over at Dunkin’ Donuts.” Aha! Let’s see what we learned from this, shall we? 1. Dunkin’ Donuts in Delray Beach is the place to go for “cheap” handguns. Ask for Slim. 2. Walmart apparently hires mystery shoppers. Let’s all go to the Cosmic City store and apply. 3. Leo Sayer drinks from long, tall glasses…sigh, nobody gets my Leo Sayer jokes. 4. Stay the hell out of Florida. There’s something weird and depraved going on down there. Robin drives into the Heart of Darkness with a guy named Luther and decides the Internet is evil!12/29/2015
Happy Tuesday everyone! The week is just flying past, isn’t it? I was surprised when I went into town yesterday at how much snow Cosmic City actually got. We had only a few inches on the ground here at the Compound and for the most part the winds had blown the snow off the roads. But, I no sooner hit city limits and had to go to four-wheel drive. I guess that’s the way it was across the region with snow totals, as well as precip types varying widely. Happy to report that Cousin Fred and Lassie the barking goat are snug and cozy in Hellkat One’s trailer with the new heater. The Wife pointed out yesterday that the heater is really going to run up our electric bill. I pointed out that it’s cold right now and we can’t very well let the two of them freeze out there. She pointed (a whole lotta pointing going on) out that one is a goat and the other smells like a goat. I’m sure this will continue ad infinitum…at least until some warm air moves back in. As we were discussing this, I was reminded of an article I saw online on the Huffington Post web site that could perhaps solve the problem…well maybe. Many, many years ago, I traveled to India for several days in connection with my job. We stationed ourselves in New Delhi and made quick trips from there for work and/or sightseeing. At some point, near the end of our visit, a group of us decided we HAD to see the Taj Mahal. A few inquiries were made and we found a driver (his name was Luther) who would take us there. Early the next morning (long before sunrise), we departed our posh hotel in New Delhi en route Agra (the City of Love) where the Taj Mahal is sited. The trip, as I recall, was roughly four hours by car one way. In the pre-dawn gloom you could see nothing. Luther’s lights barely lit the road ahead. As we zipped along, we soon realized that the road we were on paralleled the Yamuna River, a tributary of the Ganges. As the sun began to light up the horizon, those of us in the car began to see dark figures along the road, but we couldn’t see enough to tell what they were. I think one of our team asked Luther what the heck that was along the road. Luther informed us that it was local citizenry defecating on the side of the road and that they would then descend into the river to wash their bottoms. Well, that will certainly sit you back in your seat with eyes looking straight ahead. As time and kilometers rolled past and the sun rose higher in the sky, we soon became aware of structures along the road. Huts are the best description I can think of…small structures with curtains for a front door. From inside these huts, an incredible amount of brownish smoke poured forth from the doorways. Luther explained to us that the huts were made of bricks of dried cow dung and to heat their homes, they burned “cakes” made from the same cow dung. Oh, and they cooked with the cow dung cakes. At that point, I made the observation that with the roadside defecators and the cow dung housing, heating, and cooking the trip to Agra made for a very shitty situation. Nyuk nyuk. Finally, we arrived in Agra, the City of Loooooove. Uh huh. It’s only the City of Love if you’re particularly fond of abject poverty and filth. Luther informed us that it was a popular city to visit for people on their honeymoon. Yeeesh. The bottom line to this story is that the Taj Mahal is an incredible structure and is definitely something to be seen, but only if you can get there by helicopter and then leave the country immediately. Frankly, I could never past thinking that the Yamuna River which runs behind the Taj is downstream of where we were driving. Just sayin’… Okay, that was a long way of getting to the point of this post, which is that I recently found an article on Huffington Post wherein they’re selling cow dung patties in India online. And, believe it or not, Amazon.com is stocking them. I’m not kidding! Demand is high for the cakes which are a pressed mixture of cow poop and hay dried in the sun. Apparently, there are lots of people living in Indian cities now who originally hailed from the country side. They long for their cow cakes. Amazon in India is selling an entire box with the six poop cakes for around $6.00, but that’s there. I just checked and you can purchase your very own one piece of genuine Indian cow dung for $11.99 with free shipping. It’s suitable for cooking, heating, or smoking a slab of ribs. The Internet is evil and must be shut down. Thanks, Al Gore! Just one man’s opinion. Good Monday morning to everyone! Hope you had a great holiday, whichever one you