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More "oooga booga" from Osama bin Butthead
June 30, 2006Osama bin Butthead has made another recording.
But what's new? It seems like the world's most famous terrorist is doing more recording than his favorite group -- the Dixie Chicks -- these days.
This new one is 19 minutes -- almost two minutes longer than In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.
In it, Osama says:
"Ooga booga booga. Ooooooga. Boooga. Bushah. Islama booga booga booga booga. Allah ooga. Islam booga booga."
I don't speak Butthead.
But those who do have translated the latest oogas and boogas say old Osama is pretty pissed off about us killing his terrorist buddy Abu Musab al-Zarqawi.
Just last week, terrorist Ayman al-Zawahiri -- not to be confused with terrorist Abu Musab al Zarqawi -- called on all al-Qaeda terrorists to avenge his terrorist friend's death.
Terrorist al-Zawahiri is Osama's terrorist deputy -- meaning you should take him about as seriously as you would Barney Fife.
Osama praises al-Zarqawi, calling him the "lion of Islam" and altough the U.S. blew his al-Queda ass away, he is a Muslim martyr now receiving his eternal reward.
In other words, al-Zarqawi is now playing around with 71 virgins. Or is it one 71-year-old virgin?
Osama promises al-Queda will continue to kill as many of us as they can.
So, I ask, why can't we find Osama?
We can go to the moon and even score one goal in three World Cup soccer games, but we can't find some 6-foot-4 guy with a beard hiding out in a cave somewhere on the Pakistan border?
Back in my much younger years, I was driving home under the influence one night and ran into parked van. Scared and drunk, I drove away. I got home and thought I had escaped, but within 30 minutes, the police were knocking on my door.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"We followed your radiator leakage," one cop said.
It was in the middle of the night and they followed by water trail for several miles in the dark. Turned down an alley and then into a back yard to get to my garage apartment?
Damn fine police work.
Somebody go find those cops. I'll bet they could find Osama.
Or why not call Ken Knowles?
The reward for Osama's head is $25 million. Let me repeat that -- $25 MILLION.
How about ex-felon Duane "Dog" Chapman -- the most famous bounty hunter in the world?
Dog's motto is:
"From 18 to 80 Blind crippled or Crazy If they can't walk or crawl we'll Drag Em Back."
Well, Osma is in that age group. He supposedly has a bad kidney. And the guy is definitely crazy.
Sic Dog on him. Drag him back.
Bobbitt him, if you want to.
Torture a terrorist?
Our courts wouldn't allow that.
Dog would probably go to jail and Osama would post bond and crawl back into another cave somewhere and start make more recordings.
(To my loyal blog readers -- I am taking a vew days off. Will be back on Wednesday.
Happy Fourth of July to all of you.)
Posted by at 8:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)
SOMEBODY -- go swim in another punch bowl
June 29, 2006The First Baptist Church opened its doors to the Wichita Falls Independent School District's back-to-school teacher assembly last summer and somebody got offended.
To quote the great philosopher Gomer Pyle -- "Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!"
Notice I said 'SOMEBODY" got offended.
That's a singular noun.
But as the pool hall philosopher used to say: "One little turd can spoil the whole punch bowl."
That's the way of life in America these days.
SOMEBODY gets offended when we pray before a football game.
SOMEBODY gets offended when the Ten Commandments are displayed in a courthouse.
SOMEBODY gets offended when we say "one nation UNDER GDD" in our pledge of allegiance.
It's about time WE who aren't offended by all this tell SOMEBODY to shut the hell up.
Go swim in another punch bowl!
As far as I know, none of the 1,700 WFISD employees were ordered to make a confession of faith before using the First Baptist facility for their annual meeting.
Nobody had to get baptized or take the Lord's Supper.
They weren't ordered to steal a library book or read the pastor's new book.
They didn't even pass the plate.
Wichita Falls should say "thank you" to First Baptist for saving the budget-strapped school district the money it would have cost to use MPEC for such a meeting.
But that thank you was drowned out by SOMEBODY'S one little whimper.
I wonder what SOMEBODY would have thought when the senior class of 1964 held its graduation at First Baptist.
Back then, Memorial Auditorium was wHere graduations were held, but the facility was being renovated. So our ceremony was scheduled to be outside at old Coyote Stadium. Then it rained all week and that plan was wiped out.
So First Baptist opened its doors and allowed us to use its sanctuary for our graduation.
I never did thank those people for that.
So, I will right now.
"Thank you."
Hopefully, SOMEBODY doesn't find out, so you can hear me.
Posted by at 8:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
I don't hug men or ugly women (well, I try not to)
June 28, 2006What do you do when you see your boss hugging a man in the alley?
(A.) Lower your head and act like you didn't see it.
(B.) Turn around and run and hope he doesn't see you.
(C.) Buy him a subscription to "Gay Guys Gone Wild" magazine as a Christmas gift.
(D.) Smile and say "Who's your boyfriend?"
(E.) None of the above
I chose (A).
But Carroll Wilson knew that I saw him.
So I resorted to (D.), only with much more tact.
"Who's he?" I asked as the other guy drove off and CW and I walked in the back door of the newsroom together.
"My priest," he answered.
Forgive me father for that last thought.
For most of my life, I have tried to live by the creed that there are two kinds of people I won't hug:
(1.) Men and (2.) Ugly women
Since -- as Mickey Gilley sings -- "the girls all get prettier at closing time," I have broken No. 2 more times than I care to remember.
But --with a few exceptions -- I have faithfully lived by No. 1.
However, if you go to church on Sunday like I do, God is going to test No. 1 quite often.
There's always one or two guys in every church who just won't accept a manly handshake. They just have to have a hug -- and not just a little hug, but a big bear hug.
