Dear Dr. CM,
Boy, I've sure had me some weekend. Doggone it, I've learned things that have changed my life!
First off, I find out that you've got just millions of those Confederate dollars! Wow, they must be worth a fortune as collector's items. You be sure and hold on to some of them! When I get my stock certificates printed up, you're gonna want to exchange a whole bunch of them with me!
Now I'll get to the big news.
Last Friday, I went over to College Station to continue my search for a new name. By the time I got there, it was almost 11 a.m., so I figured I better look for a place to have lunch. I've told you how careful I am about breakfast. We'll, I don't take any more chances with my other meals, Dr. CM. For lunch, I try to figure what Ted Turner might be having. So, in College Station, I had meals in Mexican, Italian, and Chinese restaurants, and finished up with a couple of burgers, a brownie and some ice cream.
When I had finished up, around 2 p.m., I was walking down the sidewalk and noticed this shingle on an office door that read, "Sally Mae Justis, Ph.d. Leading expert on TTS. I'm a shrink for Texans, folks. If you're not from around here, just keep on walkin'." Well, I figured, what the heck? Maybe a head doctor was just what I needed to come up with a name that fit me. So, I knocked on the door, said, "howdy," and let myself in. Sitting behind the desk was a curious sight. There was a pretty good looking woman who had a tee shirt on with "Don't Mess With Texas Women" written on the front. She was puffing on a big cigar, and sipping on a Lone Star long neck. She motioned for me to come over and have a seat, but didn't say anything. She was all engrossed in one of those soap operas on her TV. I sat there and waited for her to finish up the program. Every once and a while she's say things like, "he's cheatin' on you, girl, don't go kissin' that sumbitch!," or, "damn it, son, don't you know where she's been sleepin?"
Well, she's the first psychologist I ever saw, but I wasn't expecting that. Anyway, after a while she turned off the TV, and said, "OK, son, whatcha got on that mind of yours?" I went on to tell her who I was, that I was going to revolutionize the religion business in America, and that I felt like I needed a new name. And, since I figured any head doctor would want to know all about my childhood, I got started into that, how I didn't know just who my daddy was, I'd had this big problem with "B's" when I was young, and so on.
Well, she didn't want to hear any of that. I was just getting warmed up to do some serious talking when she put her hand up and said, "Buford, I just want to know two things. First, did you grow up in Texas? Second, did at least one of your parents also grow up in Texas." I said yes and yes, and she said, "Alright. Forget all that crap about mommy and daddy, gettin' spankings in school, havin' low self-esteem when you were doin' real dumb things, and all the rest of it. If you're a Texan, all in the world you need to know about to completely understand yourself is TTS."
She went on to explain that TTS stood for "Toilet Tumbling Syndrome." She'd discovered it herself, and as far as she knew, no one else in the world was onto it yet. She said, "When people started moving to Texas, this was one hell of a rough place. Everybody talks about that, but almost no one thinks about how hard it really was. Most of this state is a desert. The only thing that's kept it from being categorized as a desert is that you can't find a Texan who'll admit he lives in a desert. Anyway, because water was scarce, indoor plumbing was impossible for most of the early Texans.
"Now, going to the restroom is the most basic human need, by miles. You hear folks doin' a lot of talking about 'addictions' nowadays, but the fact is that people stop drinkin' every day. They stop smoking, using drugs, having sex, eating meat, saying ain't and all kinds of other things. There's no end to the stuff a human being can stop doing. You try goin' cold turkey on going to the restroom, though, and you're gonna be one hurtin' puppy. It's a habit that can't be broken.
"You think about what it was like to go to the restroom in the wilderness. You had to go outside, because storin' up human waste inside the house is going to make for a sure enough dysfunctional family like nobody's business, and before long, a damn sick family to boot. Once you got outside, though, you were in one scary and dangerous situation. Just gettin' to the outhouse could be a rough trip, but once you were inside, you were in the most frightening situation a Texan could ever experience. What you feared most was being inside the outhouse when it toppled over. Just think of all the ways this could happen. High winds from off the prairie could blow it down. A cow, hog or wild animal could knock it over. Indians or Mexicans could start tearing it down or setting fire to it. Or some sorry boys from a neighboring farm could sneak up and push it over.
