I made it. I survived.

A Tale of Survival

This is a heroic and epic tale of overcoming daunting circumstances and unbelievable danger.

No, it wasn't the holocaust, WWII, the McCarthy era,  hurricane Katrina, September 11th, 2001, the Obama presidency, the Bush presidency.  

None of those.

It was called "growing up in the 50's".  A time fraught with many dangers that people today can't even imagine.  I was reading an article today about the  dangers of growing up in the 50's.  It is nothing short of a miracle that there are any of us left that can reveal what really happened in that era.

Let us start with my birth.  I was not born in a hospital.  I was born in a maternity home in my hometown.  I am not even sure there was a doctor present.  I didn't ask and I didn't really care.  

I weighed 4 pounds 7 ounces which is on the smallish side.  A circumstance of birth that I never overcame in my adulthood.  I was a giant compared to my wife, the little French lady.  She weighed 2 pounds 8 ounces when she was born.   Between the two of us we weighed almost as much as a human being. Almost seven pounds.

We survived the circumstances and the weight of our birth.  One thing that may have affected my weight was the fact that my parents were smokers.  They also didn't mind tipping a few Pabst Blue Ribbons on occasion.  

When I came home from the maternity place I was put in a crib that was painted with lead paint.

Nobody died from it.  Nobody became hyper or mentally challenged because of it.  

Yes, we had some "not too clever" kids in our class, but I assure you, it was inherited.

We were fed terrible food.  Dangerous foods.  Things like peanut butter, bacon and eggs and numerous danger fraught dairy products like milk, cheese, and butter.  Not one kid in my 1st grade class died of a heart attack or an allergic reaction.

I don't remember a child in our class who was autistic.  In fact I can say that about the whole school and the whole town.  NOT ONE CHILD!!! No one was autistic. Hmmm!!?

The most nerve wracking disease for my era was polio.  I knew a few people who got polio.  This was kind of scary.

Now comes the horrific stuff.  

You are familiar with child proof caps. Yeah, the ones that adults can't open. We didn't have any child?proof caps for medicine.  We just had to turn clockwise and the cap came off.  We could chugalug as many aspirins as we felt like.  Oddly, I don't remember any kids ever doing that.

We rode bicycles, played baseball without helmets.  The cars we sat in did not have seat belts, we rode in the back of trucks standing up.  None of my friends had dented heads.  In fact no one I know had a dented heads or twisted limbs. 

Wait a minute!!!! Our cars didn't have airbags either. WOW!!!!

I drank water out of a brook, out of a garden hose, from a container 4 other people had  used before me.  I should have died of amoebic dysentery or typhoid fever at an early age.

We ate huge quantities of cupcakes, refined sugar, kool aid, cake, cookies, potato chips, Pepsi, Coke, Fudge bars and nobody was fat. WHY????

Well, I was really too busy to analyze that one.  I was outdoors from about 8 AM till about 4 PM.  My mother had no idea where I was.  She did not call 911 and report me as missing. No search parties were organized.  She knew I was probably at my friend's house mooching a meal at lunch time between our baseball games.  We didn't have play dates. We had fist fights and wrestling.  We solved our own issues with reason and brutality, whichever worked best for the situation.

If I wasn't home by 4PM for supper...too bad for me.  My mother didn't operate a restaurant or cafeteria.  Either you went without or possibly she would keep it warm in the oven if she was having a really good day.

Then I would go out and play for a couple more hours, especially if I had school that day.

I would not spend a whole lot of time watching television since we didn't have one.  We knew who had televisions.  Their house would be completely dark except for the silver glow of the round television screen as seen by a 10 year old boy who happened to be walking.   Occasionally we would knock on people's door and ask we if we could watch television.  They would let us watch one program and tell us we would have to go after the program was over.  We were very grateful.

It was many years later that I realized it did not always snow during the "Buffalo Bob Show".

I thought it was always bad weather, not bad reception.

This part is going to shock a lot of people.

Our telephones were hooked to a wall.  They weighed about 11 pounds, you could throw them against a wall and they would still work.  They had a  rotary wheel on the front and the wheel had holes in it.  In each hole was a number and three letters. You would put your fingers in the whole and move the wheel in a certain direction until you hit a finger stop, then you would release your finger from the hole and it would return to its original position.  This was referred to as "dialing the phone."  