You can't change churches because every church has these huggy bears..
So you just have to learn the tricks to avoid them.
Find out where they sit in church. So you sit as far away as possible.
When the last "Amen" is said, you rush to the door before they can.grab you.
Still, there are times you can't escape them.
So what does a guy do when he comes face to face with the huggy bear?
Hug him back. And when you are embracing each other, reach around and squeeze both of his butt cheeks.
Then pray to God that he doesn't like it.
Posted by at 7:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
He loved the little children of the world
June 27, 2006Newspaper obituarites never do life justice.
A person is born. A person lives. A person dies.
A funeral is scheduled.
Their family must now carry on without them.
Most people deserve more than that.
Charles Harmon deserved much, much more.
You see, Big Charlie was a great man.
If you never met him, count it as a blessing that you missed.
By the world's standards, Charles was not rich.
But this man didn't invest his 64 years on this earth in pursuit of the almighty dollar.
No, Charlie invested his time and his resources in kids.
Mark 10:13-16 describes the heart of Charles Harmon.
"And they were bringing children to him that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them.But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, 'Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.' And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them."
For about eight or nine years, Charles was my neighbor in Faith Village.
God just didn't create better a better husband or father.than this guy.
Janet, Charles II, Robert, Kelly and Robin -- you were so, so lucky to have a man like this at the center of your lives.
Other kids in the old neighborhood looked up to your dad because his love for children could be seen in his eyes and in his smile.
Charlie was really just a big kid himself.
He encouraged every kid he met to be the best at whatever they did.
My stepson Jason had absolutely no talent for football, but he played because Charles kept patting him on the back and telling him he could.
Charles was a great coach -- not because of his vast knowledge of the game -- but because of his vast love for children.
I also served several years with Charles on the board of directors of the Boys and Girls Club Alumni Association.
He unselfishily volunteered for anything that needed to be done -- and included his family in helping him accomplish every task.
The club's Halloween spook house became a great success because of Charles' hard work.
The "moonwalk" was another of his success stories.
Both of these projects -- and others too numerous to mention -- raised thousands of dollars that were spent to make children's lives better.
Charles Harmon loved kids.
He invested his life into making their lives better.
And somewhere in between -- this big guy could play one mean game of Putt-Putt.
Goodbye, big guy.
I was blessed to have known you.
Posted by at 8:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
"Grandpa, tell me a story about God."
June 26, 2006Just about every week my little grandson Nicholas surprises me with something he says.
I know Grandpa is prejudiced, but believe me, the wisdom this 3-year-old boy has will amaze you.
But on Sunday he surprised me and amazed me like never before when he said:
"Grandpa, tell me a story about God."
Now we weren't at Sunday school or some tent revivial at the time. In fact, I don't think this little guy has ever been inside a church in his life. Mom and Dad don't go, and Grandpa hasn't pushed the issue.
I was driving him home.
He was sitting in the backseat and I was singing his favorite song:
"Well, the monkey wrapped his tail around the flagpole
and scratched his elbow with his foot."
When I sing that, Nicholas reaches down and grabs his foot and rubs his elbow on it.
We do that all the time. We do a lot of things together.
But up until Sunday, we had never talked about God.
I knew that his day school had taught him to pray before eating and his mama had bought him a Bible story book. But the closest Grandpa has ever come to telling him a "story about God" was singing a verse of Jesus Loves Me during one of our car rides.
How do you tell a 3-year-old about God?
I did the best I could.
I told him that God made everything, including him and me.
I told him that God was everywhere and knew everything.
Then Nicholas said: "But I can't see him."
"He's invisible," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
I told him that God came to earth once time and was a man, but they killed him.
"Why?" he asked.
I explained that although he is good most of the time, he is sometimes bad. We call that Bad Nicholas.There is a Good Nicholas and a Bad Nicholas.
"There is also a Good Grandpa and a Bad Grandpa because Grandpa is sometimes bad," I told him.
But God was always good. There was only a Good Jesus. No Bad Jesus. And because he was always good, the other people didn't like him and killed him on a cross.
Then I tried to explain that he came out of the grave and lives forever in Heaven so that when we die, we will live forever with him.
"But I can't see him," he said.
I told him that he couldn't see the wind either but he knows it is there because he can see the leaves on a tree blowing and he can feel the wind in his face.
"God is like the wind. You see what he does just by looking around you. And you can feel that he is there."
"OK," he said.
Sometimes "OK" is about as good as it gets.
If Grandpa is the one that God has chosen to tell this special little boy about Him, I glady accept the responsibility. To me, it's an honor.
But mom and dad, I'd sure appreciate a little help.
Posted by at 8:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Rest of the Best
June 22, 2006The deadline for turning in your 2006 Texoma’s Best Ballots is Friday.
So here are my final endorsements in the “Best Stores� category.
Sorry for all the “no opinions,� but I’m not a big shopper.