"When this happened, you were completely helpless. You would find yourself rolling head over heels, maybe getting real dirty, and when the outhouse finally came to a rest, you couldn't get right up and take flight, because your legs were hobbled by one or more articles of clothing draped around your ankles. You were totally vulnerable. Your 'inner self' was exposed to the world, and you couldn't do anything about it. You were helpless. You were just flat out scared to death. If a person can't address his most basic human need in peace, there will be no sense of security in anything else. The starting point for my TTS program is to just face up to the fact that you have a residual fear of having the toilet tumble when you go to the restroom. Begin to understand that this is part of who you are, and you can begin to address other, higher, needs and aspirations. Until you've taken care of priority number one, though, you'll never really get to number two.
"So, as you would imagine, early Texans started taking guns with them to the outhouse. One of the leading causes of violent death in Texas from 1820-1912 was pre-meditated toilet tumbling.
"And the primary impetus for the breathtaking development of Texas over our short history has been the drive to have safe, secure, comfortable restrooms. People talk about oil and cattle, and they had their places in making Texas prosperous. But, hell, they've got oil in Russia, and you don't see people watching 'Moscow' around the world; they're watching 'Dallas.' There's tons of steers in Kansas, but 'America's Team' doesn't play there. No, what's made Texas great has been the determination of each generation to continue the quest for the perfect, most secure possible place to address the most basic and important human need. This type of drive and work ethic is neurotic in many ways, and that neurosis is caused by TTS.
"Things aren't so hard for Texans nowadays, but the drive has been passed down. We have a primitive culture. It will take many generations of safe restrooms to diminish the effects of TTS. If you grew up here, and were raised by a true native Texan, you were taught the urge to continue the quest, whether you realize it or not. Ever wonder why just about every Texan keeps firearms in the restroom? Well, now you know. Have you noticed how many Texas women don't wear underpants? They want to be able to get away when the toilet tumbles. Take a look at how Texans buy houses. Oh, a husband and wife may comment on the yard, the pool, the kitchen, and so on, but if that restroom isn't awful damn impressive, there's usually no sale. The biggest key to a happy marriage for Texans is having big, nice, comfortable, safe restrooms, one each for the husband and wife. We like to feel isolated from the dangers of the world there, including family members. You don't have to worry about whether that ol' toothpaste cap goes back on if you're the only one who's going to be brushing with it."
Well, Dr. CM, she went on and on. And I know she's right! Heck, I can't remember going to the restroom at home once in my life without sitting there staring at the guns. Several years ago, my goofy cousin Bertha scared us to death when she picked up a .38 revolver there by the toilet, thinking it was "a cute little hair dryer." She walked right into the living room with it pointed to her head, clicking away on the trigger, asking, "how do you make it warm up?" Thank goodness, it wasn't loaded, or ol' Bertha would have warmed her hair up like never before. Now, I haven't figured out just what this does for my name problem, but I feel like I know myself a whole lot better now! Shoot, going to the restroom will never be the same again. Don't know if I can work this into the SSI programs, but I'm going to go see Dr. Justis some more and work on it.
Oh, I asked her if it's just Texans who are affected by TTS. She said, "son, those folks in other countries can worry about their own. I stay real busy here with Texans, and since most of my practice is with Aggies, I've more than got my hands full."
So, I can't say if this applies to you folks on the east coast or not. I'll keep asking, though.
Sincerely,
Buford Ledbetter (I'm gonna just stick with this for now)
Dear Buford:
The more one searches the more one finds. The Book of Archie tell us, "Building an outhouse is akin to building the soul. When one falls the other falls also."