celebrate…including Festivus…and things are nearly back to normal for you. For me, it’s less back to normal than it is merely status quo, I think. Cousin Fred made a surprise (?) appearance late Saturday night. I heard the roar of Brutus as he zoomed back into the Compound. He said he was worried about getting back here ahead of the blizzard that wasn’t. I don’t know about you, but the snowfall was maybe a few inches here at the Compound and most of that blew out to points south on the wind, I think. Still, it was a great excuse to sit inside and watch football yesterday. I needed Cleveland to win their game so Pittsburgh would be pushed just a little further up in the standings in the AFC wildcard. The Steelers still have a chance next week, but it’s one of those deals where certain teams have to lose and P’burgh has to win…blah, blah. It’s too much to keep track of frankly. Wake me when the playoffs start. Also, there was a great two-hour special on the AXS channel last night that was a benefit concert in Levon Helm’s name…Love for Levon, I think it was called. A good show with a lot of really great musicians, some of whom are themselves now deceased (it was filmed in 2012). (SPOILER ALERT!) Oh! And, Saturday night we went to see the new Star Wars movie. I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a danged cliffhanger or I might have waited. The Nephew’s boys seemed to enjoy it and I suppose that counts for a lot. At least they’ll still be alive when Disney decides to bankroll the next installment. Actually, I’m kind of glad to have Cousin Fred back. We can get started on fleshing out our idea for a TV reality show wherein naked reality people hunt the Bigfoot…fleshing out/naked people…get it? Nyuk, nyuk (I crack myself up). Hopefully, we’ll hear something positive from Chick Farris this week. Cousin Fred, in spite of Channel 9 Chief Weatherguesser David Payne’s predictions of impending doom for western Oklahoma (we were all going to die!), made a run into town yesterday. He wanted to buy an auxiliary heater for Hellkat One’s trailer. I thought about offering to let him sleep inside the house while this weather is so cold, but I knew the Wife would have none of it. Particularly, since Lassie, the barking goat, came back with him. I saw him when he returned from Walmart in Cosmic City with his new heater. He told me that the store was absolutely packed with people either hunting post-Christmas bargains or returning classic crap like the cordless combination nostril hair/ear hair/bottle opener device with the Trump’s image that their Aunt Agnes bought them. Hey, her heart was in the right place…I guess. He commented that as he was standing in one of two open checkout lanes, he was surprised by the number of people in the store wearing what appear to be pajamas. I’ve observed that myself. What is it with you people that you feel compelled to visit Walmart in pajamas? I genuinely want to understand that. I mean, what do I know? Maybe they’re actually wearing some fashion pants of some sort that simply look like pajamas? Just another sign of the decay of western civilization I suppose. Actually, all six of our faithful readers may remember that just last week I put forth the idea that Walmart is hell on earth, lumping it into a class that includes coin-op self-service laundromats. I’m so prophetic! And, speaking of civilization’s decay and Walmart…all kind of goes together in a big picture sort of way…there was a great story on Channel 4 over the weekend about a woman in Florida who availed herself of the use of one of those electric carts that Walmart has for customers who need help getting around the store. Of course, at the Cosmic City Walmart, the carts are seldom charged. I see more people kind of using them as a scooter, propelling themselves with their legs. But, I digress… Our 20-year-old Walmart customer, we’ll call her Princess Cranksalot, probably needed some help getting around the store since she shot herself up with meth before going out. So she clambers aboard one of the electric carts and begins riding through the store doing her food shopping. Problem was, she was eating the food as she shopped. Walmart personnel became suspicious when she ate sushi, cinnamon rolls, and a pack of mini-muffins. Good work Walmart personnel, good work. Keen observers that bunch. By the time police arrived, she was gnawing a rotisserie chicken from one hand and swigging a bottle of wine from the other. She told the cops that she was hungry, but didn’t want to take the food outside the store. Huh? Well, by all means, eat up Princess, eat up! She was booked on charges that included shoplifting and possession of drug paraphernalia. Sheesh, can’t a girl get a meal on wheels without the PoPo swooping in and ruining her dinner? What have we learned here? Well, for one thing, despite your understandable belief that no one in Walmart cares if you decide to dine a la cart (sic), they are observing you, while they agonize over when they’ll next get a break and can participate in electric cart races in the stockroom. If you’re going to ride