For All Those Lonely People …

My T-Shirt reeks of mustard and pickles, guess what I had for supper?  (By the way, “thank you for sharing that with us Mr. Smith”)  You want to know what I had for supper or dinner (lunch) just sniff my shirt or look at what is on it.  This post is #1,700 and we now stand at 1,309,975 visits to this page since April of 2008.

Continue reading

Pull On My Ears, Give Me Some Love …

I meditate.  I burn candles.  I drink green tea.  And yes … I often want to smack people.  Nothing seems to work here lately.

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On days like I just had today, I want to walk over to someone and stick my head in their crotch and take a long, deep-breath just like Jack, and let them scratch my ears.  There are days, believe it or not, that the life of a dog would actually be preferable.

But alas, I don’t have enough money to buy a fine dog to live vicariously thru, just a pocket full of kindness to make him wag his tail.

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Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog’s face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

One last thing:  “Do you ever wonder why you gave me your e-mail, friended me on FakeBook or came to this webpage in the first place?

Me too.

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Breakfast With Little Man ….

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Most everyone that knows me, will testify to my obsession my outright hatred of Cellphones.  I make no bones about it.  When used as a phone that is okay, but most people use them for everything but a phone and that irks me.

Yesterday I had breakfast at Denny’s (low on grease this month) and I watched a guy have breakfast with his little guy buddy.  His boy had to be about five or six, and they sat there in the booth and talked, and ate breakfast.

Yeah I know, what is the big deal, it is just breakfast. Continue reading

My Favorite Animal

Our teacher asked what my favorite animal was, and I said, “Fried chicken.” She said I wasn’t funny – but she couldn’t have been right, because everyone else laughed.

My parents told me to always tell the truth.

I did.

Fried chicken is my favorite animal. Continue reading

Swimming In The Gene Pool …

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This is for all those unfortunate souls who are not grandparents at this time.  You could possibly consider it a warning of sorts.  Grand-parenting is unique and sometimes difficult.

When you do reach that juncture of life, you will find a rude awakening headed your way.  When that grand-baby arrives, be it a boy or a girl, doesn’t matter, you (the grandpa) will immediately sink to the bottom of the food chain.

We have six grandchildren, most of ‘em boys, and the youngest is about three now.  He is a real hoot, I get a kick out of him.  He has the wife wrapped around his little finger.  His act doesn’t work with me, I am usually a “No” vote.  When this happens, he is not disturbed in the least, he goes to the living-room and looks for Grandma. 

She is HIS lawyer in all disputes, and he usually wins when she represents him. Continue reading

Creating A Big Vacuum …

You Suck. You are the worst writer I ever read!”

To be honest about all this.  I get a little uncomfortable with the label “writer.” A writer knows all about verbs, nouns, sentence structure, paragraphs, all that other organization/compilation of the English language stuff.

A writer knows (or is supposed to know) how to do this in the correct fashion.  As for myself? I would be considered what some call a hack.  I just hammer it out, and that is about it. I am a “writers” absolute worst nightmare.  Bottom line (as if anyone really cared) I am a story teller … Never have really considered myself a writer.

So I guess that should be:

“You are the worst STORY TELLER I have ever read.”

That might be closer to the truth.

Life despite it all,
is still being good to me,
I can still maintain a healthy outlook on things in general.
Unfortunately,
I have suddenly discovered I suck

Exactly why no one knows.
And I am somewhat miserable
Just flat outta luck I suppose.

I cannot complain,
I am doing alright.
My lawnmower still starts on the first crank

Bills are paid
Have money in the bank
Today my favorite numb-chuck sent me a link

Rest is available to me when I need it.
My health is improving.
Still have my cake,
but because of Diabetes,
I can no longer eat it.

That is how it often goes.
First your money and then your clothes.

“You Suck. You are the worst writer I ever read!” 

Another fan has been located; stick a bright red pin in the map.  This bozo probably wouldn’t recognize good writing if someone handed it to him on a business card.

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Top Posts (the past week)

Girl Of My Dreams  
Make Me An Offer …
Bikinis (The reason men are pigs)
Bedtime Story …
She’s God’s Problem Now
Eagle Bus Project Files
The Old Name Game …
Me Fix … You see.

It’s All In The Cards ….

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WARNING:

My Predictions Will Blow You Away!

This is NOT those vague, generic readings that you’re used to seeing in magazines and newspapers… amazingly detailed predictions that will change your life!

Don’t believe me?