Nothing But the Best,
Dr. CM
+++
Dear Dr. CM,
I was just thinking to myself: if Dr. CM is anything like me, he probably spends some time wondering things about people that are pretty hard to find out, and that he just might never know. Not that they are things that would keep you up at night or anything, because I think most of us get those kinds of things in during normal waking hours.
For example, every morning for years now, when I'm eating breakfast, I ask myself, "what's Bill Gates eating right now?" Does he have english muffins, or could it be toast? And if it's toast, does he like whole wheat or white? And then, maybe he has donuts, or waffles, or pancakes. Now, just maybe he was having a donut when he came up with DOS. Or, he could have been looking at those little squares on a waffle when he thought up Windows. Get careless about what you have for breakfast, and there goes twelve billion dollars!
Since ol' Bill hasn't called up yet to tell me something about his breakfast habits, I just have everything. Plus eggs, bacon, sausage, grits, hash browns, fatback, steak, and whatever else I can find. I'm not one to leave things to chance, Dr. CM.
And it was just this morning while I was eating away that I was thinking, I'll bet Dr. CM's wondering about all these plans I have for Gospel marketing. And it's just one of those things you'd sure like to answers for, but they're sometimes hard to come by. And you were probably figuring that you'd reallly like to pull out that checkbook and send an investment my way, but there's just a little bit more you'd really like to know about what I'm going to do.
Well, doggone it, Dr. CM, you're one lucky son of a gun! I'm still here waiting for Bill Gates to give me a call, but you're going to have some of your questions answered right here in this letter! You sure must be living right! I wish I had your kind of luck.
Now, I've got so many plans I can't begin to get into all of them right here. But, this is the big picture. My organization is going to be called, "S.S.I.: Spiritual Services Incorporated." Our company slogan will be "We Pray For Pay." The religion industry is probably the last part of our economy which hasn't really embraced the latest in technology and management practices. Most ministers in the US are more or less independent agents. They may belong to an association which helps them in some ways, and takes from them in others, but they are sort of on their own. Doctors were like this not too long ago. Nowadays, though, it's common to find hospitals and clinics where you can find physicians in almost any medical discipline. You can do "one stop shopping" for your health, just as you can for mosrt everything else.
Well, SSI is going to provide that type of flexible shopping for spritual needs. We'll have preachers, priests, rabbis, gurus, and every other type of expert we need on staff. And if you want to structure your own peculiar combination of religious principles, we will accomodate you in that. Let's say you just love Catholic costumes, but you prefer Pentacostal music. We'll get you together with like-minded people, and get a new group going! Instead of trying to come up with a new church name, which can be so confusing, we'll just set up an SSI franshise.
Probably the most revolutionary service we will offer will be the pray for pay feature. Just think how most people carry on nowadays. If someone gets sick in the family, they'll ask a handful of relatives and friends to pray for that person. Just a small number of people who probably aren't all that good at praying. Would those same people ask amateurs to provide medical care? Or legal advice? Of course not, and when they've gotten used to our new idea, they won't be so careless with praying either. We'll have a staff of professional specialists, in all the major schools of prayer. We'll charge by the word, and train our personnel in speed praying. And we'll guarantee a given number of prayer-words per unit of time, and hire prayer auditors to insure that we deliver on the quantitiy and quality promised. The same service will be there for sin resolution. If you need fifty hail Mary's, for example, we'll have a service just for you. Just order the service, charge it to your major credit card, and get on with what you have to do, knowing that the spiritual action you need is being provided.
Are you just so excited you can't quite see straight hearing about all these amazing things we're gonna do? Goodness, I'm like that all the time, and it's just gets better every day!!
I don't know if you're going to be as lucky tomorrow as you've been today, Mr. Newman, but when I get the time I'm going to be sending you more and more details about SSI. Now, you start setting aside those funds I know you're going to want to invest with us. And if you should run into Bill Gate, how about casually mentioning something about what he had for breakfast.
Sincerely,
Barney Beau Ledbetter (is that sounding any better?)
