"People sleep peaceably in their beds at night because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm" - George Orwell

Wednesday, October 31, 2012


Well we had our ghosties and goblins come by. Not many, but we are an aging community. There are about 30 families here. We pretty much know everybody.


The generality of men know no criterion of truth, but are led by popular opinion. 
Isocrates (Letter to Demonicus) 
Seems appropiate just before the election.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Gotta love our Marines!

Two Texas Highway Patrol Officers were conducting speed enforcement on Hwy 77, just south of Kingsville , Texas

One of the officers was using a hand held radar device to check speeding vehicles approaching the town of Kingsville . The officers were suddenly surprised when the radar gun began reading 300 miles per hour and climbing.

The officer attempted to reset the radar gun, but it would not reset and then it suddenly turned off.

Just then a deafening roar over the Mesquite treetops on Hwy 77 revealed that the radar had in fact locked on to a USMC F/A-18 Hornet which was engaged in a low flying exercise near this, it's Naval Air home base location in Kingsville.

Back at the Texas Highway Patrol Headquarters in Corpus Christi the Patrol Captain fired off a complaint to the US Naval Base Commander in Kingsville for shutting down his equipment.

The reply came back in true USMC style:

'Thank you for your letter....

You may be interested to know that the tactical computer in the Hornet had detected the presence of, and subsequently locked on to, your hostile radar equipment and automatically sent a jamming signal back to it, which is why it shut down.

Furthermore, an Air-to-Ground missile aboard the fully armed aircraft had also automatically locked on to your equipment's location.

Fortunately, the Marine Pilot flying the Hornet recognized the situation for what it was, quickly responded to the missile system alert status and was able to override the automated defense system before the missile was launched to destroy the hostile radar position on the side of Hwy 77 So. of Kingsville.

The pilot suggests you cover your mouths when cussing at them, since the video systems on these jets are very high tech.

Sergeant Johnson, the officer holding the radar gun, should get his dentist to check his left rear molar. It appears the filling is loose. Also, the snap is broken on his holster.'

God bless the captain.

The HMS Bounty is gone. All of the crew were recovered but Captain Robin Walbridge.

I find this disturbing.

Sherman Hemsley still not buried after his death.

One more.

Here's a picture of a girl with a spoon stuck to her nose.

The boys of summer.

Fall issue. First T-ball season ever. One of the youngest grand kids first at bat.
On third base ready to hit home plate.

It's fun to watch a group of 5 and 6 year old boys try to assimilate all the rules of this game into a little white ball that lands beside them. Not to mention trying to convince them to quit piling on the ball. It's baseball not football, boys! LOL. My hat is off to the coaches. They are men of awesome patience.

P.S. After their third game, he got the game ball.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Dinner tonight.

Shepherds pie.

Mary called it good. So did I. The green beans are from our garden.

P.S. Here is the recipe. Omit the salt if you use dry onion soup mix like we did.

Shepherd's Pie

2-1/2 pounds ground beef
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can French onion soup
1-1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
1 large onion, chopped
1 cup frozen corn (or peas and carrots)
mashed potatoes (5 or 6 medium)

Fry ground beef with salt and pepper and onion; drain.  Add soups. 
Simmer for 20 minutes.  Add frozen corn (or peas and carrots) and simmer
five more minutes.  Place in 9 x 13" baking dish.  Cover top with mashed
potatoes.  Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes, then place under
broiler to let potatoes get slightly brown on top.

This was inspired by the 53*  temperature today. I love cold fronts.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Bar talk...

Some A-hole looked at my beer belly in the pub last night and sarcastically said,

    "Is that Budweiser or Pabst Blue Ribbon?"

    I said, "There's a tap underneath, taste it."


    I was talking to a girl in the bar last night.

    She said, "If you lost a few pounds, got a shave, and got your hair cut, you'd look pretty good."

    I said, "If I did that, I'd be talking to your friends over there."


    I went to the pub last night and saw a fat chick dancing on a table.

    I said to her, "Nice legs."

    The girl giggled and said with a smile, "Do you really think so."