If you were a little trouble maker like me, you would just dial some numbers and get to talk to people in exotic places like, Yellow Knife in the Yukon, Capetown, South Africa and Belfast in Northern Ireland.

Before the dial phone it was very similar to what you see on "The Andy Griffith Show."

"Sarah, connect me to Emmett's garage."  You just told the operator who you wanted or you gave her a number like 842R or 93J1.

If you had a speech impediment this could become a problem.  Something like "twee, twee, teven..aw" (337R)

Operator: "Huh?"

Phone user: "Opowaito, Ju giz me da wong numba!!!"

Operator: "Huh?"

Then there was the issue with "party lines". This was a really nifty thing if you were a kid. 

A party line was a pretty weird concept.  Your family and someone else's family had the same phone line.  If the phone rang once it was for you.  If it rang twice it is for your neighbor down the road.

The nifty thing was you could listen to your neighbors gossiping if you picked up the telephone from its cradle really gently.  You could listen for a while.  It was really bad form to shout out stuff like, "THAT'S A LIE, YOU PIECE OF CRAP"  or "GET OFF THE PHONE. YOU HAVE BEEN GOSSIPING LONG ENOUGH."  I do apologize for doing it, but I was young.

Another weird thing about the phone system was that there was no call waiting or answering machine or voice mail.  If you called someone and they weren't at home, too bad for you.

School was a place you had to have survival skills.  The teachers had weapons and they were not afraid to use them. Most teachers had big wooden paddles.  They would use them on boys and girls alike.  Mostly boys.  I saw one guy beg for mercy because he had a boil on his ass.  The teacher didn't believe him. He was not spared. I know of some legendary matches among teachers and students in high school.  I only saw one.  The teacher won.  I am talking about physical confrontation.  I think our teachers had to go through some type of boot camp before teaching at our school.

Strangely there were no lawsuits.  The only time there was mention of a lawsuit was in 1951 when a bus was taking a summer outing to a place I went swimming every day. This day I decided not to go.  The bus hit some gravel on the side of the road. The driver lost control and the bus rolled down an embankment and ended upside down.  There were 54 people on the bus.  Only a couple were seriously injured.  Another miracle, really!!!

I survived all this and more.  Did I mention the fallout shelters?  The atomic fire drills?

Ummm!....Please don't tell anyone but......It was a wonderful time to grow up.

Somebody's got some splainin' to do!

Me!!! Sorting it out.

Things are getting a little fuzzy in my head and it is not my hair.  I am trying to make sense of what is going on in the world. My world. Making sense of nonsense.

For starters, so you know who these people are?

Who would you trust in these pictures?
The people on the top or the people on the bottom?

The people on the top are the infamous hippy Billy Bob Clinton and his main squeeze, Hilly Rod Clinton.

Probably basking in the after glow of some naughty thing they did.

The very family oriented couple below are obviously made of a much finer thread than the hippies above.
The man is a musician. His wife with the huge dress is a judge.
His name is John Michael.  The woman is Sharon Rachel... Levy.
They call him John Michael, Ozzie ....Ozzie Osbourne.
He is the lead musician in "Black Sabbath".  His favorite food is frog legs.  Or frog heads.
Sharon is a Judge on "America's got talent".

The next couple have a common bond.  They both have had a family member killed and now they are trying to finance a search for the killer or killers.  They would be grateful for any contributions to aid in their search.

Please make all checks payable to:The Golf Club and Night Club Fund. Make that: Jonathan Hemlock on this site.

I will now move on to new business and observations.

I will call them keen observations by a Squirrelly senior citizen. 

About nature.  

Robin's cannot fly.  They are very much like a turkey.  Turkeys just walk around bobbing their beady little heads like a skilled boxer and end up on a table  at Thanksgiving.  Why they are not extinct is beyond my understanding.

The Robin can get around ok just don't ask  them to fly too much.  I have seen squirrels in my backyard fly more than a Robin and they are usually much higher up in a tree than a Robin. You will usually see a Robin running around on the front lawn, huffing and puffing and jumping to avoid the cat that is chasing him. huff…puff…jump…huff…puff….jump.

Another myth: They do not fly south. They hardly fly anywhere.  They hitchhike on the back of busses, 18 wheelers, anything that is heading south.