around on an electric cart while gnawing on a rotisserie chicken, keep in mind that the Health Dept recommendation is that you either consume or refrigerate your chicken inside of the two hour window of removing it from its overheated display case in Walmart. If you’re going to try this in Oklahoma, keep in mind that you won’t be able to swig wine in Walmart since this state’s antiquated and altogether oppressive alcoholic beverage laws won’t allow the sale of wine anywhere but in overpriced state-regulated liquor stores. That is all… Happy Christmas Eve everybody! Hope you’re off to a better start than me today. Apparently, our rural trash pick-up day changed this week. I should have known. So like an idiot I rolled the trash container down to the road this morning with an envelope securely attached with a holiday tip for the truck crew. The trash never got picked up, but someone helped themselves to the $$$. I know you’re thinking as I would have, that the envelope simply blew off. Nope, the envelope was still attached, but the contents were gone. Eh well, I hope whomever took it, needed it. Then I made the mistake of thinking I could make a run to the store early this morning and avoid last minute crowds. Hrrrmph. Walmart is hell on earth. I put them in the same class as self-service laundromats. Hell on earth, I’m tellin’ ya. But I had to go to Walmart, I needed stuff to make my Rib Ranch Replication Sauce. Will start cooking that soon…after I polish off a couple of glasses of Jack Daniel’s. By the way, if you have need for molasses and Walmart is your only option, it’s located on the cereal aisle. If that makes sense to you, you’re probably a lot smarter than me. I searched the baking aisle. I searched the pancakes and syrup aisle. One of their employees sent me to the jelly aisle. Nothing. I literally began going up and down every aisle and finally got lucky on the cereal aisle. But enough of my holiday fun…let’s get to some real life drama. We, here at CCB, have begun to sniff out (nyuk nyuk) another disturbing trend in relations between men and women. In the past, we’ve posted actual stories that included a woman who repeatedly stabbed her man in the groin with an ink pen. His crime? Eating “all” the salsa in the house. After careful analysis of that story, we advised all men to NOT eat “all” the salsa in the house and to stay the hell out of Ohio. Then there was the evil woman in Japan who stabbed her husband after he had a particularly smelly bowel movement. Our sage advice then was for men to start using the bathroom at the corner gas station, unless of course that gas station is in Fargo, Ok and owned by Lloyd Kennedy (inside joke). Finally, there was the woman who killed her husband by throwing cans of food at him. His offense? He ate all the lima beans in the house. To avoid canned carnage we only offered that everyone should stay the hell out of Los Angeles. With this latest report, we have once again activated the CCB Institute for the Study of Female Histrionics (CCBIFTSOFH) to look into things and make a full report. What is it that I speak of? A report from Huffington Post this week cited a woman in Port St. Lucie, Florida who was arrested for domestic battery after allegedly attacking her husband for farting in bed. Said flatulence fiasco fired up with the opening rip at approximately 3:20AM in the couple’s home, according to police reports. The alleged husband, we’ll call him Gassy Gus, said his wife, we’ll call her 2Easily Offended (her mug shot is above), told police that she started elbowing him when he passed gas. Things escalated from there with 2Easily Offended finally kicking (literally) Gassy Gus out of their marital bed. Things continued to escalate until finally a full-blown melee broke out. 2Easily Offended ran into the bathroom (maybe she should have chased Gassy Gus in there, just sayin’) where she dialed 911. And, if you thought it would end there…wait, there’s more. She allegedly emerged from the alleged bathroom and according to the police, “discharged a canister of pepper spray in the bedroom.” The police weren’t amused. She was arrested and charged with domestic battery. Actually, Gassy Gus got off easy…just up the road from Port St. Lucie, in Immokalee another woman fed up with her boyfriend’s flatulence finally decided to confront him. Alleged boyfriend (him we’ll call Tootin’ Tony) told her to shut up…he couldn’t help it if he had gas. At that point the alleged woman (we’ll call her Betty Blade) picked up an 8-inch knife and threw it at Tootin’ Tony’s stomach, leaving a gash in his abdomen. Things escalated with Betty Blade beating Tootin’ Tony with a stick (guess the fact that he was bleeding from his abdomen wasn’t enough for her). Fortunately, real law enforcement showed up at some point and arrested her for aggravated battery with a deadly weapon. She’s still in jail. Wonder what it is that’s making these Florida men’s intestinal gases so offensive? Maybe they’re both connoisseurs of pickled herring? Oooooh…I’ll bet they both like to eat buckets of fried mullets…I did a lot of that