You Gotta Be Kiddin' Me Mert!

I never heard of AARP until my 50th birthday when I got a membership card from then.  And even then I thought they were an auto club of sorts.  Well, below are four examples(??) on How To Stay Healthy (Right Now) from the October/November 2015 issue on page 48.  Two of the examples sound fairly reasonable, the third works well with me; however, number four is way out there in logic.  Read and grin!

1) Get A Grip - Having a firm handshake is a sign of vitality and long life.  One study found that weak grip strength puts you at higher risk for heart attack, stroke and death.  But it's not just grip strength that's important: It's overall strength, so commit to a total-body strength-training plan.  When I shake a man's hand and it's "limp", first thought in my mind is "What a puss!  Grow a pair Sherlock and shake hands like a man for cryin' out loud.  Are you hen-pecked?"

2) Follow The Buddy System - Men, especially as they age, tend to become solitary beasts, much less likely to form deep, lasting friendships than women are.  That, researchers say, can be detrimental to well-being and health.  In fact, the lack of positive social relationships is comparable to smoking and alcohol consumption for increasing mortality risk.  Make an effort to cultivate friends -- both new and old -- and spend more quality time with family.  I've got a couple friends and relatives that are this way...they get along better with animals than they do people.

3) Bone Up With A Beer - A nice cold beer is not just refreshing: It may also help strengthen bones.  A 2013 report in the International Journal of Endocrinology notes that the barley and hops in beer make it a good source of the mineral silicon, important for bone formation and health.  The type of silicon in beer, orthosilicic acid, is extra easy for your bones to absorb.  I agree with this entirely!!!

4) Stamp Out Erection Issues - Worry over impotency can cause...impotency.  Here's a test to see if problems are physical or psychological.  Wrap a length of postage stamps around the base of the penis.  Secure the ends together and go to sleep.  Repeat for three consecutive nights.  If the stamps are torn along a perforation the next morning, you're still having good nocturnal erections, which means any get-it-up difficulties you're experiencing are probably due to emotional stress.  Can you believe this crap?  Stamps?  What the hell is with the stamps?   What kind of mental midget comes up with an idea like this?  I'll say this, "It'll be an extremely cold day in Hell before I lick those stamps and put 'em on Christmas cards.  Nope, not happening!!

Look What I Found!

I know you're going to find this difficult to believe, BUT two wayward critters seemed to have stumbled into my mini-jail in the backyard yesterday and this morning.  Hermione, who appears to have been the runt of the litter (pictured below) because of her dainty size, was trapped two days ago and she is so tiny.  She must have a high metabolism because she snarfed up everything in the cage that was edible.  Hermione was so scared when I removed the tarp from the trap, she started shaking like a chocolate doughnut at a Weight Watcher's meeting.

As for the other varmint, Harry, he is a full grown adult male and has been around so to speak.  He has the ghetto attitude - a tramp stamp tattoo on his belly to signify the colors of the gang he belongs to in the hood, missing some fur from the top of his nose from previous battles, matted fur and broke as a convict.

My granddaughter in North Carolina said that because of their ugly appearance, she named them from the Harry Potter stories...creatures with ugly noses, crooked teeth and bad breath.  I got the impression that Hermione was a bit more self conscious about her hygiene than Harry, because she didn't smell very bad.  But Harry, on the other hand, had a stench about him that would drive a buzzard off a gut wagon!  Without a doubt the boy needs to be formally introduced to soap, water and a toothbrush.

And just so you know, I did not...repeat...not release these two critters at Camp Bullis.  With all the high water, flooded roads and debris everywhere, I took them to a new location on the northeast side of town.  I'm not real sure these two little darling's are quite up to the rigid standards of the Camp Bullis crowd.  I'm afraid they may come down with a bad case of Montezuma Revenge, the Turkey Trots or Worshiping At The Porcelain Throne.

These fur balls are more of the meat, potatoes, tortilla and Coor's beer bunch.  The people who live in the area where I normally drop off the refugees are more inclined to dine on steamed vegetables, frog legs and snails, salmon steaks, have a small glass of Merlot with their meals and have real cloth napkins on the table.  And besides, Harry and Hermione just wouldn't fit in with that type of environment.  They bounce from trailer park to trailer park, have no clue who their parents are, don't attend the right schools, can't afford a decent meal, most of their close friends and relatives are doing time in Huntsville and they find nothing wrong with hanging out in a dumpster with their buddies playing pull my finger.  Nah, it just wouldn't be fair to the Camp Bullis bunch to drop these two off in their protected paradise....there would be an ass whoopin' for sure!