Best Antique Store. Astonias Antiques and Uniques on Monroe Street
Best Auto Parts Store: Auto Zone on Kemp
Best Boat Store: (no opinion)
Best Bookstore:
New: Books-a-Million
Used: Larry McMurtry’s Booked Up stores in Archer City
Best Bridal Shop: (Stay single)
Best Car Rental: Enterprise
Best Carpet Store: (no opinion)
Best Children’s Clothing Store: JC Penney
Best Children’s Consignment Store: (no opinion)
Best Computer Store: Best Buy
Best Convenience Store: Flying J
Best Discount Store: Wal Mart
Best Driving School: Texas Driving School
Best Eye care Center: Morgan Moore in Burkburnett
Best Fabric Store: (no opinion)
Best Farm and Ranch Store: (ask Joe Brown)
Best Furniture Store: Hamilton Bryan
Best Garden/Nursery Store: Smith’s Gardentown
Best Health Care Store: (no opinion)
Best Home Improvement Store: Lowe’s
Best Jewelry Store: Nacol’s
Best Liquor/Wine Store: Kock’s on Kemp
Best Meat Market: Copeland’s
Best Men’s Clothing: JC Penney
Best Music Store: Sam Gibbs
Best Office Supply: Wilson’s
Best Outlet Store: (no opinion)
Best Pawn Shop: Surles Loans Company
Best Pet Shop: Berend Brothers on Jacksboro Highway
Best Pharmacy: CVS on Jacksboro Highway
Best Place to Buy a Cell Phone: Anywhere the Cells-U-More Kid isn’t
Best Place to Buy Children’s Shoes: Stride Rite in Parker Square
Best Place to Buy Ladies Shoes: SAS at Steve’s Shoes
Best Place to Buy Men’s Shoes: SAS at Steve’s Shoes
Best Place to Buy Lottery Tickets: Allsups in Decatur (my only winning scratch off)
Best Place to Buy a Manufactured Home: (ask Cal Aaron)
Best Place to Buy a Motorcycle: Eddie Hill’s Fun Cycles
Best Place to Buy a New Car: Four Stars in Henrietta
Best Place to Buy a New Truck: Four Stars in Henrietta
Best Place to Buy a Hot Tub: (no opinion)
Best Place to Buy a Portable Steel Building: (why is this even listed?)
Best Place to Buy a Special Gift: “the best jewelry store� -- Nacol’s
Best Place to Buy a Used Car: Cadle Motor Company
Best Place to Buy a Used Truck: Cadle Motor Company
Best Place to Buy a Tuxedo: Don’t tux
Best Rental Store: Don’t rent
Best Sewing Center: Don’t sew
Best Sporting Goods Shop: Big 5
Best Supermarket: United Market Street
Best Tire Store: Discount Tire
Best Toy Store: Toys ‘R Us
Best Vacuum Cleaner Dealer: Oreck
Best Video Rental: Hastings
Best Weight Loss Center: Stay fat
Best Western Wear Store: Cow Lot
Best Women’s Clothing Store: JC Penney
Best Women’s/Men’s Consignment Store: (no opinion)
Posted by at 7:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
What's next -- Brother Bill and Sister Lambchops?
June 21, 2006Having sat through Graham Ball's funeral -- which was longer than "Gone with the Wind" -- I know I will never be an Episcopalian.
In fact, I try to avoid friendships with Episcopalians just knowing that I will never, ever sit through another one of those marathons again.
If there ever was a chance in heaven that I would convert to the E-church, that door was officially closed when they opened it to gay preachers.
I don't care if my barber is gay or my pharmacist is gay or my grocer is gay.
If any of the coaches I have to work ran out of the closet, that would be OK, too.
I don't discriminate against homosexuals.
But there are some people that I do business with that I want to be hetero.
Like urologists, proctologists and preachers.
As a boy going through puberty, I used to sit in church and try to daydream about Brother Bill and his wife having sex.
It was like the thought of your parents doing it -- it just never seemed right.
Not Brother Bill and Sister Carol.
Now I know I would have problems with Brother Bill and Sister Jim.
The Good Book says the more a person is given, the more that is expected of him.
I expect more of my pastor than I do of my bartender.
And although I will never be Episcopalian, I do agree with what Pastor David Nyberg of the Church of the Good Shepherd Episcopal said in our newspaper this morning.
"Why would anyone want to have a gay bishop for his pastor? I don't think that makes good sense."
If the USA doesn't follow the route of Sodom and Gomorrah, there will probably come a time when gay pastors will outnumber straight pastors in this country.
And then the only argument left will be:
Can preachers marry sheep?
Posted by at 7:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
My God, what do we really know?
June 20, 2006I go to a men's Bible study at my church bright and early every Tuesday morning.
To me it is a time of important spiritual male bonding.
Sometimes, our little group of guys gets into some pretty interesting discussions -- like today when the subject of pre-destination popped up.
If God is the creator of everything, then He created Satan.
So God created evil.
Life then becomes a game with God as nothing more than a puppetmaster who rewards his good puppets with mansions on streets of gold for ever and ever and punishes his bad puppets by letting them burn in hell for eternity.
Eternity is a long time, my friends. It's even longer than the last two minutes of an NBA playoff game.
So if God is all-knowing -- and since He is God, you figure he is all-knowing -- then he knows in advance which puppets will go to heaven and which will go to hell.
But look at it this way. Since God can do anything -- and since He is God, you figure he can do anything -- why can't he just choose not to know in advance who goes to heaven and who goes to hell?
Can God create a rock that is so heavy, He can't lift it?
Hmmmmmm!
This morning I told my Bible study leader than it is pure silliness for a bunch of guys in Wichita Falls, Texas, to sit around trying to figure out the mind of the creator of all things.
What makes me -- a Reagan Junior High graduate --an expert on God and God's will?
Heck, I sinned twor or three times before I drank my first coffee this morning.
If you believe in God, you just have faith that He is in control and knows what he is doing.
The Good Book says "God is Love."
Just believe it.
I look at God not a some puppetmaster but like a father.
He gave all of us earthly fathers to help us understand Him.
As a father, I can teach my kids what is right and warn them to avoid things and situations that might hurt them.
However, I can't make them listen or pay attention or obey.
I also can't make them love me.
But there is nothing my son or daughter could ever do to keep me from loving them.
I would die so that they might live.
Right now, that's the best explanation of God that this old ball of dust can come up with.
Posted by at 8:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Mavs have a mulligan; Mickelson doesn't
June 19, 2006Father's Day is supposed to be a "special day" for guys like me.