Today, for the very first time, I shall share with you, all of my secrets. Just send me $2,300.00, the name of your first born male child, a valid credit card number and three wrappers from a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.

Find out for yourself, it takes less than 60 seconds.

Much like a old dawg with his head out the window, big ears flopping in the breeze, I find myself rushing into the New Year.  Might add on a negative note, have received some disturbing emails here lately.  Same old stuff: 

You lie!
This is a Family Site you ____ !
I hate you!
Your parents were not married.

On the other hand, a more positive note.  Several times in the past few weeks, I have ventured out to the old mailbox, and found a letter for my wife.  She is raking in the dough, Clearing House Finalists make the cash, I am here to tell you.  Yesterday she got one that said she was going to receive $5,000 a week for the rest of her life!

So perhaps I should say something.  Most everything I write is factual and often true.  I do embellish from time to time, in order to clarify.  Family Site, now that is a real hoot, I mean jeeze, who would mate with someone like you? 

BY THE WAY … IT’S MY SITE. 

Maybe it is something in the drinking water?  It could be that some would want to have me committed for observation, here lately I feel that has been the case.  Mere words barely scratch the surface when it comes to describing the insanity of BoxCarOkie.com.  A single look is all one really needs to determine that he’s out of this world (post another picture Van!). But there are things even crazier to the man than imaginable once he sits down to the keyboard.

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At any given moment he can spout metaphysical nonsense, quantum theory, spiritual musings, or… anecdotes about how he used to rail lines of coke off of the back of his dog.

Is BCO a misunderstood savant?  Could be, but I kinda doubt it.

The victim of a tragic loss of inhibition thanks to head injuries sustained from his infamous 1991 train crash? Or is he simply yet another cautionary tale of the dangers of substance abuse? With the kind of ##@*!!*!@<>@# BCO talks, it’s probably all three and then some.

Leave a comment … Jump right in … the water over here in the backwaters of time, space and fantasy (a genre of imaginative fiction involving magic and adventure, esp. in a setting other than the real world.) are just fine.

Hope this clears it up some.

Have a nice weekend

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Make Me An Offer …

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Now with the market for buses in the tank, and the soft economy and all, well selling a bus is for the most parts … Bad News.  Or as they say down south, this dog aint gonna hunt. 

There are times I want to sell mine, I truly do. 

I am sure you can relate to what I am saying here. 

When the new fuel filters are on, and it has lost its prime and it won’t start, that is a good time to think about selling it.  When you are stuck under the differential of an old Eagle because your belly is too big and your overalls are creeping up and the material is really biting into your crotch … well, make me an offer.

When it is extremely cold and all the fuel lines have frozen and the wrecker has not arrived, I think about selling it.  When I stand there at the fuel island and watch all those digit’s roll over and over, but the fill nozzle doesn’t seem to want to click off … well you know the drill.  

When I am sharing the rear bedroom outside of Gadsden, Alabama, with every known skeeter in the world, because the generator won’t start …

Do I have a bidder, make me an offer.

Life as we know it is full of trade-offs.  If I sold it I would not be able to appreciate the fundamental differences between depreciation and outright collector insanity.  Selling the bus would also free up the “where do I park this whale” issue, and I could buy something a tad bit smaller, like a used Aircraft Carrier. 

Being bus-less would severely reduce your ability to move huge rocks in the parking lot of Cracker Barrel when making a blind right-hander.  If you sold it, you could buy a smart car that gets about 800 miles per gallon and get back out in the Fast Lane … You remember the Fast Lane, right?

Think about it guys, if you sold your coach where would your wife store the sixty-nine pairs of shoes that she is taking to BCI bus meeting in Pahrump Nevada, a place where six billion people have never been.  What would YOU do with the multiple tool boxes and spare parts you lug around the country in the summertime for back of the lot repairs and for ballast in the winter.

If you sold your bus, you would have clean fingernails, levi’s without holes in the knees, and your lower arm would not have a patchwork of skin colored Band-Aids and purple bruises.  You could actually go back to using your given name, instead of your super-secret-CB-code name. 

The possibilities are endless.  You could put the pictures of the grandchildren back into your Droid and get rid of the …. “This is when I first got it” photo’s of the bus, sitting in someone’s back yard in Clovis, New Mexico.

Thinking it over.  It appears in my case the best thing to do is to hang onto it.  I am not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I do know this …. Life is always better for me … When she has a place for her shoes.