when I lived in Florida. I reeked for days after. Okay, enough heartwarming Christmas couples stories, I have BBQ Sauce to make. Have a great one! Good morning everybody! Hope everyone is well as we slide through yet another holiday season. My best advice for surviving is to keep a smile on your face and a hand on your wallet. Oh, and never pass up a bathroom. Okay, enough with the sage advice. Friends, if you have a daughter, you’ll understand where I’m headed with this posting. If your daughter is still a teen or even younger…heed my message! It CAN happen to you. Faithful readers (yeah, right, I see you sneaking looks at The Lost Ogle when I’m not around) may remember my very first posting in this blog. It was about my own trials and tribulations with my daughter as she went through a seemingly endless conga line of young men. They ranged from scary to brutally handsome, from seemingly bright to completely vapid and everything in between. But, this isn’t about my daughter…thankfully. You Ogle sneaking faithful may also recall a previous CCB posting from the heart of Little Dixie (aka, Tulsa) in which a young woman showed up at the funeral of a romantic rival and proceeded to carve up the corpse with a knife. Hahaha…that Tulsa…always good for a laugh. Am I right? There was a report earlier this week that ran nationwide (I got mine from the Huffington Post web site), so I’ll try to put my special CCB spin on it so you don’t think you’re reading the same old crap and go over to TLO. Okay, insert theme from Dragnet here. It seems a man in Tulsa told police he was robbed by two people, one of whom had some very distinctive ink on his face. I’ve done my best to add a mug shot to this story. If it doesn’t work (I need a new blog host), I’ll describe our perp’s tatts. First there are the demonic horns on the dude’s forehead, which weren’t even done evenly…one horn is lower than the other. Guess that’s what you get when you go to the tattoo outlet mall. His left cheek has a tatt of a pair of lips, like he had been kissed by a female who had just applied lipstick. The right cheek is adorned with a tatt of the infamous Nazi Schutzstaffel (SS) emblem. Cute…class act, this dude. But, the coup de grace…truly, the height of class for numbnuts everywhere. He inked F*** Cops (without the asterisks) over his eyebrows. Great decision there Ink-boy! Nothing subtle about that. I’ll bet this genius won the American Legion essay contest on Keeping Good Order and Discipline in America. Probably used his prize money to pay for the ink. So you put him up against the mug shot of the girlfriend, who looks pretty normal and you’re probably thinking, “WTF?” Seriously, she had to know something was amiss with Ink-boy by looking at his face. And, hey, Ink-boy…why tattoo horns onto your forehead when you can have implants done. That’s way more intimidating…if that was the effect you were after. So anyway, these two bust into some poor slob’s home in Tulsa. Ink-boy threatens him with a knife. Poor Slob hands over his wallet and Ink-boy disappears into the night. Stupid Girlfriend stays behind insisting that Poor Slob give her more money. Huh? Turns out (oh, how the world turns), Poor Slob is Stupid Girlfriend’s old boyfriend. SHE KNEW HIM! AND HE KNEW HER! This isn’t so much a criminal act as it is a pathetic evening out on the town in Tulsa. Stupid Girlfriend finally left when Poor Slob picked up his phone to dial 911. Let’s see…Tulsa’s crack crime fighting team had a pretty simple task before them. They knew who the female perp was…the victim’s former girlfriend. They had a great description of the male perp with markings that couldn’t be removed no matter how much “Ink Out” he applied to his skin. They were caught and both are sitting in the Tulsa County jail. Him on a $100,000 bond. Her on a $50,000 bond. More Dragnet theme. Now, we don’t have all of the facts at our fingertips. Why do you suppose they decided to rob the ex-boyfriend? Perhaps he had a pile of cash that belonged to Stupid Girlfriend and she wanted it back? Yeah, that didn’t work out so well for O.J. Simpson in Vegas, baby…now did it? Or, perhaps Poor Slob had his own pile of cash and she knew about it and wanted to get her some. Let’s see what we’ve learned here, shall we? 1. If you’re a father and you see your daughter hanging out guys with ink all over their face, ship her off to do missionary work in remote southern Africa. 2. If you’re a normal girl/woman or even if you’re not (normal), the old thing about ladies love outlaws is a song lyric…nothing more. 3. If you’re going to take up a life of crime and have ink all over your face, for Pete’s sake, get a ski-mask. 4. If you’re going to take up a life of crime, avoid robbing people you know. 5. Stay the hell out of Tulsa! Happy start of the work week. It’ll be a short work week for most of us, I suppose. Sounds as though we may have to put the air conditioning back on before it’s all over. Weird, weird weather this year.