Dumb as a dodo or mourning dove.

We have some Mourning Doves in our backyard.  They are not very clever.  They spend most of the day running into my windows and the side of the house.  They have big bodies and very small heads.  Obviously their brains do not take up too much space in their heads.  I believe the Mourning Dove will probably evolve into the first headless bird.

Another myth: Why are they mourning?  Usually because one of their colleagues just did something dumb and now is deceased, not because of the sound they make.

Old hat:

Old pictures:In the early 1900's men always wore hats.  They wore them properly.

Apparently it became a lost art.  Nowadays, people do not know how to wear hats. They have them on sideways , backwards, oversized, undersized, everything but right.

Additional information:Men often wore hats and ties just about all the time. Usually a wool suit, a tie, vest, white shirt,  wingtip shoes, argyle socks, Wildroot cream oil in their hair, and a dab of bay rum on their cheeks.  

The only exception to this custom is when  you had diarrhea. Then it would be acceptable to wear only a hat and tie.

Seniors: 

Many seniors are at the initial part of their life, like AARP, RIP, DOA,  SSI.

Bad Candy: 

I returned some  M&M's to the company that makes them.  They had mixed in some E's and W's.  They sent me a free bag.

Signs of aging disgracefully:

• My mind is making contracts my body can't keep.
• My little black book contains names ending only in M.D.
• My knees buckle but my belt won't.
• My back goes out more than I do.
• I sink my teeth into a steak and they stay there.
• I know all the answers but nobody is asking the questions.

But there is some good news, people.

• Kidnappers are not really interested in me.
• No one expects me to run into a burning building.
• People no longer view me as a hypochondriac.
• I constantly talk about the price of gasoline in 1962.
• I enjoy hearing about other people's surgery.
• I had a party and the neighbors didn't even realize it.
• Now when I talk about good grass, I am referring to my lawn.

I can remember 1957 like it was yesterday.  

Hmm!.....Why can't I remember yesterday?

And finally.... my neighbor, Elmo, who is single, responded to this ad  on the internet:

SINGLE BLACK FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I'm a very good-looking girl who LOVES to play. I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cozy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. Rub me the right way and watch me respond. I'll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me. Kiss me and I'm yours. Call (843) 8xx-xxxx and ask for Daisy.

Who says you can't find someone to love on the internet. 

In fact, that is how I met "The little French lady."

Elmo has found the love of his life. Daisy!!  
She is the sweetest black lab you would ever want to meet.

swimming with Sharks

good size jellyfish.  kinda flattened out.

Our Neighbor Wendy caught this good size sting ray.  Wendy is holding the fish pole.

pretty girl, ugly porcupine puffer fish

Swimming in Myrtle Beach.

Why would anyone swim in the ocean?

Oh! now I remember.

or not!!!

Aggravating Agatha

"Run, Agatha, Run!

"THE PROBLEM:"

I have this talkative neighbor, Agatha, who seems to be the world foremost authority. You name the subject, she has the truth....not an opinion, The TRUTH!!!
Oh, there is one exception.  She does not own a computer.  She refuses to own one.  Google is not in her vocabulary.  The only windows operating system she is aware of is made by Anderson. Apple Macintosh is only a tasty fruit to her.  To Agatha, IBM means impending bowel movement.

If I was forced to give her a political affiliation, I would label her somewhat to the right of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck.
She yearns for days of the past. The twentieth century?....No!  Perhaps somewhere between the eleventh and nineteenth century would suit her fine. That is our Agatha.

We used to see her on the beach everyday.  We would try to engage her in normal conversation.  She will talk like a normal person for a while.  At some point in our dialogue her eyes would start twitching, her lips would start trembling, her pupils begin dilating then glaze over and perhaps roll into the back of her head. She groaned, shook her head.
My wife, (the little French Lady) and I were wondering if she as going to faint or she was having some kind of mystical sexual experience.  We were hoping for the latter.

Then she looked at us with total clarity and said, "Did you watch Rush Limbaugh today? He says congress should impeach Obama.  I think he is right.  Glen Beck thinks so too.
Everything that has happen since 1988 is Obama fault.  Our country is being run by a black foreigner.  He is letting "the blacks" take over the country.  The blacks...blah..blah. blah..blah Obama blah blah blah blah "the blacks"....blah..blah..blah?"
Spittle and drool roll down her face.