Some People Can't Take A Hint

A few years ago while I was watching 60 Minutes, Andy Rooney gave his dialog on "How To Stop Junk Mail" and the subject really peaked my interest.  Basically, Andy said take all those flyers, political cards, grocery coupons and anything else that you dislike getting in the mail and insert them into one of those pre-paid envelopes.  Ensure there is more junk in the envelope than what the advertiser has paid postage on, so that when it arrives at it's final destination they will have to "pay the difference" in what it originally costs.  Brilliant!  Why didn't I think of that?  Since my wife and I had just moved to our new home, our mail box was jammed with junk mail.  We took Andy's idea and applied it to our own situation, and by damn, our junk mail was reduced by 85% over the next 30 days!  Worked for me.

This Andy Rooney envelope gesture for junk mail got me to thinking, "Why not let the postal system and electronic devices help with leaving hints?  It's certainly a lot easier, costs less and safer than face-to-face confrontation that might lead to a night in the slammer."  About a year later, one of the neighbors just down the street had over 12 cats she kept as pets and when she left for work in the morning, the little darlings were let outside to roam all over the neighborhood.  These fur balls tore my $50 swing cushions to shreds with their claws, would catch and kill the doves and squirrels that come to my backyard to eat from the bird feeders, and would leave little piles of "turd surprises" all through out the yard.  Talking with the woman was like having a conversation with an unsharpened pencil -- it had no point.

Late one summer afternoon as my wife and I were returning from business out of town, squatted in my front yard bowing up to take a bodacious dump was this calico cat that belonged to the neighbor from Hell.  I jumped from the car and was going inside to get my .357 magnum pistol to pop a cap in his ass, when my wife yelled "Jim!  If you shoot that cat, just remember there's a police station just a mile down the road and they will haul you off in handcuffs for discharging a firearm in the city limits."  Damn I hate it when she's right!  Ok wench!  Let the games begin!!!!

Over the next couple of weeks I thought of buying my ignoramus neighbor a years subscription to the Mormon Times and The Flaming Sword religious newspapers; sign her up for every white supremacist group's literature and banners (such as the Aryan Nation Brotherhood of Oregon) I could find.  And just to ensure I had really pushed all her buttons, I could make monthly calls on throw away cell phones to the police saying I thought my neighbor was holding pagan rituals in her backyard and I could hear chanting in an unrecognizable language.  Yep, games on!!

A good friend of mine in southern California asked me to listen to his suggestion to my cat problem before doing time in the county jail.  He said, "Take one square of Ex-Lax, mix it with a couple of tablespoons of tuna fish, melt the contents in the microwave for only 1-minute and this will allow the Ex-Lax to melt into the tuna."  I thought my friend was pulling my leg, but he said try it and if that doesn't take care of the problem....shoot the damn cats!  Why not, nothing ventured - nothing gained.

I certainly didn't want to hurt the cats, because they're just doing what Mother Nature taught them to do; however, their owner was a different matter.  Before putting all this concoction into play, I called a veterinarian's office just a mile from the house and said my granddaughter had mistakenly feed the family cat some Ex-Lax and should I be worried.  The receptionist put me on hold while she got the veterinarian and when he got on the phone he asked, "Sir, how much Ex-Lax was the cat given?" and I replied "just one square, that's all."  The vet then asked where the cat was right then and I told him we put it in the garage for safety sake, and that's when he said "Under no circumstances should you let your cat out of the garage.  It will take about 6-8 hours for the ex-lax to kick in and do it's job, and with the animal getting the dosage made for an adult....things are going to be really smelly in the garage."  Oooooooo, this is going to be better than getting a fruit cake in the mail from Mama!

Visualize this scenario....Flippy, Gentle Ben and Mama's Little Girl's have all had some of my California Sea Food Surprise and have all trotted back home to where it's air conditioned and ready for their comfortable chairs to lay on.  In the middle of the night, and it's always late at night when disaster hits, each of the little butt licking fur balls get this enormous pain in their bowels and make a mad dash for the littler box.  Did you know that when a cat gets diarrhea and fills the litter box, it will search for new areas to make their deposits?  Think...shoes...bottom of closets...under beds and rugs, and when they finish their business, anticipate racing stripes of crap right down the middle of the floor and on furniture.  Since I also added food coloring to the mixture, red-grape-orange-yellow, the owners carpets and furniture is going to have that rainbow affect to it!  Oh yeah!  And when the old woman sees all these different colors, the first thing she will do is hustle the fur ball to the vet's for a check-up and that cost $65 where I live!!  My neighbor took the hint and has now limited herself to just "1 cat" and I never, ever see it in my yard.
 

Don't Mess With Old People!