+++
Dear Dr. CM,
I did a follow up visit with Dr. Justis, getting my first session of "TTS Therapy." Here's what I've learned so far:
1. There are two schools of thought that I've found about the best way to deal with "TT Anxiety."
2. The most popular apporach is that of Dr. Justis: build better, safer, more comfortable rest rooms.
3. The minority theory seems to be represented by Dr. Justis's father, Jimmy Jack Justis. He says, "Keep the outhouse outside. You counter TTS by riding it out, not running inside. Show that toilet who's boss." His followers include environmentalists, who say outhouses are easier on the water supply than indoor toilets, and provide "natural fertilizer," and Aggies who have probably been to one pep rally too many. They are always saying things like: "Real men crap outside," and, "Those pansies at UT have to have a nice, comfy potty before they can go. Aggies can make a mess anywhere."
For my first session, I rode the "virtual toilet." This is one deluxe outhouse, all padded with cushioned black leather, and hooked up to all kinds of electonic equipment. The only thing that made me nervous about it was thinking Dr. Justis was going to ask me to drop my pants before she strapped me in! Well, that didn't happen, thank goodness. Because it was my first ride, she put a safety belt on me, and I just took a ride. Oh, the outhouse turned and rolled every which a way, but it was no big deal to me. I just love roller coasters, and that's sort of what this was like. Of course, if it had been Indians rolling the old outhouse around, it would have been different. Anyway, it turned out that I got one of the best scores ever for riding the virtual outhouse, level one. They tell me the real tests start coming when I get hooked up to more of the "virtual reality," with the audio, video, biofeedback, and even "virtual smells."
I've just about decided to build an outhouse in back of the house. Billy Bob tells me it's illegal where we live, but I've about got him convinced to do it for the publicity. He can get two or three fund raisers with a "if outhouses were good enough for the Lord, they're good enough for me!" campaign.
I'm thinking about setting up a separate organization for TTS marketing, instead of trying to tie it in with SSI. I'll provide a counseling service, and sell pre-fab outhouse kits. Maybe plans for deluxe restrooms too, for that market. What do you think about portable outhouses? Maybe something you can tow behind your car, so you never have to use a strange, dangerous toilet? I can tell you that I'm far more careful about using uncharted restrooms now.
Well, I better get started on getting something to eat. For dinner, I try to have what Ross Perot might be having. This is the toughest meal of the day for me, Dr. CM. How in the world can you tell what's on his mind? Another project I have in planned is to write a book called, "Eating Habits of the Very Rich," so other people won't have to go to so much trouble. Of course, you'll have a chance to invest in this project as well, and I'm sure you'll want to.
Sincerely,
Jimmy Jack Ledbetter (just trying it out)
Dear Jimmy Jack:
Please in all future correpsondence when addressing me, use my professional name, Dr. CM. As for your ideas, they seem to have a certain ambience which remind me of my prospectin' days in the mountains of Northern Mexico. But I wasn't searching for gold. I was looking for the symbols of my soul.
Respectively,
Dr. CM
+++
Editor's Note: Because of the vagaries of time, space, and the internet, few people know of Deep Belly's heroic service for his country. Fortunately though, excerpts of some of DB's great adventures have been reclaimed from the nether regions of cyberspace
SOS,
Well, that BBQ came and went, and I never got none of it. It ain't my fault neither!
Whoever sent that stuff didn't address it my hotel, so's I had to go to the Federal Xpress office to pick it up. I've been real friendly with the gal what cleans my room here at the hotel, so she let me use her bicycle. Well, it ain't real easy to git four of them boxes of overnight BBQ strapped to a bike, I wont you to no! It taken every bit of the duct tape I had left, and still it didn't ride real steady.