"Agatha, I have to go take a dump now, if you will excuse me." We walk way very fast.

"Whew,  I thought we would never get away.  Did you see that? She went into an altered state of consciousness. It was like she was transported to Limbaughland." the little french lady mused.
"Maybe she is one of those Tea peer's." the wife said thoughtfully. "One of those folks who drink Tea and pees a lot and complains about it?" I queried.
"Yeah...those."

After that we tried to avoid her.  If we saw her wandering on the beach and she was heading towards us, I would ask my wife, "How far can you swim underwater?" The usual answer was, "not far enough."
We had a problem. We needed a solution.

THE SOLUTION: Sometimes the solution just in front of you don't realize it immediately.
I was watching the news recently and President Obama was visiting Ireland.  It seems that his mother had Irish ancestry.  Interesting information.  I could be related to him since I am also since 3 out of 4 of my grandparents were Irish.  It is a small country.

Hmmm...wait a minute.  
I could tell Agatha that he is related to me.  I will have to make a history, a cover, just like a CIA agent....
I am his cousin..twice removed, whatever that means.  This could work.  Let's see what going to happen.

THE EXECUTION:  
I prepare my documentation (a photoshopped picture of Obama and me talking in the oval office) and  commence to strolling and trolling the beach.  I know it is a matter of time. This is like fishing.
On the third day of trolling strolling the beach Agatha spots us. She waves at us and we casually feign disinterest.  I flick my wrist casually towards her.  She is waving. I look at the little French lady and she shrugs and we keep walking away from her.

Now Ag is waving frantically with both hands and running towards us.  We are walking away from her but not very fast.  She finally catches up with us.
She is winded, but she runs pretty well for a 79 year old person with a heart condition.

"Oh...Hi Agatha.  When did you start jogging?  You have to be careful at your age. but I think it is wonderful that you are concerned about your health and have started jogging."
"I didn't think it was very healthy for you to fall asleep on the beach like you did yesterday."
"Carry on, don't let us stop you."

"Wait!!!...(gasp...huff) I not jogging.  I am trying (heavy breathing) to catch up with you and I wasn't sleeping on the beach yesterday.  I fainted while trying to catch up to you."

"Oh!...? So what's up?"
Agatha's lips started quivering, her right eye started twitching, the eyes..they dilated, her face became flush. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, apparently retrieving some bit of arcane Rush Limbaugh data from her memory bank.  She gasped, moaned, shook her head, then smiled.

"Did you hear what Obama did?"
She broke into a giggle now.
"Cousin Barry? what has he done now?" was my snappy rejoinder.

"Barry? who's Barry? I'm talking about Obama."
"Barry O'Bama.  That's what family calls him." I stated casually.
"No, No! I am talking about Barack Obama, that bad black president."
"Yeah, we're talking about the same guy.  My cousin Barry O'Bama, the President. The white Republicans are giving him a hard time. That guy."
"Some of you "whites" don't seem to like him."

I pause for effect.  It is time to set the hook.

"power to people. now let's have a stout and a potato."

"He's Irish, You know."

Now, I can see Agatha's mind spinning.
"He's black..."
"...Yeahhhh!...What's your point? Haven't you heard of Black Irish? Google it.
Oh, I'm sorry you can't, can you?"

I feigned pent up anger.
"Are you one of those colonialist who exploited our homeland? You white people!!! (said with righteous indignation)
"You whites are always doing that kinda crap. You made life hell for us black Irish during the potato famine, Agatha, Do you ever aks yourself if this is right?"
"You do?....You lie!!!!"

Agatha is slowly backing up.  she is nervous. I am jabbering incoherently. Spittle is flying from my lips. I am extolling the virtues of being Irish and black and how this knowledge has improved my basketball dribbling skills and the drinking of the beer afterwards.  she now is running.
"She's pretty fast for a 79 year old white woman with a folding chair and a backpack on her back."
I think I had her at "aks". The little french lady nodded. "Oui!"

"Have a lovely jog, Agatha!!!!"

Stuart Woods to the rescue....not!!!!

Writer's block?

Prologue: Stuart Woods is a world famous writer of mystery novels.  He wrote the book "Chiefs" which was made into a television miniseries.  He has written over 40 books.

He is a nifty guy.