For reasons unknown to all of humanity, there are certain individuals and organizations on this earth that are so damned irritating that they're a constant source of embarrassment and anger.  As I've gotten older over the years, I sometimes have days when I'm holding a stick and these folks look like a pinata!  Once a source of aggravation begins to grate my nerves, I start plotting ways to get paybacks and sweet revenge.

A few years ago when I was working as an usher for the Double-A baseball team here, there was a pitcher from New Jersey playing for the team and he was a very nice looking young man in his early 20's.  His name was Steve and during the season, my job as an user was to ensure he was not disturbed during the game while he was in the stands working.  When not on the pitchers mound, Steve was in the stands right behind home plate with his radar gun, stop watch and stat sheet keeping records on where and how fast the other pitchers were throwing over home plate.

To generate extra revenue for the ball teams owner, they promote $1 beer night on Thursdays and this obviously brings in people that are more interested in cheap beer than they are a game of baseball.  I call these nights Trailer Trash Thursdays and the majority of people who come that night are either college kids or the refugees from every trailer park within a 40 mile radius of the ball park.  I nicknamed the college kids as Three Beer Commando's because they drink a beer, spill a beer and take a beer home with them.  On these thursday night games, there are so many damn rednecks in attendance the smell of fried Spam and collard greens permeates the air.

Long about the bottom of the 5th inning one thursday night, I saw five young college girls with beer in their hands gathered around Steve the "cute pitcher" trying their best to get him to talk with them.   I had already ran these girls off twice before in previous innings and told them to leave Steve alone, because he was working and they needed to go back to their seats.  OK, now they've flicked my switch for the last time and enough is enough.  I sat down next to Steve and asked them point blank why they continued to bother the man while he was working.  One of the girls said, "all we want is his cell number" and I replied "OK.  If I give you his cell phone number will you promise to go back to your seats and not bother Steve anymore tonight?"  Everyone of the girls shouted "Yes" instantly.

I told them "Get your cell phones out and punch in these numbers.  Everybody ready?  OK, here we go it's 555-6969.  Alright, everyone repeat it back to me because we're only going to do this once and then your butts better remain in your own seats for the rest of the game."  And being the good little girls they are, they repeated the exact numbers back to me.  After I escorted these girls back to their seats, still holding their beers I might add, Steve motioned for me to come to his seat.  He said "Jim, that's not my cell phone number and besides, I've never given you my number."  I replied "Steve, I know that's not your cell phone number.  It's the number to a porno hot line and every time those drunk girls call it, they'll get charged $5 on their credit card for talking to Monique."  There's more than one way to skin a cat besides starting at the ass!! Sssswwwweeeettttt!

Appraisal Review Board - Best Damn Job I've Ever Had!

Remember the television series Dragnet that was on the air for 8-years between 1951-1959?  Some of the more famous quotes from Sargent Joe Friday (aka Jack Webb) are "This is the city: Los Angeles, California.  I work here.  I'm a cop."; "All we know are the facts ma'am."   Right after Joe Friday finished his opening statement, the announcer would then say, "Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to see is true.  The names have been changed to protect the innocent."  Both Joe Friday and the announcer are speaking in a very a firm, monotone voice.

These same lines from Dragnet could be used while working as a panel member on the Appraisal Review Board (ARB) during the protest season when hearing home owner protest cases.  The hearings would start off like this "Good Morning. This is a formal hearing of the ARB. I'm the panel Chair.  On my right is......and on my left....., representing the District....and please state your full name and your association with the property."

As with any organization of any size, the ARB goes by many nicknames, some of which are (a) Senior Citizen Day Camp; (b) Geriatric Pow-Wow; (c) Over the Hill Gang; (d) Patriarch Paradise; (e) Dinosaur Round-Up; (f) The Grey Armada; and (g) AARP Mercenaries.  Not to be excluded from the nickname process, these happy(??) home owners also have been given various names to include, but not limited to, the following: (a) Out To Lunch Crowd, (b) Oh, Woe As Me Choir, (c) Pity Partiers, (d) Mundane Mongers and (e), Voodoo Worshipers.  Keep in mind, not every home owner who comes to the appraisal district to protest their property appraisal fit these nicknames, but there are more who do than those who do not.  In fact, I've given these hearings a rather befitting name and I call them "The Liars and Criers Club".  Before I go any further, let me deflate a myth...the Appraisal District does NOT have anything to do with how much taxes a person must pay.  That responsibility falls upon the shoulders of the tax office in a completely different part of the city.