Well, I got myself lost a few times gettin' over there and back. I ain't all that good at navygatin' anyways, but in the crazy streets in Washington, I took me a bunch of wrong turns. Anyawys, on the way back, I run into the ol' White House! I figured, shoot, I ain't never been up close to it, so's I might as well just have me a look. I kept on pedelin' til I could find me a good door, and then this policie feller told me to stop. He said, "is that BBQ for the President?" Dadgum, that's when I started gettin' myself in trouble. I started thankin', heck, if the o'l President wonts that BBQ, I'd sorta be doin' the country wrong not to give it to him. He's the Pres., you no! And then, I was figurin' that if he's busy with the BBQ, maybe he'd leave them Polish girls alone. Anyways, I just said to the police feller, "yeah, I reckon it is." He said, "good. He keeps calling up here to see if it's arrived. The man sure loves his BBQ." Well, then they told me to take the boxes into the White House. They wasn't no way I was gonna git if off in a hurry, what with all the duct tape on the boxes, so's I just rode the thang thru the door.
Well, first thang you no, there was ol' Hillary! Shoot, I dang near fell of the bike when I seen her. She was havin' a little snack right there in the kitchen. I got off the bicycle and went over there askin' fer her autograph. I told her I thought it was real nice how she was standin' behind that philanderin' husband of hers, and how lots of fellers wished they'd a been as lucky as the Pres., and she said they wadn't nothin' to it. Then I asked her where I might find that village that's so good at teachin', thankin' I might just give it a visit for my own self, and she grabbed a copy of her book and told me to look up the address in there.
Then this coonass feller Carville come in there, sayin' "we got to git some BBQ for the boss! He's havin' him a BBQ fit, and if we don't git him fed, I don't no what he's gonna do!" Then he seen me cuttin' the boxes off. I looked up at him gettin' real impatient and said, "it's the duct tape, stupid." He had him a little laugh and said, "you ain't from around here, are you?" I allowed as how I wasn't no local boy, but I was up on my spyin' and didn't tell him just where in South Carolina I was from. And then I told him it shore would do me some good to have just a little bit of that there BBQ, since I didn't no when I'd have another chance to eat some. Well, then he helped me git the boxes off, and took me down the hall to see the ol' Pres.!
Well, there he was, his feet up on the desk, sippin' on a bottle of water and eatin' a Moon Pie. Soon as he seen the BBQ comin', he jumped up and come a runnin'. I've been awful eager to git my own hands on some good BBQ, but I never seen a feller git so excited about food before. First thang you no, he'd jumped in amongst us, and had the box ripped open. Then, he started in on the ribs. Then, he tore into the brisket. It couldn't have been no more than a couple of minutes before he had half the box in his belly! While he was busy, I got my own self some BBQ out of another box. I did me some purty good eatin', and stuffed what I could in my pockets.
While I was there, I thought I'd git the Presidents autograph, and that coonasses too. While he was a signin', I told the Pres. that I thought it was dang impressive how he was gettin' right friendly with them gals and not gettin' in no trouble with it, and I was wonderin' if that was somethin he learned in one of them fancy schools. He said, "It just one of those things, my friend, and they don't teach it in school." Well, no sooner than I'd got the autograph, one of those police fellers came to walk my bicycle out, and me with it.
So, the good news is that the Pres. shore likes that BBQ! The rest of the news is I'm awful hungry again. I eat what I had in the pockets on the way back here, and all that done was give me a real good appetite. Now, you all ought to feel real proud that you done fed the Pres., and maybe kept him out of trouble for a while. Ya'll keep that in mind while yore gettin' some more ot them boxes sent to me.
DB
HAUNTED INHOUSE!
Toilet Swallows Hand After Shower Slip
MILAN (Reuters) - A guest at a hotel in Milan had reason to be grateful for having his mobile phone in the bathroom after ending up with his hand stuck down the toilet for more than an hour on Thursday.
The unnamed 65-year-old slipped as he stepped out of the shower and accidentally jammed his hand down the funnel of the toilet as he tried to break his fall, rescue workers said.
Still naked, he was saved by firemen more than an hour later after calling an emergency number from his phone. The firemen had to dismantle the lavatory to set his hand free.
He was taken to hospital with broken ribs and a sore arm.