I am a blogger.  I had writers block, of a sort.  I figured Stuart could help me.  I emailed him.  My email is below.

Greetings Stuart,

Help me!

I am a blogger.  I have created a character named Colt Brandisher.  I have developed a life for him.  He has a car. (1957 Citroen)  a girl friend, (Candida Goldblatt), a job, (city defective....detective.) and friends.  I have blogged my writing process.

After much introspection and thoughtI have modeled Colt after your character, Stone Barrington.

I had considered John Sandford’s character Lucas Davenport, however Colt was not too keen on spending time in Minneapolis, eating at Subway, and reassembling frozen corpses that went through a stump shredder.  He did like the idea of the Porsche but I told him Stone had a Mercedes Benz.  I also mentioned that Lucas had serious mental problems.  He suffers from depression and is afraid of flying, whereas Stone Barrington doesn’t seem to have a care in the world and lives in nice places like New York, Washington, Connecticut and frequents Palm Beach and Key West.

I believe you have enough background information.  Here is my problem.

I started writing a story on one of my blogs. I seem to have painted myself into a proverbial corner.

It seems that Colt will die in the first paragraph.

:

“Colt heard the cacophonous sounds of tree frogs croaking their maudlin symphony as the leaden projectile zoomed towards his head. Ironic, he thought. he would be croaking very shortly also. The high functioning brain that currently had the appearance of freshly cooked cauliflower would soon resemble half cooked turnip, perhaps mash potatoes, but certainly not cauliflower.

Colt thought of frogs. He liked frog legs. He would not have a chance to eat them again.

In fact, they would probably be feasting on his legs very soon.

"What!!!!...why am I thinking about food? I am milliseconds from death."

They say your life passes in front of you when death is imminent. Colt's life did pass in front of him. It was a boring life. He had some time left so he started thinking about food.”

Stuart, Do you see my problem? Help me!!

Now I want to talk a bit about Stone Barrington.  

He seems to take way too many naps. perhaps he should consider sleeping at night, if you catch my drift.

It seems no woman can get close to him without dropping her knickers, which makes me wonder, “What kind of aftershave is this guy using?”

Stuart,......This guy is a slut.  

Does he use protection?  He already has one unplanned love child. It is miraculous this guy doesn’t have herpes.  Stone better step up.  Right now he is acting like a democrat politician.  The difference is: a democratic politician can’t keep their pants zipped up and the Republicans can’t keep their mouth zipped up.

Well, I hope you can help me save Colt.  He is such a nice guy.  I don’t want him cut down in his prime.  

If we can get this issue resolved we will meet in Delano, Georgia at your place.  We will invite Lucas Davenport.   we will have one of Stone’s female friend can cook us up some steaks, served with a bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboam. (Colt will bring it with him) and then we will repair to the study and drink brandy and smoke cigars. 

Colt will pass on the cigars. He doesn’t smoke. However if your cook will bake some cannibas brownies Colt would be glad to partake of the brownies.  He has glaucoma.

This would be considered medicine in many states.

Perhaps It would be wise to serve some peperoni with that.  A few hundred slices, a couple boxes of ritz crackers (fat free)  and a few pounds of Cabot cheese.  Maybe a few litres of Pepsi or Coke. 

We will celebrates Colts resurrection.

Thanks Stuart.

PS: I live in SC.  I was going to Georgia for a photo layout of “The Girls of Delano” for Playboy magazine.  I have read about their beauty in your books.  I couldn’t find the girls.  I couldn’t find Delano.

I think we should meet somewhere and discuss this.  How about Elaine’s? Late?

Epilogue: Stuart answered me within an hour on his iphone. His reply was, "You got yourself into this; get yourself out."

At first I was crushed that he didn't help me.  I thought about this for a few minutes and realized That was the answer.  He really did give me the answer.  I will get myself out of this. Thanks,Stuart!!!

Ironically, nobody will be going to Elaine's in New York City.  Elaine Kaufman died in December 2010 and it closed in late May 2011. One of Stuart Woods favorite spots. It is an end of an era.

SCAMPI:The review: Not a four star restaurant.

                             

 I am committed to good food.

My wife (the little French Lady) and myself have become addicted to Geocaching.  We have been doing our little adventure of finding Tupperware in the woods using million dollar satellites for about 6 months.   We are getting further from home, looking for caches.