When John and Jane Unhappy Home Owner come to the appraisal district for their protest hearing, some get very creative and seek ways to, shall I say, influence the ARB panels decision on their case.  I'll kiss your butt on main street in the middle of the day and give you three days to draw a crowd if I'm lying, but grown adults(??) have come to their hearings using these sympathy devices:

- being pushed in a wheel chair;
- using a walker with "clean white" rubber stops;
- wearing a knee, neck, back brace (some have worn all three at the same time);
- comfort dog, seeing eye dog;
- a cane with and/or without a head light (that costs a buck or two);
- crutches, arm sling, eye patch;
- females wearing very low cut blouses to enhance the "cleavage" view;
- pulling an oxygen tank and having a "full" pack of cigarettes in the shirt pocket; and
- a bible....nothing like a little divine intervention for back-up

The first clue the panel has when they're about to get "saddled" with a real dozy-of-a-case is right after everyone has been sworn in and the unhappy home owner begins spitting out reasons and excuses in their defense faster than a run away slave.  I firmly believe some of these folks have had theatrical training during their lives, because some of them are capable of producing large tears on demand.  Here is just a sampling of the various excuses and antics people have used:

- Have cancer, PTSD, bad feet/knees/hips;
- Close family member just "crossed over to the other side" (what's wrong with the word die?);
- Lost my job, recently got a divorce, live out of state and/or country;
- Didn't graduate from high school or go to tech school;
- Hemorrhoid surgery was unsuccessful and they're drivin' me nuts;
- Was homeless until two months ago;
- Got a blood disease & getting chemo treatments;
- Waiting for the Medicare Recovery Act (this is a good one!);
- My cousin is my agent, he got into a car wreck this morning & he has all my evidence;
- Loud sighing while simultaneously looking at the panel with sad puppy dog eyes;
- Grabbing at imaginary flies and spiders; and finally my favorite,
- Pretending not knowing how to speak English - "Me no speaky good English. Me poor."

None of these reasoning's will have any bearing or impact on a persons "property appraisal", but people being people, they'll try anything from having to pay.

After spending days, which eventually turn into weeks, listening to Joe Schmuck and Teresa Twerp's tale of woes, the ole' barrel of sympathy is totally depleted...empty...nothing left...so it comes as no surprise these folks did not get the price they were asking for.  This denial of their rights as a citizen of Texas is certainly not going to be taken laying down....leaning against the wall....standing up....sitting down....or whatever position they intend to put themselves in.  And just to prove to the panel and the appraiser they're going to have the last word in this argument, their parting shots as they stomp out the door include:

- "You people" have tunnel vision and do everything the District tells you.
- How can "you people" sleep at night? (after 4 beers and a good meal I sleep very well thank-you.)
- "You people" ought to be hanged on the front steps of the court house and left for two weeks.

   ......I'm trying to figure out who "you people" include......

- Thank-you for sending another retiree into bankruptcy!
- Shaking her finger at the Panel Chair, the Pakistani woman said "You are a betty, betty bawd man."
- God will punish you in His own way.
- You're all disciples of Satan!
- Very elderly woman, "If my taxes go up any higher I'll be forced to get married."
- I'll see you in court!
- Next year I'll bring my "pistola" with me to the hearing.
- Well!  This was certainly a waste of time!
- This was all just smoke and mirrors so you could bankrupt me!  You're just a bunch of crooks!
- I hate big government!  And I'm tired of my taxes going to educate all these damn illegal Mexicans!

I've always said that having a job that entails dealing with John and Jane Doe Public, who live at 123 Sunshine Lane, Happyville, USA, is going to be an occupation that will test the limits of sanity and patience.  For the most part, these folks haven't a clue what's going on in the world and have become very comfortable being led by the hand down the road of life.  Their entire world is a giant 5-mile circle around their home; their creature comforts are simple and about the only time they get a case of the ass with government is when it cuts into their beer and Spurs money.  Now you've got their attention!  Trying to explain how the process works to these people, can at times be as difficult as trying to put a jock strap on a gorilla in a phone booth.

Not every panel hearing with a home owner entails hand-to-hand combat or questioning whether or not their mothers had romantic relationships with buffalo.  Actually, there are those occasions in which the hearings are so outrageously funny, that it's impossible to catch your breath and end up sitting in your chair looking like a retarded seal with a pained look on your face.  Here is just a sampling of what I'm talking about.

#1 - A middle aged man said he didn't think his small home was worth the money the appraisal district said it was.  And besides, he was "raised in an orphanage and was not taught Appraisal math."  We're talkin' about the next candidate for the Nobel Peace prize here people!  Bet he cleans the wax out of his ears with a set of car keys.

#2 - An elder lady, probably in her upper 70's and who had to use a "walker" to get around, told the ARB panel and the district appraiser she was not moving one inch until her appraisal was reduced back to what it was 3-years ago.  The woman crossed her arms and refused to leave the room.  The sheriff deputies helped change her mind and was escorted out of the building.  Ah, nothing like a bit of arrogance to start the day off right!  Granny forgot to take her meds and now everybody has to suffer the consequences.