Oh, which reminds me…Happy Winter everybody. Today starts the astronomical winter. Aren’t you glad you read this blog? How else would you have known that? The good news is, the days start getting longer until late June when we start the whole process over again. Cousin Fred departed the Compound yesterday afternoon to head home to western Arkansas for Christmas. He left with Lassie, the barking goat in the passenger seat up front. It was unclear to me whether he was taking Lassie to Arkansas or making a stop at Hefner Canal where it all started. When I spoke to him later in the afternoon (he called to get an update on the Pittsburgh score) he was on the south side of Tulsa and headed toward the Arkansas line. Guess that means the two of them by-passed Hefner Canal (by about 100 miles). I kind of figured Lassie, the barking goat was probably destined to become a permanent fixture here at the Compound. Eh well, his relatives in Arkansas will appreciate Lassie. Probably much more so than the Wife would here. Spent the better part of Saturday practicing my Rib Ranch Replication rib recipe. Haven’t done those in a long time and since I obligated myself to make a batch for Christmas dinner at the Sister’s house, I figured I’d better make certain I still had the touch. I do. Actually, I was trying out a different method of cooking them, called the mountain method. It worked just fine though it’s a bit more labor intensive than what I’ve done previously. But, hey, it’s Christmas so why not? I’m feeling particularly festive this year anyway. It’s the first time I’ve been here in Oklahoma for Christmas since 2005, the year the Sheriff’s Department arrived to break up the melee on the front lawn. That was the same year that our weird Uncle Carl passed out in his plate of mashed potatoes. Well, at least we thought he passed out (may he rest in peace). Throughout it all, Aunt Tess kept talking to him like nothing was wrong. Cousin Frankie (aka, Frankie the Fork) is out on parole (he likes to steal people’s silverware – the Sister is planning to use plastic utensils this year) and has announced he will attend. Of course, one of the conditions of his parole is that he not have contact with known felons. This was something of a concern since a very distant cousin, Maple (she’s so sweet), will be here. Technically, Maple hasn’t yet been indicted (the secret Grand Jury reconvenes January 5), let alone convicted, so I’m not sure she actually counts as a known felon. I’m sure it will turn out okay. I asked the Sister if she wanted to hire an off-duty deputy just to stand by, but she’s pretty certain we can handle internally any riots that break out. Don’t you love family get-togethers? But enough of my family stuff, how about some happy holiday news? Let’s see there’s a story that KFOR broadcast about a bunch of police down in Georgia who, instead of passing out tickets, gave out $100 bills. Isn’t that nice? The $100 bills were provided by an anonymous local business person who was moved to act following events in Ferguson and Chicago this year. The reporter reporting the story (reporter reporting – hate it when I do that) cited one officer who pulled a guy over for a broken taillight. Instead of a ticket, the officer smiled and gave the guy $100. Now isn’t that nice? Course, the hammerhead with the broken taillight is likely still driving around with a broken taillight and has spent the $100 on booze, cigarettes, and McRib sandwiches (available for a limited time!). Sorry, I guess my cynicism is showing. Actually, people in authority trying to buy the hearts and minds of the general populace is an old trick…that never works. What happens when people start driving badly in front of police just to get their piece of the $100 pie? It would never work here in Cosmic City, where according to an insightful investigative report published in the Woodward News last week, the city is facing a huge hole in its budget to the tune of more than $2 million. I’m certain that once city officials got word that some well-meaning business person was passing out $100 bills to police officers to hand out to the citizens of Cosmic City, the city commission would meet in emergency session to pass an ordinance creating a traffic stop fee. The law would allow officers the privilege of making the lives of people they stop even more miserable by charging them a $100 fee for being stopped on top of whatever fines they can heap on the person. Such is life on the mean streets of Cosmic City. Sheesh, what a week! Glad it’s behind me. Feeling much better this morning. Went down to the road yesterday to grab the mail out of the box after the psycho rural delivery guy dropped it off.