If so, I wasted one "special day" Sunday.
I spent 9 1/2 hours in front of my TV set watching two historic choke jobs.
Mickelson and the Mavericks.
How depressing were these two moments in sports.
Phil Mickelson is a one par away from winning his first U.S. Open and setting himself for at least a chance at golf's Grand Slam. Heck, even a bogey would have put him in a playoff in which he would be the heavy favorite.
And what does he do?
He turns into me and you.
Instead of hitting an iron into the fairway, knocking the ball somehwere on the green and two-putting for the win, he yanks a driver into the woods, hits a tree on his second shot, bunkers No. 3 and winds up with double bogey.
I gave up six hours of my life to watch this crap?
How depressing!
But it got worse.
Game 5 of the NBA Finals came on less than two hours later, and I sat through the Mavericks' c hoke job.
Josh Howard hadn't missed a free throw all night.
But with the game on the line in overtime, what does Josh Howard do?
He turns into Shaq.
Howard missed two free throws in overtime that most likely would have won it for Dallas.
Then he goes and calls the Mavs' last timeout before Dwayne Wade shoots in his second free throw just to make sure Dallas has move the ball 90 feet in 1.9 seconds for the final shot instead of 45 feet.
The good news for the Mavs is they still have a chance to win a title.
They get a couple of mulligans on their home court this week.
Poor dumb Phil doesn't get a mulligan.
Posted by at 8:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Daddy, I love you!
June 16, 2006They said that the only difference between an alcoholic and a drunk is that the drunks don’t go to meetings.
That officially makes my Daddy a drunk.
He never went to any AA meetings. There was nothing anonymous about him and his alcohol.
He got off work at 4 p.m., so at 4:05 p.m. every day, you could find Daddy and his buddies sitting on their favorite barstools at the Bar-L or Lee’s or Tuck Inn or the Snack Shack or some other popular downtown watering hole.
And for the next eight hours, those old cooks and crooks would drink cheap whiskey from half pint bottles and chase it with draw beer.
Then they would all somehow drive home and pass out -- sometimes in the car, sometimes on the toilet, sometimes on the couch. Once in a blue moon, Daddy made it to bed, always in his clothes, always with a cigarette burning.
As a kid, I never went to sleep at night until I knew that cigarette was out. He would drop it. I would pick it up and rub it out in an ash tray.
There was a time in my life when I hated Daddy for all those nights and other things that made a boy’s life hell.
He ignored me.
He discouraged me.
He embarrassed me.
Sports was my escape. I would spend hours and hours at the sandlot or in the gym. When my team wasn’t practicing, I would find another team to practice with.
Anything was better than going home.
And even at home, I spent my time throwing a rubber ball against the garage and pretending I was Mickey Mantle.
God, why did you give me this Daddy?
Why couldn’t The Mick be my daddy?
I wanted a baseball star for a dad, not some $100-a-week cook.
Daddy was a great cook -- working for places like Bing’s Steak House, Maurice’s Steak House and Lester’s Hickory Inn. But great cooks don’t get their pictures on bubble gum cards.
The work was hard on him. Enduring the heat of those kitchens and standing on his feet eight hours a day.
So when Daddy turned 62, he retired.
Eleven months later -- Nov. 14, 1968 --he was dead.
All retirement did was give him more time to drink.
In 1995, Mickey Mantle called a press conference in Dallas. He apologized for his life.
Mickey Mantle was a drunk.
Drinking had short-circuited his career and then his life.
Mickey died at 63.
All those years I had wanted my Daddy to be Mickey Mantle.
And all of a sudden, I found out that he had been.
Two drunks.
One was just more famous than the other.
Long ago, I forgave my Daddy for what he and his drinking did to me and thanked him for giving me that same love for sports than he always had.
This Father’s Day, I want to add another line to that.
Daddy, I love you.
And I know you always loved me.
We never hugged and said “I love you,� like some fathers and sons -- like I now do with my son and my grandson.
But we always knew, didn’t we?
Today, I want everyone else to know too.
Posted by at 8:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)
Good service is appreciated
June 15, 2006Today I will continue my 2006 “Texoma’s Best� endorsements in the “Best Services� category.
I am very loyal to the companies that I give my endorsements. To those, I know nothing about, I will say nothing about.
Best Air Conditioning/Heating Company: James Lane
Best Apartment Complex: Wellington on the Lake
Best Assisted Living: (hopefully, I will never know)
Best Auto Body Shop: Gilmore’s
Best Auto Detail Shop: Auto Beauty Shop on Monroe Street
Best Auto Glass Tinting: No Opinion
Best Oil Change Facility: Mike’s Lube Shop (2228 Brook)
Best Bank: Chase
Best Barber Shop: Hair Plus on Rhea Road
Best Carpet Cleaner: No opinion
Best Car Wash: All-American
Best Credit Union: Union Square
Best Dance Studio: Reggie Milam’s Dance Etc. (3411 McNiel)
Best Day Care: Seymour Road Day Care Center
Best Dry Cleaners: Comet on Midwestern Parkway
Best Employment Agency: (I have worked here 34 years. How would I know?)