#3 - At an earlier informal hearing, an older woman was told by the district appraiser that her Agriculture Exemption was denied, because the field appraiser did not see any evidence of either live stock or crops being raised on her property.  Therefore, when this lady came to her formal hearing a few weeks later, she pulled a large zip lock bag out of her purse that had a gooey, smelly "cow chip" inside and flopped it down on the table.  She looked the panel members in the eye and said, "I picked it fresh this morning for you.  This is my evidence that I'm raising cattle on my land."  Her exemption for Agriculture was approved!  Since the cow chip was introduced as evidence, the District had the obligation to keep it as part of the record....but that ain't happening.  Talk about having a blow fly problem!!!!

#4 - A middle aged man enters the panel room with the picture of a mushroom cloud printed on the back of his shirt.  The short version of his lengthy testimony, which included numerous newspaper clippings and magazine articles, is "The soil in San Antonio is contaminated by the nuclear bomb blast testing and the water is contaminated with Agent Orange.  Congress states 'people cannot be taxed for contaminated soil and water'." And while this man was blithering on, he was spraying himself with a water bottle that may have been filled at the water fountain in the hall outside of the lobby. Ooooooeeeeee, Deputy Dawg!  This guy is defiantly a few clowns shy of a circus!  I bet his mother let the family dogs hide him under the front porch because he was so damned ugly.

#5 - A man in his late-50's/early 60's, who resides in an upscale gated community, was looking at the TV monitor on the wall when the District appraiser put on an overhead satellite shot of his property for all to see.  The guy had a very nice home, small storage shed, shade trees scattered about the yard and an in ground swimming pool in the backyard.  The man became very angry and said, "I didn't give you permission to take an overhead picture of my backyard".  To which the appraiser replied "Sir, I don't need your permission.  This satellite service is paid for by the Appraisal District in the form of a subscription fee to the Agriculture Department."  The guy replied, "My wife likes to go skinny dipping in the pool and I don't want you guy's taking pictures of her while she is naked."  You could hear a pin drop in that room and everyone was thinking "What does she look like?"  Is she a real looker or are we talkin' about a Kibbles and Bit's candidate?


#6 - A very nice looking young man in his mid-30's had gotten a "great deal" on a house in Alamo Heights, which is one of the more costly areas to buy in.  The man was in the middle of making a "few repairs" to the house when it came time for his formal hearing.  As part of his evidence, he had pictures of the inside of the house that showed most of the sheet rock had been stripped away with no insulation between the studs; the kitchen floor had every other board ripped out between the living room and the sink; with the exception of a small refrigerator and a microwave, there were no other kitchen appliances.  And in the bathroom, only the toilet and shower worked - not the tub.  When a female panel member asked "How does your poor wife make this house into a home with all of this construction going on?"  The young man lowered his head down and said "My wife left me three weeks ago....but I still got my dog!  Priorities son....think about your priorities!

#7 - An elderly couple lived in an old colonial two-story house out in the middle of the country on a 20 acre horse bordering ranch.  According to the wife's testimony, the entire 2nd floor of the house was inhabited by bees and the only rooms the couple lived in was on the 1st floor where the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were located.  While the ARB panel members were looking at the overhead satellite picture of the property, one of the members noticed there was an almost new double-wide house trailer that wasn't all that far from the house.  When asked why they didn't live in the trailer instead of the house, the husband replied "Our son Jesse was kicked in the head a few years ago by a horse and he ain't been right since.  So, me and Mamma decided to live with the bees instead of Jesse." I got absolutely nothing....Zero...Nada....Zilch!  Sounds like a scene from the Hitchcock move Psycho and Norman Bates lives in the trailer house!

He Be Jammin'

After two and half days of steady rain, my young bride was in the backyard Sunday and noticed we had another "visitor" and it had done a J...O...B on her "therapy" beds.  So, being the dutiful husband and not wishing to suffer the wrath of the missus, I set my trap with the usual bait of peanut butter, marshmallows and a light squeeze of pancake syrup.  Critters love sweets!

I waited until the sun had come up enough to see whether or not I had been successful during the night, and sure enough the trap door was down.  Remember the Jim Croce song Bad, Bad Leroy Brown from 1973...the baddest man in town?  Well, I trapped his nephew - Leon Brown Possum - and he had more moves in my trap than John Travolta did dancing to the Bee Gees song Stayin' Alive.  Leon doesn't have the helmet hair, bell bottomed pants or the rotating crystal ball dangling from the ceiling, but I'm guessing the little fur ball may have taken a few lessons at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio on the other side of town.