    I said "Definitely, most tables would have collapsed by now. "


    I was telling a girl in the pub about my ability to guess what day a woman was born just by feeling her breasts.

    "Really" she said, "Go on then... try."

    After about 30 seconds of fondling she began to lose patience.

    "Come on, what day was I born"?

    I said, "Yesterday."


    "Jesus loves you."

    A nice gesture in church but a terrible thing to hear in a Mexican prison.


    I got caught taking a leak in the local swimming pool today.

    The lifeguard shouted at me so loud I nearly fell in.

Thanks to Miss Brandy!

Potential investment

 Investment Opportunity

You might want to consider getting on board early ...

A British Engineer just started his own business in Afghanistan.

He's making land mines that look like prayer mats.

It's doing well. He says "prophets are going through the roof".

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

OK, I need to start swinging again.

Let's start with this very cool scientific study.
Depression is a hard thing to fight. I know. I have been in a battle for a couple of weeks now. This is especially bad because I have 6 grand children watching me. I know it's depression because all of these kids always make me smile if not bust out in full blown laughter.

My wife has stage 4 cancer. Most of you, my loyal followers know that. We had good news last week. The chemo is working. Her tumors have been reduced by 30%. She is looking very good. The doc has asked her to go on a fat diet. Ice cream, muffins, candy, chocolate. Good for her, bad for me.

So I have been depressed. I think I'm at that overwhelmed point. Taking care of business, paying bills, buying groceries, running to chemo, on and on. I think a lot of this song says it well enough.
 Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels  
Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields  
In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-o-one 
I don't know where I'm running now, I'm just running on
Running on, running on empty
  Running on, running blind 
Running on, running into the sun 
But I'm running behind
Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive
  Trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive 
In sixty-nine I was twenty-one and I called the road my own
  I don't know when that road turned onto the road I'm on
Running on, running on empty 
 Running on, running blind 
 Running on, running into the sun 
 But I'm running behind
Everyone I know, everywhere I go 
 People need some reason to believe 
I don't know about anyone but me  
If it takes all night, that'll be all right  
If I can get you to smile before I leave
Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels 
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
  I look around for the friends that I used to turn to, to pull me through 
Looking into their eyes I see them running too
Running on, running on empty 
 Running on, running blind 
 Running on, running into the sun 
 But I'm running behind

Ok. I'm shaking it off. I'm ready to go again. I'll try to get some updates out there pretty quick.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Friday, October 5, 2012

Just a loose thought rattling in my petrified brain.

I have no answer but, if the President of the United States has the best people in the world grooming him for debates, what happened? Or are they making him look bad for a grand slam in the 2nd and 3rd? Feel free to comment.

Thank you Mr. Inventor of the Interwebz

So the reason the POTUS had his head up his ass, during the debate,  was because he was looking for oxygen? Thanks for that info, Mr. Gore


Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Clearing email tabs 4.

Being Green

Checking out at the store , the young cashier suggested to the much older woman , that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

The woman apologized and explained , "We didn't have this 'green thing' back in my earlier days."

The young clerk responded , "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future

She was right -- our generation didn't have the 'green thing' in its day.

Back then , we returned milk bottles , soda bottles and beer bottles to the store.  The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled , so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the "green thing" back in our day.

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags , that we reused for numerous things , most memorable besides household garbage bags , was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our schoolbooks. This was to ensure that public property , (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribblings.  Then we were able to personalize our books on the brown paper bags.

But too bad we didn't do the "green thing" back then.

We walked up stairs , because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn't have the "green thing" in our day.

Back then , we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line , not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our
clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters , not always brand-new clothing.

But that young lady is right; we didn't have the "green thing" back in our day.

Back then , we had one TV , or radio , in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?) , not a screen the size of the state of Montana . In the kitchen , we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail , we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it , not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then , we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she's right; we didn't have the "green thing" back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen , and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But we didn't have the "green thing" back then.

Back then , people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service in the family's $45 , 000 SUV or van , which cost what a whole house did before the "green thing." We had one electrical outlet in a room , not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23 , 000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the "green thing" back then?

Please forward this on to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smartass young person...