Best Film Developing: Wal-Mart
Best Hair Salon: (Never ask a bald guy)
Best Home Inspection: No opinion
Best Hotel/Motel: Fairfield Inn
Best Industry/Manufacturer: Howmet
Best Insurance Company: State Farm (and Donna Adams)
Best Internet Provider: No opinion
Best Mortage Company: No opinion
Best Paint Company: No opinion
Best Pest Control: Orkin
Best Photography Studio: Photos by Torin (1920-C 10th)
Best Private School; Notre Dame (the Mia vote)
Best Public School: Wichita Falls High (To fame and fortune we will soar, Senior Class of ‘64)
Best Radio Station: The Buzz-106.3 (home of the Friday Morning Sports Buzz with me)
Best Real Estate Company: Ann and Denny Bishop Realtor Group
Best Rehab/Physical Therapy: Breland Health and Fitness
Best Service/Gas Station: Dennis Dearmond’s Service Center (4700 Jacksboro Highway)
Best Spa: No Opinion
Best Tanning Salon: No opinion
Best Television Station: KFDX Channel 3
Best Travel Agency: Parkair Travel
Best Workout Facility: Breland Health and Fitness
Posted by at 7:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
Don't worry -- the big trophy still coming to Big D
June 14, 2006I try to keep my blogs as "sports-free" as possible, but not today.
Not after watching that nightmare of a finish for the Mavericks on Tuesday night.
With 6 1/2 minutes to play, Dallas was enjoying a 13-point lead and apparently coasting to a 3-0 lead over Miami. That's when a great headline idea popped into my head.
I called the guys back at the office and told them:
"3 and Oh!"
My son, who was watching the game with me at my house, grinned and said "3 and Over" might be better.
Then Dwayne Wade rewrote that headline.
I don't want to write about the Heat's big comeback, but I still get sick at my stomach even thinking about it.
This series was over.
OK, it's still over.
The Heat have no chance at winning this thing. They're just not as good as Dallas. It's that plain and simple.
All the Mavs needed to do was win one of three games in Miami.
They should have won the first one, but didn't.
Don't worry. They still have Thursday and Sunday. Just win either one of those and the Heat will have to go back to Dallas and win two games in three days.
That ain't gonna happen.
The NBA championship trophy is coming to Dallas.
All the Heat's comeback win on Tuesday did was delay its arrival.
Posted by at 8:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
"I wouldn't watch soccer if it they were playing the World Cup in my backyard -- and giving away free beer."
June 13, 2006"The World Cup is over."
That's what one friend -- a card-carrying soccer mom -- said to me Monday, just minutes after the United States had a laid a huge goose egg on German soil.
I tried to act like I gave a big rat's patoot.
But she knows me.
She knew how I really felt.
To quote the late great Lewis Grizzard: "I wouldn't watch soccer if it they were playing the World Cup in my backyard -- and giving away free beer."
Now if Grizzard were alive today, even the legalized whoring going on in Germany would not tempt him to watch soccer.
The World Cup was over for me before it ever started.
I don't watch soccer.
I tried to like it -- believe me, but the game is slow and boring.
My son played it in kindergarten and I finally bribed him into quitting.
"Do you want to play soccer or have daddy buy you a basketball goal?"
"Want to go buy a new bike or go to soccer practice?'
I told my daughter if she ever signed up for soccer, I would sell her to Saddam. For once, she minded Daddy.
I have been to two high school games.
I got talked into going to watch MSU bore me in a playoff game a couple of years ago.
I even covered the U.S. women's gold medal-winning game at the 2004 Olympics in Athens.
Sorry, just don't get it.
Maybe it's because I didn't grow up playing soccer.
Oh, we had it in school back then, we just called it "recess."
But soccer really didn't come to the United States until about 25 or 30 years ago.
The divorce rate in the U.S. is partly responsible for the popularity of the game. Single parent soccer moms didn't want their little boys getting knocked down playing football, so a gentler game of soccer was substituted.
Thousands of American kids played soccer, then grew up and watched football.
The non-populartiy of all the pro soccer leagues we have had prove that.
And the U.S. men still suck at soccer.
Look at their 0-8 World Cup record in Europe.
Look at their "one shot on goal" performance in a 3-0 loss to the Czech Republic on Monday.
A 3-0 loss in soccer is like a 48-0 loss in football.
"The World Cup is over?"
It is for most legal Americans.
But for all the illegal border jumpers, that's a whole different story.
Posted by at 8:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Good Old Joe riding the "best" coattails
June 12, 2006I haven’t watched Joe Brown’s morning TV show in 27 years, but I was told that he went on the air Wednesday morning of last week, pimping for some friends and himself to be “Texoma’s Best� in 2006.
It’s a good chance Good Old Joe will win the “best writer� award this year and maybe even the “best TV personality.� And it’s not the early morning campaigning that wins him such high honors. It’s the fact that some of his buddies -- who try and stuff the ballot box -- write him in on their numerous ballots, and he rides in on their coattails.
Joe’s my friend, but not my choice for “Texoma’s Best.�
Today, I will give you my endorsements for the “Best People� category of this year’s “Texoma’s Best.� Read on.
Best Accountant: Bill Lindemann (TRN bean-counter)
Best Apartment Manager: No opinion
Best Attorney: David “40 Percent� Nix (the least of many evils)
Best Auctioneer: G.K. Pieratt
Best Auto Salesperson:
New Cars: Anthony Levell (Patterson’s)
Used Cars: I know a whole lot more bad ones that I know good ones. Avoid buying used cars if you can. If you can’t, Joe Cadle may be your best bet.
Best Auto Mechanic: Mike Maxwell
Best Banker: Elaine Martin (Chase downtown)
Best Barber: Joe Haney (Hair Plus)
Best Bartender: Since Tony left On the Border and moved to Colorado, I really don’t have one
Best Bail Bondsman: Ken Knowles
Best Boss: TRN publisher Darrell Coleman (I’m not stupid, people)
Best Caterer: Stanley’s Barbecue
Best Coach: Kerry Hargrove, Rider baseball
Best Cook: Jenee’ Gholson (like I said, I am not stupid) My wife is the best cook I know.