Last weekend we were about 30 miles from home.  The day was winding down and we were getting hungry. Enough geocaching for one day.  We should get something to eat. We were famished.  We weren't too familiar with the area so we just drove around looking for a place to eat.  We were not interested in Burger King or Kentucky Fried Chicken.

We finally saw a place that sounded pretty interesting.  It was called SCAMPI.   I like Italian food, and so does my wife.  We pulled into the parking lot; it was a huge parking lot. Good sign.  I must say the building was quite impressive also.

As we walked through the parking lot we noticed a security guard walking about. Another good sign.

We were met at the door by a very distinguished gentleman.  He was obviously the maitre'd of SCAMPI. We were greeted.
"Good evening, My name is Sigmund and you are....?"
"Jonathan Hemlock."
"... and she is?" "Ms Hemlock."

Sigmund walked over to his computer and I saw him type my name into google. His eyebrows raised and mumbled something like, "I thought he would be taller."
I took this to be a good sign.
"Ah, Mr. Hemlock! Welcome."
"We would like to be seated near a window . Preferably in a booth"
"I'm sorry we do not have any windows or booths, Mr. Hemlock."
"Whatever.  We will have the special."
"Fine. Mr. Capote will bring it to you."

This guy had a real large attitude problem.  He wanted to be called Truman. He thinks he is a president or something.  He acted very gay.  A gay president. What next?

As we waited for our food a couple of gentlemen joined us at our table.  They were introduced as Mr. Harry Callahan and Mr. Walter Kowalski.  These guys also had a surly attitude, yet I felt strangely comfortable with them.  We introduced ourselves.  Their attitude brightened when I told them my name.

"Hemlock?...huh, I've heard of you." Callahan queried.  "What are you doing here?" "Geocaching." I answered.
Callahan and Kowalski just looked at each other and shrugged.
Our food finally showed up.  It wasn't scampi.  It was Shepard's Pie.
"Truman, you gave us the wrong meal."
Truman's attitude became condescending and huffy.

Harry stood up. "I've had trouble with this guy, too. I think he stole my bread stick."
He grabbed Truman by the lapels and said, "I know what you're thinking, punk! Did he have five breadsticks or six? Well, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being these are Olive Garden Bread Sticks, the most tasty breadsticks in the world, and would clearly satisfy anybody's appetite, you have to ask yourself one question. Do you feel hungry, punk?...Well, do ya?....?"
"Do you have anything to add to that, Kowalski?"
"Ummm...No...just stay off my lawn."
"Check please!!!"  Harry and Walt were getting a little cranky.

We told Sigmund that we received the wrong food.  He told us to sign the release and there would be no charge.  We signed.

"Bernard will show you to your room."  Bernard was a wiry little guy.
"You can call me Barney. Everyone does. Hey, would you like to hear me recite the Preamble to the constitution?....We.... We?"
"Nip it, Barney. We are not staying here tonight."
Sure you are.  You just signed yourself into SCAMPI."
"We just came here for the food. We didn't even get our scampi."
"Well, there's your problem right there. Sigmund we have a problem."
Sigmund reappeared.  Bernard explained. Whispering and nodding. "Aha!!!"
The situation was explained to us.

RECAP: All the things we thought were a good sign, were bad signs.  We were just told that we have signed ourselves into SCAMPI: the South Carolina Asylum for the Media Programming Indoctrinated.  We thought we were in an Italian Bistro, but it was really a mental asylum for people who have watched too many movies, too much television, read too many books and lost their identity.   
We probably would not have gotten into SCAMPI if I had used my real name.  I used my blogging name and Geocaching name.  This usually is not a problem.  However when Sigmund (Freud) googled me, my name came up as a fictional character... Jonathan Hemlock, a character in the movie Eiger Sanction, played by Clint Eastwood.


When we sat at our table we were seated with Mr. Callahan (Dirty Harry!!) and Mr. Walter Kowalski (Grand Torino). Both were characters in Clint Eastwood movies.  This is why I felt comfortable with these guys. What could be more natural?


So there was a little misunderstanding.  Our friends are horrified with what has happened to us.  We will be here for at least the next 45 days.

I will bring some ice cold
Silver Bullet beer, guys.
If I get drunk enough I
will give you a peek under my
mask.