There was a notice among the usual crap addressed to Hellkat One from Oklahoma Tax Commission. It was originally addressed to the Palace in Oklahoma City, but someone had crossed through that address and wrote in the address for the Compound. I caught myself doing a quick look around, scanning for postal service ninjas hiding behind the sage brush before opening the envelope. It contained a notice that the tags on her trailer are coming due…by the end of December. I guess Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin figures that stupid trailer is never leaving the Compound. About that time, the door of the trailer flew open and Cousin Fred stepped out followed by Lassie, the barking goat. I showed him the notice from OTC and asked if he thought we should pay it. Cousin Fred looked at the notice and then looked off to the west where Lassie had taken up grazing. He looked back at me and said, “Well, Cousin, I don’t think we should have to pay this. After all, it is addressed to Hellkat One. It’s her problem, ain’t it? I considered that for a time and thought, what’s the worst that could happen? The OTC seizes the trailer for failure to pay? I’m not out any cash. Course, that leaves Cousin Fred and Lassie with no place to live. Guess that means trying to move the two of them back into the house. That means I have to deal with the Wife. I’ll pay the fee. Besides, any time you get the state government involved in anything there’s a decent chance that a stint in jail is involved unless of course you’re an Oklahoma Corporation Commission commissioner in which case you can get away with anything. I’m still too young and far too pretty for jail. Speaking of which, I’ve come across a couple of incidents that happened in/around jails that serve as good evidence that jail is a bad place to be. The first is from Huffington Post and describes a dumbass in Florida who decided it was the holidays and he needed to reconnect with his pals locked up in the county jail. Isn’t he a nice guy…thinking of his incarcerated pals over the holidays. Most of us would wait for visitors hours…check-in with the jailers…and then sit politely waiting for your friends to come out individually so you could wish them the best. That’s most of us. Not this guy. He gets himself hopped up Flakka, a synthetic drug similar to bath salts. He then drives to the county jail compound in the middle of the night where he rammed the front gate and then tried to climb the fence surrounding the place. He got caught in the razor wire strewn across the top of the fence and was easily captured. See, now this is what the William S. Key Country Club needs…a fence with razor wire. I wonder if it would be easier to break-in there. It’s certainly easy to break-out of there…you just walk off. He said he just wanted to visit his friends who were in jail there. He’s charged with assault on a law enforcement officer (for spitting), three counts of felony criminal mischief (ramming, climbing, mess up the razor wire), leaving the scene of a crash with property damage (attempting to climb), and DUI. The irony here is that he is now being held without bond, so I guess he was successful. Our next example of how being in jail can be bad for you comes to us from the Richmond Times-Dispatch in Virginia. It seems our jailed dude, we’ll call him Lothario, got two visitors at the same time, namely his second and third wives. The problem here is that he didn’t divorce wife 2 before marrying wife 3. Upon investigation, the police also discovered he married wife 2 before his divorce from wife 1 was finalized. He was in court for the bigamy charges this past Tuesday where he pleaded no contest. He was sentenced to an additional five years of incarceration with 3.5 years suspended. Well, that was quite a rundown of holiday lock-up stories. Let’s review what we’ve learned: 1. Stay away from bath salts. 2. If you just can’t stay away from bath salts, throw your car keys into a lake somewhere before you start smoking. 3. Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it. 4. Stay the hell out of Virginia, particularly if you’re married to more than one person at the same time. 5. Why would you be married to more than one person at the same time? Who the hell needs that kind of aggravation? Howdy, howdy…happy Thursday. Just came in from dragging the trash bin down to the road which can be a task at zero-dark-thirty. For those of you who have never visited the Compound. The trip to the road from the house is just a hair over 100 yards.
As I walk along, dragging a wheeled trash bin behind me, I’m convinced there is all manner of critters watching from the pasture, hoping I’ll trip over my feet and fall to the ground so they can pounce. <Note to self, start packing heat for the trip to the road> Gorgeous morning out there. Not a breath of wind…cold, but without the wind it didn’t seem to matter much. It occurred to me that this will be the next-to-last trash day before Christmas. Have to remember to tape an envelope to the bin with a little cash for the guys on the truck next week. According to the OKC manners queen, Carey Sue Vega, whom I featured in a post yesterday, you should give trash people like $20 each (more on her in a second). Eh, I’ll probably do it. They’ve done me some favors since we moved in here, hauling off more than they were required to and even coming back a bit later to pick up my trash when I was too lazy to roll it out when I was supposed to. Now, the friggin’ mail delivery guy, he’s another story. He has a really bad habit of cutting across my lawn to get to the mailbox rather than