The Scariest Thing I've Ever Typed

FORMAT C:

Can I get a geek "Amen?"

Mother, There is No Other

Just in time for Mother's Day, a little blast from the past.

Squawkin'

Lately, I have been trying to recollect some of the more colorful phrases my Appalachian kin used daily when I was a child. I am now seriously considering compiling these for posterity before they disappear into text messaging obscurity. Till then, here is a poem I smashed together using some of my favorite phrases from my Mammaw's peppered lexicon.

LORD HAVE MERCY

Shit fire
And forget the matches
Like piss
Pouring out of a boot.

He couldn’t drive
A billy goat.
Hear me?

Like cat fur
For kitten britches,
Messin’ and gommin’
Spoilt rotten.

They say
he ain’t done it,
but I figgered it
right.

Oh God, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?

This little tidbit was swiped from fellow esteemed blogger Pusboy at Virtual Pus. You have to scroll all the way down to grasp the true depths of this inbred slagfest. I am forever scarred, and I want you to be, too.

God Smacked

Why does God seem to only talk to old white guys and people in prison?

Also, you know Martha burnt that "freedom poncho" as soon as she got home, ya bitches.

Payback

Somewhere,
there's a worm,
and a speeding ticket,
with my name on it.

Nevers

There are two strawberry-scented nevers, my friends:

Incense and douche.

Avoid these at all costs and you'll be well on your way to the path of righteousness.

Things That Don't Make It Into the Yearbook

God only knows what reminded me of this story, but I hope it inspires you, my chilldens, to post your own high school stories of the "never make it into the yearbook" caliber.

My senior year, waaaay back in the year of our Lord nineteen and ninety-two, I was on the make-up and costume crew for the school play "Damn Yankees." Being on the crew was fun, not only for the theatre experience, but also to hang back behind the curtain and watch the reactions of the crowd. Before opening night, the troupe debuted the play during the school day for the student body. The special ed kids were allowed to sit in the front row and seemed especially thrilled by the show. During one scene, a girl playing Lola had to sing "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets" while wearing a tastefully risque outfit. One particular special ed boy was so especially thrilled by the number that he opened his pants and started jacking off. The teacher tried mightily yet tactfully to get him to stop whilst the crew behind stage were on the floor writhing in agony trying not to guffaw and squeal. It was one of the funniest moments of my entire life. I guess you could say it was a rousing performance. ha ha

Desirous

I am losing my mind over these clothes.

One of each, please!

Fuck Me!

These people are completely on crack.

Lawd Have Mercy, Chilldens.

After a long, rainy drive, the Old Man and I made it home from New Orleans in passable condition. Though we have gone completely feral and nocturnal, there are no new tattoos, scars, or diseases to speak of. A stiff regimen of well-timed naps and nourishing food should get us back in shape for work by Monday. If not, who the hell's gonna notice anyway?

For the reading pleasure of those who did not accompany us on this escapade, here's a brief rundown of our time in the Big Easy:

Friday - left Louisville, drove for ages, peed at a rocket, and the old man made out with a mannequin near the Hee Haw Motel.

Saturday - arrived in NOLA, ate and shopped, the ladies got called fat by an ugly old bar fly who Kim nearly vaporized, napped, tried to keep Kim from attacking Cissy - something about ketchup and beards, drank A LOT, sang Pantera to the obvious shock and dismay of my compadres, heard Cissy sing a whole FOUR WORDS (the only time in the decade I have known the man that I ever heard him sing. The words will ring eternal in my memory.) The singing occured in a tiki/goth bar that featured fisting reindeer wall art. Pics to come.

Saturday creeps into Sunday - stagger back to the Biscuit Palace, sleep on the floor of friend's room because our room is not ready, get up just before noon to move to our room, which was gorgeous from what I could see as I made a mad dash to the bathroom to relieve my innards. Made it to the bed where we slept for many hours. Woke up and repeated eating shopping drinking regimen. I cannot remember exactly which day, but Kim was dismayed that someone would bring the FMLA to the French Quarter. When asked if she meant the FFA, she said, "Whatever."

Monday - Caught the Trolley and went to the Garden District with Kim and Brian. Visited the cemetary, played heavily on Kim's mortal fear of the living dead, shopped on Magazine street. Kim bought a pig that poops goo. I actually got some sun, and have the line on what little part of my body was exposed to prove it. Old Man and I watched some street musicians in front of the cathedral. Napped. Ate and drank some more. Learned how to eat a crawdad. Stayed up late with the Old Man and Cissy to talk politics and the after-life.

Monday creeps into Tuesday - the pals fly back home. The Old Man and I drive up the coast to Biloxi to see where he used to be stationed when he first joined the Air Force. It was a shithole. We ate a place that actually had fried corn on the cob. What the fuck? That night we saw fantastic jazz at Preservation Hall. We met a guy who called himself "Rock n' Roll" at Harry's Corner, where we earned the nicknames "Pretty Lady" and "The Big Galoot."

Wednesday - Rained like all hell, but we went out walking anyway. Window-shopped at art galleries on Royal Street, ate too many beignets and muffalettas, had the most awesome crab cake on the planet, learned that I can do a stellar impersonation of a Baby Boomer waspy wife on her cell phone in a retsaurant, napped, bought baubles for folks at home, took pics, listened to karaoke night at Jean Lafitte's in Exile from our balcony while reading till rain stopped, visited Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shoppe, listened to some Blues band featuring a guy named "Hambone", ate again, finished night at previously mentioned tiki/goth bar where they were showing trailers from 50's and 60's pornos (Box Office International, ya'll) and an episode of South Park which had everyone in the bar chanting, "I made you eat your par-ents!"

Thursday - drove drove drove. Dog destroyed the house. Pics to come. Sponsored by Shop-Vac.

I am sure I have left out plenty of details, probably for the better. I want to give a shout out the the pugs at Pug Place, the cat at Preservation Hall who bit that waspy lady, but liked me, and the homeless guy who asked us for a comb as we packed the car. Enjoy the brush "on your way to work", bro.

I miss the French Quarter already.

Gone Daddy Gone

Tonight begins the grand road trip to New Orleans. Commence ta jigglin', y'all!

Blog ya next week, foolish mortals!