Last night my sweet Muse came to me in a dream and she said: “It would be great if you were closer to me, I could come over and lay my head on your shoulder and have a good cry … But then again, the smell of Ben Gaye really burns my eyes.”
The Devil made me do it. Believe it was Flip Wilson who coined the term first. Satan wanted to destroy the world, so he gave the world drugs. Shortly thereafter he realized that not all the people in the world were going to do drugs, only the weak, the ineffective, the true losers in life. The proverbial Monkey Wrench enters the picture, the snag in the master plan has been discovered. He had to come up with something else.
Most folks I believe, start out with the best of intentions, but somewhere along the way, something goes a little haywire and it all starts to unravel. This is the point, where if you are the least bit talented in feeling out the peculiar things of life, you will quickly realize that … People who “tell it like it is” …. usually tell it like A**Holes.
You are a euphoric type. You touch others with your humor, laughter and love. You radiate bliss and that is highly contagious. Your vitality flows through you and all who are lucky enough to know you. When one thinks of you, they automatically have to smile. Why?”
|When was the last time you zoned out at the counter and just had what your Mama used to call a Happy Dream … Much, much too long I would venture. Today for your reading pleasure, Cheaper Than A Mistress, Creative Endeavors, the home of Boxcarokie.com|
Suddenly I find myself craving a fresh bowl of gravy and a hairball, so I go over to the local beanery. The local beanery is American slang.
In some circles it is also known as a Choke & Puke, but we are not about being gross this day, so we will call it a beanery.
Hunger my driving concern forced me out of the shop, those pesky slack adjusters can wait, it is time for food and another adventure into the public arena. I need nourishment, someone radar me something to eat and make it fast!
Sliding into a booth at Denny’s the world seems circumspect almost peaceful and serene. And then suddenly, as if by magic, he finds himself lost in a world of his own. In his mind’s eye he envisions himself walking around the bus meet parking lot, where he stumbles across Mona.
She was interesting, her old 4104 looked tired and run down. She said that she had just drove straight thru from the World Famous Darrel Waltrip Truck-stop in Franklin, Kentucky, and only used five quarts of oil.
The bus looked pretty tired, but Mona, now she was a little different.
She had the mystery of Garbo or Monroe, the allure of Lauren Bacall, the torso of Bridgett Bardo (which is really dating this guy, he should be using Jay Lo or Britney Speers someone like that). Feeling lucky he invites her back to his 89 Prevo, with the polished slack adjusters and freshly painted underbody. Opening the door he invited her in and she looked at him and smiled. “I like what you have done with the floors.”
The perfect entrance to a man’s heart. Sweat Equity and Power Tools.
A very intelligent smart girl.
He looked at her, lost in his passion, with awe and ecstasy (It has been a long time, no?). “He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her so hard she moaned.” His mind is now racing, “she is so beautiful and she already knows how to dump! I must be in heaven he thought to himself.”
This is much, much better.
A grim smile played across his lips (almost a sneer) then they made passionate love on the back bedroom regular sized bed with the convenient storage underneath (yeah I am sure, in your dreams lover boy). Her trim, brown skinned body was bare, save for a wet sweat filled bikini (89 Prevo’s apparently are not all that cool this time of the year).
He ran his hand along her back to the string that fastened her bikini top. Tan lines traced her beautiful torso all the way to her triangle of her — And then the plate hit the counter with a resounding ring!
“You the Grand Slam, the side of ham and the hash browns?”
Back to reality.
Wake up its early, eat your eggs they’re ready, you have things to do. Well, that is the way it goes. One of these days, I hope it is soon, I am gonna get me a life. The wife said I cannot keep living vicariously thru these lousy bus-boards.*
*Any resemblance to anyone owning, driving, or selling a 4104 or full-timing or traveling in a 89 Prevo is purely co-incidental and should not be taken as factual. No reprints of this article are allowed unless you have written permission from the NFL or America Has Got Talent. Please no phone calls, all of our off-shore operators are busy.
My rote routine is different this day, I somewhat reluctantly welcome the change.