pulling in the end of the driveway. He may get a box nails for Christmas. Eh, but then he’d just leave the shredded remains of his tires strewn across the lawn. I’ll have to come up with something cleverer. Oh sure, I could complain to the post master colonel in Fargo and she would probably tell him to knock it off, but…this is war. Anyway…back to Vega…aka, CSV. After doing that post yesterday, I perused her web site. I mean, here is a person, a blogger, who is actually making $$$ from doing her thing, which is essentially telling people what loathsome, vacuous heathens they are. I do that here on a daily basis, but no one is paying me anything. I will say that I liked the design and layout of her web site. It’s very clean and uncluttered. Easy to navigate. So you can expect to see new web sites for me after the first of the year. Also, need to bump up my presence on social media (as certain people have been telling me to do for some time now). Day before yesterday, I received an email from a publicist for some new author, who has just published a book (it’s what new authors do). I will say that the author got his money’s worth out of the publicist. She wrote a really great press announcement about the book that was embedded in her email. Had a short bio about the guy. Very similar background to me…kind of. A mix of military and business. Like the fish I am, I clicked on the link to the author’s web site. Very nicely done web site. Great layout, very clean…he probably has tea with CSV in the afternoon. But, then… I clicked on the “About the Author” – I’m so happy I did. There was a photo of the author. Now, I will grant you, he did pretty well considering it was a selfie of sorts. The background was dark, probably a royal (read as purple) velvet. The dude is seated in a tall wingback chair that is kind of a deep red. Above his head shining on the velvety background is a bright light which makes it look like a friggin’ halo or something over him. Author Author is dressed in a reddish purplish smoking jacket (no, I’m not kidding). He has a wine glass in one hand and a burning cigar in the other. But, the pièce de résistance was that Author Author was kind of slumped in his chair. It left me with the impression that he was using his laptop camera to take the pic and his screen was the monitor. I guess he was trying to get his big head below the back of the chair. Looked that way anyway. The dude looked like a wholly unsophisticated version of the Dos Equis beer commercial spokesman. It was truly laughable. I’d give you the URL, but Author Author would probably sue me, so we’ll leave that out. So then, I go to his page where he lays out the premise for his book. I soooo wish I could tell you that, it was unique I’ll give him that, but again I don’t want to be sued. I say it was unique, and it was…it was also insane. So THEN I go the amazon.com page where they’re selling his book. I wanted to read a sample. It was amateurish to say the least. Although I’m not going to embed the actual content here (still hoping to avoid a lawsuit), I’ll give you a sample in Author Author’s style…think of this as Eric Clapton (me) playing in the style of Jimi Hendrix (Author Author)…except Hendrix was a genius…Author Author not so much. “She had just returned home from the dinner party. It was her fourth that week. Another fund raiser. Honestly, she was just tired of the whole thing, but it was for a good cause. She wished her husband had been at the party, but he was working. He was always working. He worked so hard. She removed her dress and stood in front of the full-length mirror admiring her maturing beauty before reaching for the negligee that her maid had laid out for her…” Barf. I’m sure everyone can relate to “she” - can’t you? And where the hell is the husband? So the point in all of this is that I obviously need to step up my own shameless self-promotion. By the way, I think in the New Year, you’ll have yet another option for “reading” these blog posts. I was toying with the idea of starting a YouTube channel push them out, but my Woefully Underpaid Marketing Diva friend and adviser Sandra Benton suggested that I should consider a podcast. Hmmmm. I like that. Plus, if I do a podcast, I won’t have to wax my eyebrows or anything. Anyway, that and so much more coming in 2016. It’s gonna be great. Welcome to the Wednesday edition of CCB. I’m back after a bout of whatever the heck sinister virus is going around outside the compound. Stop breathing on me, people! And, they wonder why I live in a fortified Compound on the western edge of Woodward County?