We don't like being old in the first place , so it doesn't take much to piss us off...especially from a tattooed , multiple pierced smartass who can't make change without the cash register telling them how much.

Clearing email tabs 3.

Remember bitchin' about this?

Clearing email tabs 2.

Not too timely, but timely.

Clearing email tabs.

Two I hope to see in January.

Monday, October 1, 2012

More Walter Mills

I enjoy his writing. Every once in a while he shakes a diamond out of the gold. This is one.

By Walter Mills

“I Was So Much Older Then, I’m Younger Than That Now”

Earlier this year, the poet/singer Bob Dylan turned 71 years old.  
Performers age and songwriters lose their touch, but the songs 
themselves stay forever young.

I first saw Dylan’s boyish face on an album cover - a cardboard 
container for a vinyl recording that you may have seen in your parents’ 
basement.  His hair was long and combed back in a pompadour.  The album 
was titled “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan,” and I didn’t know how to 
pronounce his name.  But I liked the photo of him on a city street with 
his arm around a girl.  He looked young and vulnerable, as though there 
was a cold wind blowing and his thin jacket couldn’t keep him warm.  I 
was 12, reading comic books at the drug store, thumbing through the 
record racks, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” was on the radio.

I wasn’t a music consumer in those days and it took another two years 
before I again had any consciousness of Dylan. I was listening to WNOR 
or WGH, the two battling local AM rock and roll stations in Norfolk, Va. 
when “Like a Rolling Stone” crashed through the car speakers like a 
broadcast from an alien planet.  

The song seemed to go on and on, twice the length of the normal 2 minute 
30 second single. The words were encoded, layered and jumbled and I only 
caught a glimpse of the things they referred to.  It was not like beach 
music or even the pure pop joy of the Beatles that was playing that 
summer as we rode the rides at Oceanview Amusement Park or hung out at 
the 7-Eleven learning how to smoke.  

Dylan was a wild-eyed, word-drunk symbolist songwriter with a heavy debt 
to the French boy-poet Rimbaud and his “deliberate disorientation of the 
senses.”  He was an urban hipster out of the Midwest and he sang in the 
gravely voice of a carnival barker.  Parents must have thought he was 
calling their children inside a sideshow tent where we would all be 
transformed, like Pinnochio, into braying jackasses.

Each morning before we left for school, my buddy Sam and I would put 
that 45 record on the turntable and listen to its carnival calliope 
opening rift.  Then in the evenings Sam would sit on the edge of the bed 
in my room upstairs and try to strum the chords on his Martin guitar 
while I faked the intro on a Horner Marine Band harmonica.  And we would 
sing in nasal voices songs with preposterous names like Positively 4th 
Street and Desolation Row.

In 1965 Bob Dylan came to town and Sam and I took our harmonicas to the 
Norfolk Arena where we sat in the upper section in a crowd of manic 
fans.  He came on stage alone, pale and thin in a black suit and white 
high-buttoned shirt, with two acoustic guitars and a harmonica on a neck 
brace.  The pearl face of the guitar flashed streaks of light around the 
auditorium as voices called out song requests in the dark.  

When I was around 16 someone gave me an album of Dylan songs as recorded 
by the Hollywood Strings.  It was strange to hear the tunes backed by 
lush orchestration and a hundred violins.  The music hidden below 
Dylan’s harsh voice really was lovely, but that was the last thing we 
were interested in.  Dylan appealed to us because he seemed dangerous.  
His pain was complicated, full of betrayal, and he turned his anger 
against the fakes and phonies that we had all seen already, even if we 
were only 16.

I watched Dylan live from Australia on the Academy Awards show a few 
years ago.  He still looked like he was standing in a cold wind.  But we 
are middle-aged and we have forgotten that real honesty is dangerous and 
that change is unceasing.  We were older then, but we’re younger than 
that now.

Read more of Walt's writing at his blog:

(The above column originally appeared in the Centre Daily Times and is 
copyright © 2012 by Walter Mills. All rights reserved worldwide. To 
contact Walt, address your emails to    awmills@verizon.net ).