Best Carpet Cleaner: No opinion
Best Chiropractor: Mark Brown
Best Dentist: Trey Williams (Dental Works)
Best Dog Groomer: Elaine at Berend Brothers
Best Doctor: Lesley Serrano
Best Disc Jockey: Vicki Vox (The Buzz 106.3)
Best Financial Planner: (Are you kidding me? I plan like one day ahead)
Best Florist: Bebb’s
Best Funeral Director: Ray Lunn
Best Golf Instructor: Scott Anderson (River Creek)
Best Hair Stylist: (Have you seen my hair?)
Best Home Builder: Randy Wachsman
Best Insurance Agent: Donna Adams
Best Jewler: Nacol’s
Best Landscaper: Shade Tree Nursery
Best Loan Officer: Marsha Chappell (Union Square)
Best Manicurist: Barbara Eden, the only manicurist I know. (remember when she showed up at Floyd’s Barber Shop in Mayberry?)
Best Massage Therapist: Mike Walker (Breland)
Best Minister: Tim Wheat (Colonial Baptist)
Best Youth Pastor: Ronnie Whitfield (Colonial Baptist)
Best Newspaper Carrier: Jimmie Himmelsbacher
Best Nurse: Stephanie at Dr. Nicholas Kong’s office
Best Plumber: Mr. G.
Best Local Politician: Jerry Lueck (How this guy became mayor of Wichita Falls is the greatest political gaffe since Hooterville elected County Agent Kimbell)
Best Local Writer: If I said “Me,� would that sound too egotistical? Oh, heck, who cares? ME
Best Photographer: Gary Lawson (TRN)
Best Principal: Nat Lunn (Rider)
Best Property Manager: No opinion.
Best Receptionist: Sofia Ngirutang
Best Real Estate Agent: Ann and Denny Bishop
Best Retail Salesperson: Ben Valdez of Green’s Furniture (should be on the City Council)
Best School Teacher: Debi Seitz (Kate Haynes Elementary)
Best Store Manager: Mitchell Veitenheimer (United on Jacksboro Highway)
Best TV Personality: Susan Knowles (Channel 3)
Best Tatoo Artist: Eric at Altered Images
Best Travel Agent: Glen Jennings (Parkair)
Best Veterinarian: Tim Ashley
Best Volunteer: Ronnie Awtry (Make-a-wish; ARC; Oil Bowl)
Posted by at 9:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
B.S.: Baby Stupidity
June 9, 2006
I don’t want to see Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt’s baby pictures.
I don’t care if People Magazine was stupid enough to pay a reported $4.1 million for the rights to show them to me, I could care less what this kid looks like.
They say little Shiloh has her daddy’s blue eyes and her mommy’s puffy lips.
Please!
I’m betting my grandson, Nicholas, would make this little girl look like a cross-eyed monkey.
Heck, yours truly was a cuter baby than this Hollywood love child.
Just look at the photo that runs beside this blog. Yep, that’s little Nicky.
And I’m showing you my baby photo for free.
So I’m not going to hurry out to the nearest newsstand today to buy People Magazine hot off the press.
Heck, I didn’t even hurry out to see my own kids after they were born.
New York Magazine said “Not since Jesus has such a baby been so eagerly anticipated.�
At least the paparazzi will agree.
Since Brad and Angelina rushed off to Nambia for this most blessed birth, those phtographers have been dodging lions, tigers and bears -- Oh, my! -- to try and snap the first pictures of little Shiloh.
Last Saturday night the people at Getty Photo Agency called all possible bidders to its office and let them view baby pictures from 10 p.m. to midnight. All bids had to be in by Sunday morning.
And the winner is --- People Magazine
And it paid a bundle.
Rights were also sold to other magazines in other parts of the world.
Then earlier this week People Magazine and the London-based Hello! Magazine filed suit against two Web sites who published one of the pictures before the magazines made it to the newsstands.
The image was the upcoming cover of Hello, which featured a vertical close-up shot of the sleeping baby with the two parents looking down from above.
The headline said “The biggest exclusive of the year.�
What’s all the big fuss about?
Just because a kid’s mommy and daddy have made a gazillion dollars worth of crappy movies, the whole world wants to see their baby?
Am I the only person on earth who doesn’t give a damn about seeing this kid.
So what if she has blue eyes and big lips?
She looks like a Siamese cat.
Ninety-nine percent of all babies look like Siamese cats.
Both of my kids did.
“Oh my, she looks just like her Mama,� someone will say.
No, she doesn’t. Unless her Mama looks like a Siamese cat.
“Oh my, he has his Daddy’s eyes.�
Only if his Daddy is Siamese cat.
OK, maybe baby Shiloh does have puffy lips?
So she looks like Mick Jagger’s Siamese cat.
What do you tell the parents when their kid is a really ugly baby?
That’s easy.
You lie like a dog.
Posted by at 8:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
A hot date turns kooky, not kinky.
June 8, 2006Your date is a good-looking blonde with long legs and a body that is primo female real estate.
You are sitting in a restaurant, sipping drinks.
Your leg brushes up against hers underneath the table.
She smiles at you with her bedroom eyes.
You think to yourself:
"HELLO WIN COLUMN!'
'HELLO HOLIDAY INN!"
Then she opens her mouth and says:
"Of course liberalism is a religion. It has its own cosmology, its own miracles, its own beliefs in the supernatural, its own churches, its own high priests, its own saints, its own total worldview, and its own explanation of the existence of the universe."
You nod in agreement:
(you may not agree or even care, but you must pretend to. This tall blonde is hot, hot, hot.)
Then she adds:
"By 1973, John Kerry had already accused American soldiers of committing war crimes in Vietnam, thrown someone else's medals to the ground in an anti-war demonstration, and married his first heiress."
You nod again and tell her you are boycotting Heinz ketchup.