Strangely while gone, I picked up some creepy readers. Look at these search terms I found yesterday: Sex girl, sex girls, girl sex, bengali wife boobs, photos girls, sex c string, girl sex com, transparent c string bikini, girls sexual images, sex, girl.com, sex girl in bikini … my personal favorite of course, was “bengali wife boobs.” That one rowed my boat. Continue reading
Bill and Barbara had been married some twenty-one years, and to most everyone else, they appeared to be the normal happily married couple. But Bill had a secret, that his wife Barbara was unaware of, he had a mistress or a Friend With Benefits as the younger set is prone to describe it.
Recently I noted that someone who writes a daily “grammar blog” has come on board for a following/subscription to this blog. This of course worries me, I am a grammar blog writer’s ultimate nightmare. I used to have a university professor that followed me, drove her nuts. She nailed me all the time on apostrophe’s, said I put them in the wrong place and was constantly pointing this out. Last I heard, she had gave up and was working a rig in the Balkan Field in North Dakota as a tool pusher.
Let’s talk of Lover’s Day, that magical time of the year, that is quickly approaching.
Soon the WordPress.com media will be full of nothing but happy, sappy, posts about this illegitimate holiday. Time is running out for a lot of guys, Valentine’s Day, that illegal estrogen enriched time of the year sponsored by all the chocolate manufactures and of course, jewelry shops nationwide is now clearly visible on the romantic horizon. A banner day for Hallmark Cards I suppose … and the immediate downfall for the poor sucker who forgets.
Some of these holiday’s are suspect anyway. Did you know that last Friday was “National Wear Red Day?” Well, it was, “If I am lying, I am dying” as my buddy Billy Raye Littler used to say. This month, b’sides Valentine’s Day we also have President’s Day (the 18th) we ought to buy him and the family a one-way ticket to Borneo and give him a carton of Marlboro’s.
But I digress … sorry.
My marriage firmly locked down in the layered bedrock of the planet, established way back years ago, when the earth was still warm, does not require a yearly injection of false admiration and adoration, so I assume I am free. I should be able to slide under the radar, much to the chagrin of some of you other suckers who will not. All I have to do is remember to pick up the seat and I am okay for a month or two on the by-ways of matrimony.
Not a big fan of the holiday, as you can see.
My feelings about Valentine’s Day are mixed. I remember as a small lad, we were required to give Valentine’s cards to all our young classmates in school. The teacher would give us a list of each child in the class, and we were to dutifully fill out a little sentiment and then pass them around on the appointed day. This gesture was to be seen as goodwill and friendship, but in reality, quite cruel to the kids who were an exception to the rule, and received no cards whatsoever.
I never cared for it.
Most of the time, the man is going to “get something for himself” and then pimp it off as a gift for her. Box of chocolates, something racy and sweet, from Fredrick’s of Hollywood (for himself). Now when you are secure in your relationship, you do not have to spring for these things.
One of the readily apparent benefits of a libido in retreat and being older, is the fact that at our age a trip to the Catfish Cabin, some shrimp, a short well timed visit to the Salad Bar and later, some bread pudding and you are set.
I would even venture that both would cost about the same in the end.
In my younger days, being the sleeze-ball that I am, I would have opted for this new thing on the market … The C-string. Have you seen one? Here is a photo sampling for your perusal and a live demonstration. This would not be suitable for showing at work, so check the room first.
As you can see, this clearly leaves little to the imagination and is a testament to the female form.
Here is a working example of a C-string on some lovely, I would assume it is Mexican Television, it sure would not be aired here in the U.S.A. even Fox would not touch that (pardon the pun).
Clearly this is not a gift for the older audience but for the younger set. Most of us who read this site, would be just as happy with a new toaster over. I don’t know where the chocolate would fit in, but then again, it is the thought that counts. Best get busy and do some shoppin boys, time is running short.
Please remember, “do not go overboard.”
Possibly Related: Here is a lighter look at the subject of love, Timber Wear from a few years back.