The Advantages of Outhouses:
1. Conserves Water
2. Does not use petroleum products
3. Responsible for the game of baseball
4. Egalitarian
5. Non-Sexist
A sure campaign winner!
Left Behind: A press conference with Prominent Citizens who oppose war with Iraq showcases the incoherence--and nuttiness--of the anti-war left. by Jonathan V. Last
IT'S A SIGN of how bad things have gotten for the anti-war left that at yesterday's "Prominent Citizens Oppose War with Iraq" press conference, a large placard sat next to the panelists at the front of the room that read: "UN Inspections--Not U.S. War." A little free marketing advice: "Make Love, Not War" was a lot catchier.
Full disclosure: I went to this event hoping to be disturbed and wasn't. At least not by the speakers. But they might have been disturbed by the crowd they drew, which was further to the left, and with which they seemed out of touch.
The question and answer session that followed wasn't about some namby-pamby, progressive, pro-U.N. triangulation--for the most part it featured people who either identified with Saddam Hussein's Iraq, hated America, or both. Since sanctions have killed "at least a million Iraqis over the last eleven years," asked one person, how will U.N.-led inspections or military action be any better?
Another questioner, who identified herself as a "political psychologist," stood to make the argument that in his taped messages, Osama bin Laden hasn't been threatening America, just giving us fair warning. Also, she added, "Iraq is a threatened nation, rather than a threatening one."
The self-styled CEO of a group called Reparations Now stood up and said he wanted the "$200 billion" earmarked for the war to be used as a "down payment" to black Americans for slavery. He told the panel that he thought this would be a good position for liberals to confront the administration with. The panelists stared back at him blankly.
The star of the entire event was a very large, middle-aged man dressed in overalls who emerged from the crowd during the question period. I literally smelled him coming well before he took his turn at the microphone near my seat. I later learned that he had acquired the fragrance by having close contact with a shipment of hogs he had just collected. When he reached the microphone, he didn’t ask any questions; he preached, actually: “It must have been the Lord that put me here today. I come way out here to pick up a mess of pigs and got losted in all them dadgum cars. Well, shoot, I come in here lookin’ for a little snack, and here I am, among folks what’s off to save the dadgum world. I shore got lucky today, dadgum it!”
Just then, my companion at the event, a fellow neo-con, inadvertently distracted the man from his sermonizing when he casually said, “wow, this guy’s a real moron.” The man immediately turned to my friend and said, “No I ain’t! I’m Belly, dadgum it!” He reached out and literally picked my friend Bob out of his seat. While holding him suspended off the ground, he said, “Listen here, them Morons is on daddy’s side, and shore, they Yankees; I ain’t sayin’ they ain’t. Well, they can’t help it! And I can’t help what they can’t help is what I can’t help! They doin’ the best they can. Dadgum it, it ain’t easy bein’ a dadgum Yankee. You leave them Morons alone!”
The crowd then rose to its feet and began to chant “Leave them morons alone!” over and over. Finally, the crowd of radicals without a cause had something to get excited about, though few had any idea exactly what it was. They soon found out.
The large man continued, “Looky here, them pigs is gonna start actin’ up ‘fore long, so I got to get back out there. Here’s something you all has got to look into, though. I been askin’ for year and year why they ain’t nobody goin’ after them ‘Publicans what put Mr. FDR in that wheelchair, and taken him off to Cuba. Dadgum it, don’t forget Mr. FDR!”
Once again, the crowd shot to its feet, chanting “Don’t forget FDR!” Happy days were back again, though no one had any idea why. Except for the huge speaker, that is. When the chanting had quieted down a bit, he said, “Here’s something else I want to know. How come it is that you can drive all over this dadgum country, gettin’ lost all over creation, and they ain’t no dadgum outhouse no where? Shoot, I’m tired of it! A country that ain’t got no outhouses is a country them ‘Publicans done messed up! And don’t go tellin’ me to take my rollin’ outhouse so’s I’ll have me a outhouse. I wish somebody’d tell me how I’m gonna tote a hunderd pigs behind that dadgum rollin’ outhouse. Shoot, it just won’t do it! Won’t tote it! I can’t drive that thing every place I go, so’s dadgum it, we gotta make more dadgum outhouses, and that there’s all they are to it. Now, looky here, I can see they ain’t no food here, so’s I gotta get back out to them pig. You all better do somethin’ ‘bout Mr. FDR and make some dadgum outhouses ‘round here, though. See?”