As with all the other incarcerated critters that made a poor choice in causing havoc in my piece of utopia, Leon was transported to the same refugee camp as his predecessors yesterday morning....just a few minutes prior to morning mass starting.  He mentioned he was religious -- go figure.  I know my vision isn't quite what it was 40 years ago; however, I thought I saw two lines of critters along the tree line making what appeared to be a "victory lane" for Leon as he crossed into the brush.

I've got faith in Leon...he's got his youth, dark eyes, nimble toes, manicured fur and white teeth.  Oh yeah, the ladies at Camp Bullis will be all over him like a wet t-shirt.

Condums & Puberty - God Help Me!

Ever have one of those days to where without any warning whatsoever, you see something and all of a sudden flash backs from years ago start rushing through your brain?  Well, that's what happened to me yesterday when my wife and I were in Costco getting some prescriptions filled. 

I was standing with my wife at the pick-up window and while she was talking with the pharmacist, I noticed stacked against the wall boxes and boxes of Trojan Condoms....40 to a box....and this is when my brain switched from current-to-history.  I got to thinking about all those public restrooms in truck stops, gas stations, choke and puke cafes, movie theaters and bars I had been in over the years that had a metal box with a round knob attached securely to the wall.  Inside these boxes were condoms of various sizes, colors and erotic descriptions for marketing purposes and they only cost 75-cents.  I didn't take notice of how much the Trojan's were at Costco, but I thought to myself "40 condoms to a box...7 days in a week...365 days in a year...52 weeks in a year...12 months in a year.  Alrighty then.  Depending on the age and testosterone level of the guy, or the girl, this person is either going to need more than one box or they've got enough for three and half years....give or take a week either side."

The first time I had actually held a condom in my hand was in the summer of 1965 while visiting my grandparents in a small town in the panhandle of Texas and I was 14 years old.  Like I said, I had seen those condom machines multiple times, but never had any reason to spend 75-cents on something I had no use for at that time in my life.  One evening while I was working in my grandparents cafe, a very good friend of mine told me that he had bought "2 rubbers" in the gas station on the other side of the highway.  I was so ignorant about sex at that stage of my life, that if stupidity were dirt I would have enough to cover about an acre.  My God, I was still trying to figure out where all those damned pimples came from on my face. Anyway, my friend gave me one of the rubbers and told me to put it in my wallet "just in case" I might need it later...wink, wink of the eye.

As the summer started coming to a close and school starting in a couple of weeks, my two brothers and I had to return to Colorado where my mother and stepfather lived.  Our family lived in what was called at the time a single-wide trailer and naturally, we lived in a trailer court that was about five miles from town.  While my brothers and I were in Texas that summer, my parents built an enlarged bedroom edition on to our trailer so that my brothers and I could stop having to sleep on the living room couch.  Just a few days before school started back, some friends and I were outside on one of those rare days the sun was actually out longer than a few minutes and the temperatures were very pleasant.

All of a sudden, my Cherokee Indian mother swung open the door of the bedroom extension so had it slammed against the trailer house and stood on the porch with both hands on her hips resembling a mythic creature that had just been shot from the bowels of the earth.  In a loud, stern voice that made little animals seek shelter, she said "Jimmie Dewayne, where did you get this?"  I knew instantly that I was in deep shit, because my mother never, ever called me using my full first and middle names in the same sentence unless she was preparing to do battle.  Like an idiot I said "What? Mother, I don't see anything."  "I'm NOT stupid Jim!  I want to know what you're doing with this damn rubber in your wallet and where you got it from" she replied while holding the condom up in the air for all to see.  I was always taught to tell adults the truth.  Because they were eventually going to find out what happened and God have mercy on your soul if they found you had lied, your ass would be theirs.  I stated "I bought it in Texas this summer" and she asked, "And just pray tell what exactly did you plan on doing with it?"  Come on Jim...think of something quick dammit!  "I was going to sell it" I said.  Oh, baby, that was a really stupid move on my part!  Flames shot from the center of her eyes, teeth clinched tighter than a camels butt in a sand storm and in a booming voice loud enough for everyone between Colorado and Florida to hear, she yelled "SELL!  You're selling rubbers?  What are you gonna sell next?  Dope? Whores? Guns to crooks and thieves?  Wait until Bob gets home from work tonight...you've not heard the end of this mister."  My, didn't that go well?  Mother and son having an adult(??) conversation in public and working out their issues.  Right!  What few friends I have in Colorado will know my mother has more issues than Vogue magazine.  Oh well, might as well get ready for an ass whoopin' tonight.