The Hispanic waiter comes to take your order. And she says:
"If we're so cruel to minorities, why do they keep coming here? Why aren't they sneaking across the Mexican border to make their way to the Taliban?"
"No Heinz 57 either," you add.
This juicy blonde orders a juicy steak from the "right" side of the menu.
Then she starts talking about 9-11 and four women ("The Witches of East Brunswick:) whose husbands perished in the World Trade Center."
"I 've never seen people enjoying their husbands' deaths so much. It gave them a forum for their stinking liberal viewpoints."
All of a sudden, you have lost your appetite for both that steak and that blonde.
You realize that you are dating Rush Limbaugh in drag.
Ann Coulter is a babe. And sometimes she's funny.
But ragging on 9-11 widows only makes her a kook.
I can handle kinky, but not kooky.
I'm not going to buy Ann Coulter's new book.
But if the girl ever decides to pose for Playboy or Penthouse, I will definitely buy those.
Check Ann out at:
http://images.google.com/images?q=Ann%20Coulter&hl=en&lr=&sa=N&tab=wi
Posted by at 7:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Is the fix on with "Texoma's Best?"
June 7, 2006Can “Texoma’s Best� be fixed?
Duh!
For years, Texas politicians -- including LBJ -- got votes from dead people.
So don’t you think a contest that chooses “best attorney,� “best used car salesman� and “best bail bondsman� just might be a teeny, weeny bit suspicious?
Especially when one person can vote as many times as he wants to.
The newspaper tries to make the contest as fair as possible -- by not accepting photocopies of ballots. (Yes, this also means we sell more papers, but that’s our business.)
We also require 75 percent of each ballot to be completed. If someone wants to take a few days and fill out a few hundred ballots “in ink,� then that person has a real good chance at winning.
Some people win every year because they know how to play the game.
But then there are others who win every year -- like Pat’s Drive In -- because people think they are the best and vote for them.
The only people who gripe about this contest are the losers -- like me.
Today, I will continue to give you more of my “2006 Texoma’s Best endorsements� by finishing out the eats and drinks category and then the entertainment category. Read on.
Best Onion Rings: Pat’s Drive In
Best Oriental Food: Samurai of Tokyo
Best Pizza: Pizza Hut
Best Place for Dinner: The Pelican
Best Place for Lunch: Applebee’s (but I usually end up at Pat’s)
Best Pub/Bar: Iron Horse for pub; Bar-L for a good Texas bar
Best Salad Bar: United Market Street
Best Sandwich: Schlotzsky
Best Seafood: Red Lobster (shows we don’t have much to choose from)
Best Sports Bar: Parkway
Best Steak: Fat McBride’s
Best Take Out: Taste of China
Best Tea Room: Secret Garden Tea room
Best Waiter/Location: James Raub at Ruby Tequila’s
Best Waitress/Location: Toni at Sunrise and Shine Omelet Grill on Jacksboro Highway
Best Wine Selection: Kock’s Liquor
Best All-Around Event: Rider-Coyote football game
Best Arts and Crafts: Hobby Lobby
Best Bingo: Riverside Bingo (I won $500 on G-60 many years ago there)
Best Place to Celebrate a Birthday:
Adult: Jalapeno Tree (sit close to the bar)
Child: Chuck E Cheese (I hope my grandson never reads this)
Best Dance Floor: Outskirts
Best Family Entertainment: Cinemark Theater (hey, I’m almost 60. I am entertained easily)
Best Golf Course: Wichita Falls Country Club
Best Fireworks Stand: Don’t know any but Russell’s Fireworks Kingdom has an ad right below the ballot.
Best Happy Hour: Wednesday night at Ruby Tequila’s
Big High School Band: Rider
Best Local Festival: (Somebody in the Junior League must have got this on the ballot because is there really anything other than Falls Fest?)
Best Local Band: The Advance (OK, I am prejudiced. My son-in-law, Brandon Graham, sings and plays guitar in this band and I am friends of Sean, Will and Bryan)
Best Night Spot: Iron Horse
Big Place for a First Date: Cinemark
Best Place to Gamble: poker room at Comanche Red River Casino
Best Place to Karaoke: Buffalo Wild Wings on Thursday night
Best Public Park: Lucy Park (don’t laugh)
Best Swimming Pool: Castaway Cove
Posted by at 7:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
666? Stand on your head today and it's 999
June 6, 2006Happy 6-6-06!
Some say the world will end today.
Vegas will give you 100,000-to--1 it won’t.
Trouble is, if you take the odds and win, you won’t be around collect your money.
All my life, we’ve had people claiming they know when the end of time will be. They gather up all their belongings and head to the mountains and wait for it to happen.
It never does.
I have always thought if one of these nuts ever got lucky and actually guessed the day the world would end, God would change it just to make him look stupid.
Others claim the Antichrist will be born on 6-6-06.
Doubt that will happen, but you can bet there will be some weirdo parents out there who will name their new baby boy Damien.
Revelations 13:18 reads:
“Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.�
I am not sure exactly what that means, but I know I don’t like 666.
I once bought a used car and had the owner drive a few miles off of it so the odometer would not read 66,600.
But at the same time, if I were in a poker game holding a pair of 6’s and the dealer flopped a third 6, I wouldn’t fold.
So don’t go freaking out on me today.
If 666 really spooks you that much, just stand on your head for 24 hours.
The mark of the beast is not 999.
Will the real Antichrist please stand up!
Sit down Pope Benedict. Every pope has been accused of being the bad guy, and none of you have lived down to it.
Ronald Wilson Reagan had six letters in his three names and won a lot of supporters. But he wasn’t our guy.
George Walker Bush has six letters in his first name and middle name. But Bush is two letters short of making him the Antichrist.
Hold it -- not if you call him George Walker Bush(Jr.).