Mr. Belly then turned and walked out of the building. For minutes after he had left, the crowd continued to chant, “Don’t forget FDR,” “Leave them morons alone,” “Outhouses now!,” and a few other derivatives of the highly curious message from the even more curious visitor. And no one has any idea what they heard. Including me.
OLD MIL - FRONT AND CENTER
Testimony from the heart of the heartland
Doesn’t anyone drink Old Milwaukee beer? It hasn't been rated. Well let me be the first and say I do and for some time. When I came back to United States in 1992 from a lengthy tour in England, I found my budget tight. I needed to find a good beer that I could afford to drink. God knows I like to drink beer. A friend of mine suggested Old Milwaukee beer. He too was on a tight budget. Well after coming from England and drinking the best beers I could find in Europe, I found this tasking to be hard. I did try Old Mil, and I found it to be very good. I have tried many other low budget beers, but this one actually had flavor and heart. To my amazement, I got this unique package rolled up in a very affordable price. $4.99 a dozen to be exact. Old Milwaukee beer has a very pleasant taste combined with hearty appeal. When pored into a frosty mug you get nothing short of a perfect ending to a hard blue collar day. I think it is also a great enhancement to a great Barb-A-Q. especially if ribs are on the grill. Chips, dips and assorted snacks are screaming for a quick wash down from this great amber nectar. You really cannot beat a beer that gives you great taste, great satisfaction and yet affordable. I guess Old Mil got it's bad rep or no rep not only from it's name but from the brewery's name, Pabst. Well, they have, in my opinion, brewed a great beer at a great price for the back bone of America, the blue collar worker, or in my case the green collar worker (GI). Go ahead and give it a try. If you are a afraid of what you buddy's might say, send the wife for a half rack. Ha ha. You just may be going back for another and another your self. They are great for football games too. Remember affordability and satisfaction is the key in any product success. This one is thumbs up.
THE TRIAL OF ATT
This is ATT. Don't even ask what the initials stand for. If you don't already know, it would take too dadgum long to explain it. And then, you probably don't have a need to know that would pass the BOM test.
All I know is that every time I spend a little time around BOMers, things get complicated. I can be minding my business, not looking for any trouble at all, and just one minor contact with a BOMers creates this huge drama.
Take my current dilemma. I gave cash for a wedding present, and the cash was used to buy a toilet to install in what BOMers call an "inhouse." That's a normal, garden-variety restroom to most of us, but the symbol of all that's wrong in the world to BOMers.
So, I'm being accused of BOM treason. Well, I don't get it, and I think BOMers have gone off the deep end once again, and not the right end. See?
+++
This here's Beulah Faye Ledbetter. I've got to say something here, OK? I know what set that ATT off to having that strange dadgum trip down south. Before he even got started, he'd been messin' around with his belly. He never had much to start with, by Belly standards, but he went and made it littler. That ain't the Belly Way. Some of us are Little Bellys, but dadgum it, you take what belly you can get and be happy with it, even though you'd sure like to have a big belly. But when you go messin' with the belly, even if you started off as a Little Belly, well, it ain't the Belly Way. And you're messin' around with the wrong dadgum thing. See?
+++
Every soul, whether it knows it or not, is crying out for the symbols that it has lost. It is wailing in the wind. It haunts the highways and biways, the inhouses and the outhouses, the vegetable stands and the smoky taverns. Where are the symbols of the soul? What are they? Until you find out, you'll only be partially alive, half-empty and half-knowing. Haunted by what might be.