I considered watching the GOP debates last night on CNN…figured it would give me fodder for today’s posting. Instead, I watched old reruns of the Drew Carey Show and Spin City. Gotta believe the episodes were from the final seasons of both shows. The writing sucked and most of the regulars had moved on. It was kind of pathetic, like I would imagine most of the GOP debates were. Will someone please explain to me how it is that Ted Cruz is even running for president? Seriously, I don’t get it. The dude was born in Canada. The constitution says you have to have be a U.S. natural born. I figure someone must have figured out an angle, otherwise the rest of that Republican mob would be on him like a pack of hungry wolves on a weak doe. But, like I said. I didn’t watch. Though I did manage to catch a segment on the KFOR three-hour-news called Holiday Etiquette…really? Are the media outlets in OKC so hard up for news that they turn to fluff like this? The segment featured a woman named Carey Sue Vega (whom we’ll hereafter refer to as CSV), who claims to be an etiquette expert. Wow. Truth be told she’s a blogger…just like me. Though she’s found a way to make some $$$ at it (she offers etiquette webinars to companies who want their employees to behave more civilly…I think). Me…I just keep giving it away for free. Guiding the segment along was Kevin Ogle, who will simply have to appear as the monster in my remake of Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein. So, the segment played out with Brother Ogle reading questions sent in by surprisingly articulate and well-meaning viewers. Uh huh. I’ll bet Linda Cavanaugh and a gang of interns thought up the questions. So here’s a rundown of the questions, CSV’s response, Ogle’s insipid color commentary, and the official CCB untimely, unseemly, and generally cruelly sarcastic commentary which has become our stock in trade. Feel free to play along at home. Ready? The first question came from someone we’ll call “Scroogish Boozehog” who said she had been invited to three holiday parties this year and was expected to bring a secret Santa gift to each at $20 or under. Scroogish Boozehog indicated she can’t afford that and asked what she should do. CSV’s first response was to try re-gifting something someone gave you last year or to simply not participate in the gift exchange. Young Frankenstein threw in that you could just spend the party hanging out by the punchbowl of spiked eggnog. Good advice, Young Frankenstein, good advice…keep your day job. CCB’s untimely, unseemly, and sarcastic response: Look, Scroo-Boo, you’ve been invited to these parties. Not participating is not an option. You get free food, free booze (woohoo) and if all goes well, people will be scanning their privates on the multifunction printer in the home office (nothing says Holiday Fun like a full-color pic of someone’s junk as your desktop wallpaper). All of that, and you aren’t going to participate in the gift exchange? Look…go to Dollar Tree…run through the store grab some stuff, wrap it up…bada bing. You’ve done your part. Re-gifting seldom works because inevitably it goes right back to the person who gave it to you last year. Frankly, Young Frankenstein had the best advice for that question. Next up, we have Holiday Fussyass who asked what to do with annual holiday dinner party guests who drag their fork through their teeth within hearing of the hostess? What? CSV offered two options: 1) Pointed out that you can’t make people feel bad about weird stuff they do, but said to put them at the far end of the table where you don’t have to hear it; 2) Just let it go. Young Frankenstein weighed in with “Hahaha…let it snow, let it go, right?” Huh? CCB: Okay, Holifuss, look if it bothers you that much, maybe CSV’s advice to put them down at the far end of the table seems pretty good. This is especially good advice if your husband is down at that end and you’re not feeling particularly benevolent toward him at the time. Chances are, it’s his slobbery old Aunt Esther anyway. Honestly, I don’t know what they’re talking about here…dragging their fork through their teeth…what is that? I tried it just now and chipped a tooth. My best advice is to point out their flaws, humiliate them, and then throw them out of the house and into the cold. And, keep their damned gifts for yourself. Typical holiday at the Compound. Finally, there was a question from someone we’ll call Grumpy Ol’ Bastard, who said that his neighbor puts up tacky Christmas lights and decorations that block his driveway. GO’B asked, “What should I do?” CSV offered that GO’B would only create more problems for himself if he addressed his malevolent neighbor’s seeming need to identify with Clark Griswold and run up his electric bills every December. She said that Griswold will only add more lights and make it even bigger next year. She also offered that GO’B could always move. Young Frankenstein had nothing. CCB: Move, schmoove…go on the offensive GO’B! A pair of insulated wire cutters in the middle of the night (snip, snip, snip) problem solved. And GO’B says the decorations are blocking his driveway? Back over the sh*t! And then sue him for damaging your car. What are you, a man or an inflatable Frosty the Snowman with a pinhole and a defective inflator motor? Okay, kids, that’s enough for today. Tune in tomorrow when I’ll instruct you on how to cook up a turkey that’s way past its expiration date (spoiler alert: no one will notice…at least until the EMTs show up). Again, a typical holiday at the Compound. |
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