It was bound to happen, just a matter of time. My bride walked into the room and unceremoniously announced to no one in particular, “Take me shopping.” So we loaded up in the old truck and drove the six miles to town. She wanted to go to Kohl’s a department store in Yukon, Oklahoma. After parking the truck we walked a short distance to the store, upon entering the store, immediately, she spots a garment (a blouse) hanging on a garment rack.
She walks over to it, feels of it, strokes it, appraises it from every angle, and then looks at me and says, “Whadya think. Its 50% off.” I look at it, it is nice, sheer, almost transparent the tag reads, $17.99 marked down from $36.00. It is kind of blue and green in color, and as I said you can see right thru it, very much MY kind of blouse.
I say to her, “I dunno?” and kind of shrug my shoulders.
We move on, you see I know that I am here to drive the truck, my appraisal or value placed on any item in that store, means nothing. I am now taken to the pots and pans, the stainless steel items that shine in the artificial sunshine of the store, with their clear lexan tops and bright polish. We look at several, again, picking up a cookie pan that will produce almost magically 24 cup cakes, she says to me, “What do you think?” as if my input or opinion really mattered.
I again, “shrug my shoulders and silently wish that I had begged off back at the house when asked to volunteer for this mission.”
Things go well for the next ten minutes or so, and I make it all the way thru housewares without incident. I am now in bath towels and fluffy stuff. Then I see them. Flashlights!
All manner of flashlights, on a rack, silver ones, red ones, blue Flashlights. They are everywhere, so somewhat like a drunken sailor I saunter over to them and I feel them. I admire them. They have little buttons on them and the sign says …. “Try me.”
I look up and all of a sudden, she is nowhere to be seen, I am alone, just me and the Flashlights.
The Christmas muzak blares from the overhead speakers and I am magically transported to another time and another place. Having left my cellphone home on the counter, there is no way I can locate her, and I am certainly not going to go on a search and rescue mission in a department store.
Slowly I gravitate towards the front of the store, the main entrance, and assume a position at the perfume counter. Shifting one side of my body weight to the left shoe, I assume my position, by leaning back slowly into the counter and I check my watch.
The edge of the counter top starts to dig into my back, I shift my weight but another time, and I wonder how long it will be before I hook up with my little parsimonious shopper.
My mind slowly wanders off … Little beads of sweat form on my forehead and they roll down my cheeks and drop onto the Army Green container on the floor. I take my trusty pocket tool, the red one, with the toothpick inside, and gingerly start to loosen one screw on the case, it breaks loose slowly and I feel it give way. The red LED clock slowly clicks downward a second at a time. I must get the access door off, and find a way to the inner core, to the explosive element that ignites the nuclear mass of the bomb itself or the weapon will explode, and all of mankind for five square miles will be toast. The door slowly prys open with final screw and the main access panel is there, with all the wiring intact, which I by-pass and instead, go for the igniter of the weapon itself. The Red LED clock is now getting insanely close to running out, and I am frantic.
I silently wish that I had a flashlight and curse under my breath ….
Then her voices breaks the silence, “Here you are. Are you ready?” I nod my head and she says, “I didn’t find nuthin’ you want to go get some Mexican food?” Like a blind man, she takes my arm and starts to lead me toward the exit of the store. “You didn’t find anything you liked either?”
Again, “I nod my head” and we start out for the front doors.
She again stops at the garment rack, and fingers the blouse, I can tell she really wants the blouse. She pauses a little bit and then says. “Let’s go.” I say “Wait here and I will go get the truck, you won’t have to walk in the cold.” On the way out to the parking lot the north wind takes a sharp bite out of the corner of my eye, and sends a shiver up my spine. I get in the truck and I think to myself, “She never gets it?”
You see I might be sixty-five years old, but my LIbido is still very much in place. I am a man, very much so, and thus, I am stimulated not by emotional things, but by visual items. All she had to do was look at me with those big brown eyes, eyes a guy could get lost in, smile and say, “If you buy me this, I will model it for you without my bra.”
I would have bought it in a Hong Kong second …. Fifty-percent off or not.