Approximately 14 months later, my mother and I had to go to Sayer-McKee drugstore to get her prescriptions while my two brothers and stepfather were getting haircuts down the street from us.  By now I'm 15 years old and will turn 16 in just a few months.  While mother is at the back waiting her turn to talk with the pharmacist, I was wondering around the store like a lost soul with my hands in my pockets looking for anything to entertain me while being bored out of my mind.  As  I rounded the aisle where the vitamins, Epson salts and bandages were stocked, I saw out of the corner of my eye a very intriguing display with shiny packets in various colors sitting on a shelf just a few feet from the cashier.  Being the inquisitive sort that I am, I nonchalantly strolled over to this unique display of wares and discovered they were condoms, AND they were right next to the Playboy magazines!  Oh baby!  I finally hit the jackpot!  But wait a minute, how in the world am I going to buy the magazine and the condoms without getting caught by my mother?  I wasn't concerned about her finding out I had bought a Playboy, because my stepfather had a yearly subscription and one came in the mail at the beginning of every month.  But the condoms.  Jesus, after the previous summer fiasco in front of all my friends, mother would have a stroke and I would be shipped off to military school for sure. And besides, the lady running the cash register is on my parents bowling team and she would rat me out in a heart beat.

Before making any juvenile decisions about my possible purchase, I thought to myself "I'm a Junior in high school, I have no car, I live 5 miles outside of town, I work as a bag boy at Safeway's and my parents have to drive me to and from work, I don't have a girlfriend or even a remote possibility of getting one in the near future.  So, why do I need to suffer the wrath of King Kong and buy a packet of condoms that she is going to find sooner or later?"  I can't recall the first time I purchased a packet of condoms, but it was certainly many years later in my adult life while I was in the Navy and stationed overseas.  It just wasn't worth the hassle of having to deal with my Indian mother over the issue, God rest her soul.

You Know You're From San Antonio When....

Everybody's got to be from some place and San Antonio is really no different than anywhere else.  It does, however, have a rather unique flare about it.  Here are just a few things that come to mind.

- It only costs $5 to park in a covered garage down town.

- Your neighbor is hosting a birthday party for his 5-year old and the host will have two kegs of Miller
   Lite for the adults.

- All the major television stations in town run the same story for a week about a man shooting his
  neighbors cat, while news coverage outside the county and nation gets limited attention.

- More images of the Virgin Mary are seen in tree stumps, bread dough, weathered walls and spilled
  paint than any other place in Texas.

- No meal or snack is complete without a quart of "Big Red" soda and a full package of tortillas.

- Driving in weather conditions that include rain, sleet and snow is unimaginable.

- Every 3rd driver on the road has grey hair, in a Cadillac, traveling no faster than 45mph in the
  "passing lane" and the turn signal has been on for the past 3 miles.

- You spend enough money on cell phones, tattoo's, alcohol, junk cars and tight fitting clothes that
   would support a whole village in a third world country.

- You think San Antonio is still a "little town" and not like big towns such as Dallas and Houston.

- Having to pay $8 for a 16 ounce beer at a sporting event is outrageous and requires the intervention
  of the parish priest.

- You were born, educated, married, raised a family, retired and died in San Antonio, but never once
  going beyond the city limits.

- You're an avid reader of the National Enquirer, Midnight Reveler and Jean Dixon physic predictions.

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Discussing Politics - Waste Of Time For Me

The cat in the picture above reflects what happens when I'm bombarded with political opinions on television, in newspapers, magazines, conversations with friends and relatives, and on the radio.  And for reasons unknown to me, it seems as people get older they take a sudden interest in the political process of the nation, county or city.  Fantastic!  They have their views and here are just a few things I trust more than people's political points of view:

1. Mexican tap water
2. Gas station sushi
3. Prayers for peace from Al Sharpton
4. A porcupine with a "pet me" sign
5. A rattlesnake for a house pet
6. Bill Clinton ethics course
7. A Jimmy Carter economic plan
8. Loch Ness monster sightings
9. Accepting pills from Bill Cosby
10. A Palestinian on a motor cycle
11. Captain of the Titanic giving sailing lessons
12. Michael Jackson's doctor
13. A Disney cruise off the coast of Somalia
14. A Bigfoot sighting
15. O.J. Simpson demonstrating his knife skills
16. Bar hopping with Charles Manson and Jeffery Dahmer
17. A Hillary Clinton war story
18. Dick Chaney's quail hunting skills
19. An "all inclusive" resort vacation in the mountains of Afghanistan
20. Road kill stew being lower in carbohydrates and cholesterol

Catching Critters - Business or Pleasure?