+++
What is the body, but the temporary home of the soul. What is the mind, but a symbolic gesture that feebly points toward freedom and self-fulfillment.
We must consider the clues at hand in our search for the symbols of our soul. We must recognize the phantasmic shimmerings at the border of our consciousnesses. And while we consider, we must also reflect.
+++
ATT here. Dadgum, what a mess. On the one hand, I'm
being railroaded by a BOM court about some made-up
rule I've never heard of, and on the other, I'm
supposed to find symbols some place, using guide words
I've never heard of. Well, I'll tell you this much,
if there's anything phantasmic going on in my soul,
I'm going to order it stopped right away. I'm a live
and let live type of feller, but there's some things
you just shouldn't have to live with.
+++
Beulah Faye Ledbetter: OK, let’s get this started. We’re gonna try ATT on charges that he gave aid comfort and money to an inhouser that was spent on a toilet. Donnie Bob Belly will preside as judge, Bobbie Don Bourdreaux, the Dime Box BOM president, will represent BOM, Billy Bob Ledbetter will represent Mr. ATT, and I’ll run the recorder and try to keep judge D.B. up on what’s going on while he’s fuding. Get on with it, Bobbie Don. We ain’t got all night. When D.B. gets ready to go, he’s goin’.
Bobbie Don: We’re sayin’ ATT broke a major BOM rule, and he’s got to pay a major fine.
Billy Bob: What did ATT do wrong? He gave money to a family member. He didn’t buy an inhouse, or any part of an inhouse.
Bobbie Don: He broke the one-hand rule. See, if he’d given the money away and the person he gave it to then passed that same money to someone who bought an inhouse part, he’d be OK. What he done was give the money right straight to someone who bought an inhouse toilet. That’s breakin’ the one-hand rule.
Billy Bob: So, if the niece had been robbed of the money she got from ATT, and the robber had bought an inhouse toilet, ATT would be OK?
Bobbie Don: That’s right.
Billy Bob: That’s one sorry rule, Bobbie Don. Bobbie Don: I don’t make the rules, at least not all of them. It’s my job to enforce ‘em on BOMers, though.
Billy Bob: Well, shoot, Bobbie Don, you’ve paid me tithes for years, and I’ve bought a mess of inhouse toilets with the money you gave me. I reckon you broke the same rule.
Bobbie Don: I gave that money to the Lord, not your hand.
Beulah Faye: Leave the Lord out of this! Trust me, it went to his hand. Nobody else is quick enough to get at it.
Bobbie Don: Well, anyway, I didn’t break no rule. We didn’t think it up till this mornin’. Last time I gave you any tithe, they wadn’t no one-hand rule.
Billy Bob: So, you made up this rule after ATT had given the money away, and you’re applying it to him retroactively?
Bobbie Don: We thought it up as soon as we could… Billy Bob: I’m gonna apply it to you retroactively too, dadgum it, and charge you with BOM treason.
Bobbie Don: You can’t do that, cause you ain’t a BOM president.
Billy Bob: As a matter of fact, I sure am. President of the Huntsville State Prison BOM, 15 years now. That’s beside the dadgum point anyway. Any BOMer can charge any other BOMer with any dadgum thing they want to charge with.
Bobbie Don: That don’t give you no jurisdiction here in Dime Box.
Billy Bob: Beulah Faye, you want to charge Bobbie Don with breakin’ the one-hand rule?
Beulah Faye: Oh, sure. Sounds guilty to me.
Bobbie Don: You can’t go chargin’ me! You’re here as a dadgum BOM officer!
Billy Bob: Judge Donnie Bob, can Beulah Faye charge Donnie Bob?
D.B.: Ain’t no charge for nothin’ now. I done put up the Mickey box.
Billy Bob: Not that! Can she accuse Bobbie Don of breakin’ the one-hand rule?
D.B.: Shoot, I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout. Anyways, court’s done closed down for this ‘un. I’m out a Moon Pies, so I’m goin’ home.