They are trying to get us released. I told them to mind their own business. 

"Your deal, Hemlock!"

I am enjoying playing pinochle with Johnny Carson, Adolph Hitler and the Lone Ranger tonight.
I hope I don't get Hitler as a partner again.
My wife is having a nice French meal with Charles De Gaulle and Napoleon. Ahhh... Home cooking.  
Bring me back some cretons.  The guys will love it.

I'm a Deather. I have found my calling.

Navy Seals(camoed) Great job, guys!!!!

I am feeling abject and despicable shame.  The local delegate from the Republican party has just left our house. He gave me the Republican IQ test.

I am considered an imbecile due to my chosen political affiliation. This is humiliating. I did not get one answer correct.  I even signed my named incorrectly on my test paper.  I signed it on the left side.  I should have signed it on the right, which indicated that I have leftist tendencies.

The local delegate harangued and browbeated me for about an hour. Before he left he gave me a copy of his book which he called "My Struggle".

So, I am studying "My Struggle" and taking copious notes.
My wife hollers, "Hey, They just killed Osama Bin Laden."
"Who killed him?"  I queried, "A bunch of Seals" the answer.
"Wow, did the seals slap him to death with their little flippers?  I would have thought he would be inland instead of on the ocean. I didn't know there was much coast line in  Afghanistan."
"It was Navy Seals and it was in Pakistan."
"Oh good! chock one up for our side. Where's the body? When are they going to show it? Are you going to the funeral or wake?"
"No funeral, no wake, no body." was the little French ladie's reply.
"WHAT?".....Here we go again. They buried him at sea.......Right!!!!
Not happening. I have to see a death certificate, a mangled corpse, a crying widow or widows in his case, DNA.
Rush Limbaugh will want to know.

Has the American public been punk'd by the government again???

Here's a few examples:

• (The Moonwalk tapes) This is the original Apollo 11 hoax. The Moonwalk tapes were actually done at Universal studios' back lot.  In moonwalk, take 3, You can hear Neal Armstrong say, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for me. oops....I just stepped in dog poop. I told them not to use the Lassie sound stage." ....... "CUT!...CUT!!..Wrong again, Neal. It is for mankind, not you.  Are we going to have to call Tom Hanks for this scene...Take 4."

• (The Agnew proposal)  The original Apollo 11 hoax worked so well that Vice President Spiro Agnew proposed at a cabinet meeting that the next astronauts land on the sun.  He was guffawed out of the meeting.  He was told that the astronauts would burn to a crisp on the sun.  It is too hot.  A couple minutes later he stuck his head back into the meeting and said, "We could do it at night." Nixon took this under consideration and appointed a task force to investigate this possibility.  Nixon resigned before it could happen. 

• (FDR, the marathoner) You never saw FDR walking, and there was a good reason for this.  He couldn't walk.  The government did a wonderful job covering up this fact.  I did not realize that FDR could not walk until I was a teenager. Today they would photoshop him, they would have him running the Boston Marathon, playing tennis, playing touch football, and playing 18 holes of golf. You would never see him in a wheel chair.  This would be bad PR.  The president of the US in a wheelchair? This would be deemed as weakness.  So the American public was punk'd back in the 30's and 40's.

No more punking. I want to see Osama's death certificate and Obama's birth certificate.

Which one has the hair on his face?  I am confused.  Well...anyway...ummm, this helped me find my calling.  I am a deather.

A deather is the opposite of a birther.  Prove to me you are dead, show me your death certificate, DNA samples, your corpse,  in person, if possible.

This probably won't be enough but it's a start.

I mean, look how elaborate a scheme Obama had for the presidency.  

Somebody early on in his life said, "Hey, this kid could end up being president of the United States.  Yikes ... let's make him a citizen of some place in the US.  Maybe Hawaii. 

We will have to sneak him out of Kenya."

This was a well thought out plan.  He is actually a Kenyan Muslim who became president because of good, well thought out planning.

Do you think I am buying the "Osama is dead" story? H....E..L...L..O.....!!!!!

Walking on the moon, walking on the sun, FDR running a marathon, Osama dead, Obama an American Citizen, Paris Hilton a Virgin.  How much are we supposed to believe?

I believe what the Republican party tells me to believe. That's what.

Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?.... I do?...Oh...well....

"I AM A DEATHER!!!!"