About this same time last year is when I started catching critters, because they were causing havoc in my wife's flower beds and vegetable garden.  I've always loved all sorts of animals, but I've never considered myself to be the Daniel Boone or Grisly Adams type.  As a kid growing up I've lived and worked on farms and ranches, and when we lived in the city I mowed lawns, delivered flyers and sacked groceries at Safeway.  So, through out my life I've virtually been around critters of one type or another.  Since October 2014, and still counting, I've trapped: 3 skunks, 10 raccoon's, 10 possums, 1 gray fox, 2 ferrel cats, 2 brain dead squirrels and 1 dove with a poor GPS system.  Let me introduce a few of them to you.

This was the very first skunk to be incarcerated in my backyard - "Susie Q".   She is a full grown female and yes, I do give every animal a name that makes that poor decision to invade my missus "therapy gardens and flower beds".  After a little research on the internet, I discovered that skunks not only have poor eye sight, but also have a sweet tooth for marshmallows and peanut butter.  This is good information to have.

"Cuddles" raccoon was a real trooper about being in the slammer.  Those pitiful looking eyes told me she was scared to death and wishing she were back in her condo watching Oprah on a 72" flat screen TV and broadening her mind.  Cuddles, like Susie Q, also has a sweet tooth.  Amazing enough it too was marshmallows, peanut butter and just a hint of pancake syrup to enhance the flavor.  It's obvious Cuddles was raised in an upper crust neighborhood, because her nails were trimmed and shaped; her fur wasn't all matted up; just the right amount of make-up and had a very slender figure.  An enticing catch for any male raccoon on the prowl!

If there was ever a trailer trash species in the animal kingdom, then "Ethel Mae" possum would certainly be the poster child.  Not only does she have a nasty attitude, but her personal hygiene could certainly use some attention that for sure.  And those teeth.  Darlin', have you never heard of dental floss and annual check-ups?  Let's face it.  She is so damned ugly the family dogs tried to keep her buried under the front porch so she wouldn't scare away visitors. In her younger days, Ethel Mae got a job at one of those road side strip joints down along the border, but only lasted a few days.  When one of the drunk customers tried to slip a kernel of corn in her ear, Ethel Mae went into a Bruce Lee stance and did one of those flying drop kicks that removes large amounts of teeth.  Not only was she thrown out of the club, but the owner pitched her Budweiser wind chimes into the dumpster where a large, vile, male sewage rat made off with them.

This stud muffin is very well known among all the ladies at McAlister Park as "Foxy Loxy" and he has a stable of young females that would literally boggle the imagination.  A sleek individual with a keen sense of smell, speed, agility and the eyes any mother would love for their sons to have.  Foxy Loxy obtained his fame and fortune as a mercenary for a small company on the northern side of the county.  He is very adept at stealing chickens from any yard, regardless of the construction materials used, and has been known to raid hen houses with the "Los Banditos" gang from the inner city.

I call this fur ball ferrel cat, "Triple-C", which stands for Crept In, Crapped, Crept Out and is now living in an upscale neighborhood far, far away from my home.  He would run around the inside of my trap like a Puerto Rican shortstop that just won the World Series and never hit the same spot twice. Damn he was quick!  Wonder if he was a gymnast in his previous life?

                                Now for the business side of this show and tell story.

It's very obvious I enjoy catching critters.  But all the while this has been taking place, I've been giving serious consideration to starting a business of renting them to people instead of re-releasing these animals in a place where they've got food, water and shelter.  Let's face it, there isn't one person on the face of this earth that doesn't have an ex-spouse/boy or girl friend, relative, an associate at work or neighbor that you wouldn't like to drop the hammer on them at least once - if not more.  And that's where my critters and I come into the picture.  Look no more, we're the solution for your problem!!

For a reasonable negotiated fee, I would release a very agitated raccoon, possum, skunk or ferrel cat that are left to their own devices inside a car, home or office.  Sweet and total revenge!  Feast your brains on this scenario and see if you don't start breaking into a cold sweat.

For most of us, family reunions and get togethers can be classified as getting all your dysfunctional relatives under the same roof at one time and pray to God nobody has to call the police.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, will break-up a family argument any quicker than when there's a "Susie Q" loose in the house at meal time munching on fresh sardines smothered in mustard oil.  When a conversation begins with, "Good God Almighty!  What in the Hell is that horrid smell?  Did somebody gut a goat with a road flare?  Aunt Zelda, does Uncle Dyke need to have his "Depends" changed or did he forget to put his Dr. Scholl's odor eaters inserts in his shoes again?  Somebody get the Airwick strips quick - I'm gonna vomit!"  The fun has just begun.  And to top it all off, when Susie Q gets startled from all the noise, she'll raise her big hinny up in the air and start squirting anything and everything within a 20 foot circumference, resembling a Gatling' machine gun...3,000 rounds a minute.  Breaking bread with the dysfunctional family members will take on a whole new meaning going forth.