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Bedtime Story …

images-1When I was a small lad, I had to make my bed every morning, this was considered one of my chores as Dad used to call them.  I could not go play baseball at the park, rob a beer truck making deliveries at the liquor store, skateboard with my buddies until that bed was made.

It often put a serious crimp in my active social life.  In those years, what I call my “formidable years” it was necessary to meet others, greet them, chose sides, and intermingle and socialize.  Kind of like FaceBook in reverse.

Years later, I went in the service, things drastically changed for me.  But one aspect of life, stayed the same.  Each day I had to make my bed, which was now called a rack.  This had to be done before loading weapons onto jet aircraft that were destined to fly off the flight deck of my Super Carrier and kill people in strange exotic lands that Congress dispatched me to on my Senior Trip fresh outta highschool.

Came home … first thing you know … I got married (It’s lonely in the service even with don’t ask — don’t tell).  Well smack my butt and call me Judy!  Very first day of the Honeymoon SHE made me make my bed too.  Have to be honest with you, I just don’t get it.  Why do you have to make something that you are just going to lie down in at the end of the day?

Here’s another one “Make sure you have on clean under-wear.” 

Read that again if you must.  I have to be totally candid about this, I never understood that one at all, it just defied logic.  Then one day in 1991 I was in a fatal truck/train collision and … well, let’s just say, it gave a totally new meaning to the expression!  (And it didn’t make me a whole lotta new friends in the ER either)

Stop by tomorrow and we will discuss why it is that my bride hides my liquor bottles when the Grandkids show up.  It is not like I have a serious drinking problem or something like that, ‘cause I don’t. 

Why I feel the urge to discuss this is beyond me.  Might be it is for some strange reason this morning, that I feel a deep-seated urge to discuss this aspect of my marriage.

What the hell?  It aint Valentines’ Day yet.

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She’s God’s Problem Now

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A young preacher was preaching his first funeral for an old Farmer whose wife had died.  In the distance, dark ominous storm clouds started to obscure the sunlight on the horizon.  He again looked down to his bible and continued on with the service. 

The farmers’ wife’s graveside service was just barely finished, when there was a massive clap of thunder, followed by a tremendous bolt of lightning, accompanied by even more thunder rumbling in the distance.

The little old man looked at the young pastor and calmly said, “Well, I think it is safe to say … she’s there.”

Spent most of the weekend here at the house, quietly doing research on my family tree.  Surprisingly I did discover, quite by accident, that some of my ancestors did swing from trees.  No they were not monkeys’ they were horse thieves in Kentucky.  

There is also a rumor floating around on FaceBook that “I am going to hell.”  Which is certainly not how I see it.  I have not ventured outside at all, in the first three days of the New Year.  Today was the first day out for me, that implies that I live a stationary (and often quite boring) lifestyle to me.  On top of all this, I have recently been diagnosed with “Anal Glacoma” which is a disease in older folks, where you cannot see your A** going anywhere soon.

Now here is something scary.  A new study found that more than 11 million people have quit Facebook in the last three years.  And unfortunately, none of them were your parents.

Wife sent me on a grocery run today.  I was at the checkout counter and the young girl looked at me and said “Paper or Plastic?”  I smiled and said, either one, I am bi-sackual.

She didn’t get it.

Also went to Lowe’s today for some items, noticed most of the workforce there is now different.  Much older crowd wearing the vest these days.  It appears they are no longer enforcing drug testing and have switched to Prostate Exams instead.  Wife sent me over there to get a shower massager thingy they had moved all of the shower stuff and I could not locate it then this little honey said to me, “Sir can I help you locate something?”

So I told her, “Yeah.  Shower massagers.”

She took me to them and then said, “Do you know what type you are looking for?”  And I said, “Nah.  She just said to get one that was soft, medium, and who needs a man?”  The assistant’s face turned a little red and she walked away.

I guess she didn’t get it either.

If you are on the highway this Holiday Season, here is how you can tell you have entered into the Sooner State … Oklahoma.  The wife gets cranky.  The kids start fighting in the backseat.  You feel the urge to siphon some gas.  Strange, but somehow I just know that you are all sitting there and snickering and saying “he is just making all of this up!”

Here is the nitty gritty boys and girls … I live here. 

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You have to be a little bit nuts to live here with the weather and all, then there is the political climate too.  Right now as you read this, “our elected morons are considering a law to make the wearing of a hoodie while committing an illegal act … Illegal.  And the fine is going to be $500.”

I hope you enjoy this day and of course your opinion is always welcomed.

As long as it agrees with mine.

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