Then there are those that say www is 666. That one has possibilities.
And finally there’s that “fair and balanced� 24-hour news channel -- Fox.
F is the sixth letter in the alphabet.
O is the 15th. (1 plus 5)
X is the 24th (2 plus 4)
There you have it FOX equals 666.
I always knew there was something strange about that Bill O’Reilly.
Posted by at 8:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
"Texoma's Best?"
June 5, 2006Since I employed by the newspaper, I'm not sure if I get a vote.
But you do.
In fact, you have 211 slots on your "official ballot" for the 2006 edition of "Texoma's Best."
If you don't have a ballot, run to the bird cage or the trash cash and get Pages 6 and 7C of your Sunday paper. If you don't have a ballot, it will run again in this Wednesday's paper. Make sure to get one because in the new few weeks, I will be giving you my "Best" endorsements.
The rules say you have to fill out 75 percent of the ballot. That's 159 bests.
So say if you are like me and not really sure where's the best place to buy a manufactured home, you can skip it.
Is this an advertising driven election?
Well, check out the ballot and decide for yourself.
There are 33 ads on the page.
When is the last time you voted in an election and saw a picture of say David Farabee on the ballot saying "Thanks for making me your state representative?'
Now for the first of my endorsements of the top 25 items on the ballot. Food and drink are the easy ones for me.
Best All-Around Restaurant: Pelican
Best American Food: Marty's Pioneer
Best Bakery: Margie's
Best Barbecue: Branding Iron
Best Beer: Cold Bud Light
Best Imported Beer: Dos Equis
Best Light Beer: (See best beer)
Best Breakfast: Sunrise and Shine Omlette Grill
Best Buffet: China Star
Best catfish: Bill's in Waurika
Best chips and hot sauce: On the Border
Best cup of coffee: Starbucks
Best deli: McCalister's
Best Dessert Selection: Pump Jack Diner pies
Best Doughnuts: (don't know the name, but the little donut shop in Country Club Village next to Comet Cleaners)
Best Fast Food: Long John Silver's
Best French Fries: Pat's Drive In
Best Fried Chicken: Golden Chick on 5th street (Seymour Highway)
Best Frozen Yogurt: Braum's
Best Hamburger: Pat's Drive In
Best Homestyle Cooking: Marty's Pioneer
Best Ice Cream: Braum's
Best Italian Food: Johnny Carino's
Best Margarita: My house (or On the Border)
Best Mexican Food: On the Border
If the world doesn't end on Tuesday (6-6-06), I will have more "best" endorsements on Wednesday. Make sure to get a ballot.
Posted by at 8:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
From ASS to NIRAPATHPONGPORN
June 2, 2006Did you ever wonder why Franklin Delano Roosevelt became FDR -- but George Walker Bush is not GWB, but simply Bush?
You can blame this on us newspaper guys.
Roosevelt's name was just too hard to fit in a headline, so headline writers came up with FDR.
Eisenhower, another long name, was just called Ike.
Kennedy was shortened a bit to JFK. Johnson was LBJ, and his vice president Hubert Humprhey was HHH.
Since 1972, we have not had only one president (Clinton) with more than six letters in his last name.
Are you still awake?
I am waiting for someone named Alfred Samuel Schumaker to be elected president.
Will newspapers dare call him ASS?
He won't be the first ASS to sit in the Oval Office.
What got me to thinking about names is the one I saw in the golf scores last week.
Some chick named Nirapathpongporn shot 66 to take the first-round lead in the LPGA Corning Classic.
N i r a p a t h p o n g p o r n. (Pronounced neer-uh-PATH-pong porn )
That right there is a headline writer's worst nightmare.
I think that 16-letter last name breaks the all-time sports record held by Howard Schnellenberger (15).
I showed the LPGA rookie's nickname to our switchboard operator and she couldn't believe it.
Our switchboard operator is named Sofia Ngirutang.
Heck, that's like Betty Smith compared to Virada Nirapathpongporn.
Posted by at 8:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
I ggot gscrewed gin gthe gspelling gbee.
June 1, 2006Although you probably can't tell it by reading 21st Century Nicky, I used to be a pretty good speller.
No, I never made it to the big dance in Washington, D.C., but I made it to the study hall stage at Reagan Junior High School. In the spring of 1960, I was second place in the Reagan spelling bee.
Some Barbie doll won it.
I remember at the end, when it came down to Nicky vs. Barbie, she tried to distract me by crossing her legs and giving me a small glimpse of adorable flesh.
I sat there trying to go over all the possible hard words in my mind, but what kept popping into my mind would not be found in my little Scripps spelling book.
No, Iwantolickyouallover was not in the book.
Neither was Pleaseletmeseeyourunderwear.
I became so distracted that I missed on a four-letter word.
Now, most teen-age boys are very affluent in four-letter word spellings.
But Barbie won when I spelled "gnat" -- "nat."
Heck, I could have spelled Antidisestablishmentarianism that day, but the little blonde teaser beat me because I missed "gnat."
Why the hell is a "g" in "gnat?"
I mean we don't spell "cat" "gcat."
We don't spell "rat" "grat."
"It's a silent letter," my teacher told me.
I know about silent letters.
I have one in my last name -- the "h" in "Gholson" -- and it has haunted me all my life.
"How do you pronounce your name," I am always asked.
"Just leave out the 'h,' " I always answer.
Why didn't the people who came up with our name leave out the stupid "h?"
Although I was almost a champion speller in my day, I'm not going to watch the spelling bee finals on TV tonight.
Just don't think my old gheart can take such excitement.
P.S.: Thanks to Frances Tate for helping me with the spelling of "Antidisestablishmentarianism" in this blog. I couldn't even get close enough to google it.
Posted by at 8:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
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