I’m in pain as I write. I think if you knew the pain I was in, you’d step back and admire me admiringly. You’d be thinking, “What a trooper he is. How does he keep on typing when he is in such pain?”
I’ll answer that. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m hurting right now. It’s my own fault. I chose to put myself in harm’s way. No, I didn’t step in front of a speeding locomotive, or anything quite that drastic. And yet, on an emotional level, that’s exactly what I did.
I chose to watch that stupid ABC special tonight. It’s on right now, showing ways humans could be destroyed. I didn’t see it all, I started watching while they were doing this piece on gamma ray bursts. Ouch.
When they got to the part showing how your intestines would dry up, I was doubled over in pain. I would actually have been in better shape if I’d just gone somewhere and asked someone to kick me in the groin for 30 minutes or so.
Okay, they’ve gone to commercial. I’m beginning to feel a bit better. They’re showing a pizza commercial. I’m getting my appetite back. Whew, that was close.
Now, they’re talking about black holes. I’ve always been afraid of black holes, at least since I first heard about them, back in the seventies. I may have told you before, I’m very susceptible to the power of suggestion. Couple that with the fact that I worry about everything, and you have a very unhappy little TV viewer right now.
When I was a kid, I saw a TV show about deserts. For about two weeks, I’d pray every night when I went to bed that God wouldn’t let a desert come to Virginia. Talk about the power of prayer, eh?
Anyway, now they’re talking about what would happen if a black hole came rushing through the Milky Way. I wish they hadn’t mentioned Milky Way. Now I want chocolate.
The good thing about a black hole is that we’d evidently be given several days warning that we were about to die. Hold on. Did I say “good thing”? The more I look at this graphic representation, knowing that my life was about to be snuffed out doesn’t seem like such a good thing. Some wise guy scientist talks about it being fun at first. He says your body would start stretching. He says that would be a fun way to go. I think this guy must be some idiot they found at the bus station and stuck in front of a camera. I have a feeling that by the end of the show, this so-called scientist will be sitting in a padded room with his arms strapped around him.
They’ve been interviewing Stephen Hawking. Talk about being surprised. I’m sure he is the same guy who does the traffic reports for the state’s highway radio station. I think that’s just a pure waste of such a good mind.
Okay, they just announced that the earth will be struck by a meteorite on April 13, 2036. I plan to spend that day trying to remember my name. Please don’t interrupt me to tell me that I’m about to be destroyed.
Hey, I just realized that this is some sort of countdown...kind of like the top ten ways we could die. That’s just sick. Who’d ever do a countdown like this and not include Casey Kasem.
I’m gonna shut the TV off, grab a candy bar and go to bed. Have a good night.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tharrrrrrrrrr she blows !!!!!!!!!!!!!! Again….. By Becky Robinette Wright
WITH TROPICAL SHOWERS ERNESTO HEADING OUR WAY, WE PRESENT THE FOLLOWING - FROM OUR ONLINE CHESTERFIELD REPORTER BECKY WRIGHT... (CALL IT A PUBLIC SERVICE, AND WE CAN TAKE THIS AS A TAX WRITE OFF)
Batten down the hatches Mother Nature is going to smack us again, I'm thinking about building an underground bunker with access to local pizza parlors and fast food establishments. You know the tubes at the drive through bank lanes? The ones you put money in? Why can't we hide underground away from the storms, and have connecting tunnels to McDonalds, Hardees, Wendys, Burger King and so on? Just put my food in a plastic container, drop it in the tube and whoosh! I’m fed without having to travel out in a raft.
I feel like I’m stuck in a rainy-day version of Groundhog Day. That was an enlightening film starring Bill Murray as a temperamental-high strung news journalist-weatherman who gets stuck repeating the same day over and over and until he gets it right. In the movie, Murray is the only one who remembers this is the same day. He uses this advantage to save a life,learn a lifetime of piano concerts in days, become refined and begin a romance.
Is Virginia deemed to end up as a sponge? Are we turning into a tropical rainforest filled with subdivisions? Those who are pulled to a life of fisherman persuasion must be leaping for joy. Can you imagine opening your front door and a record breaking bass is swimming past your front porch? How would you feel to look out your window and Flipper is smiling back at you?
Think of the money you could save parking your cabin cruiser in your yard instead of at the marina. Do boats get better gas mileage than cars? We could always canoe down Chippenham if our gas gets low.
What about seaweed ? There are markets for that stuff now. Between the fish in our yard lakes, saving money by not having to store boats at the marina, we could make a fortune farming seaweed. Just ponder the possibilities.
The rainfall estimates keep changing as fast as Elizabeth Taylor changes husbands. Two inches, six inches, maybe more? The storm tracking lines keeping swerving like the beam from Luke Skywalker’s light saber.
Just where will the storm ‘s target be? It’s a game of storm roulette; just where will that wheel stop?
On the anniversary dates of Gaston and the heels of Isabel’s anniversary, what can we expect? Add to that the fact that the local fair has started and we should have been planning on the deluge weeks ago.
I just should have bought flippers instead of tennis shoes, but I’ll never learn, Virginia seems destined to become a waterworld.
Batten down the hatches, Chesterfield, thar she blows,again.
#
Batten down the hatches Mother Nature is going to smack us again, I'm thinking about building an underground bunker with access to local pizza parlors and fast food establishments. You know the tubes at the drive through bank lanes? The ones you put money in? Why can't we hide underground away from the storms, and have connecting tunnels to McDonalds, Hardees, Wendys, Burger King and so on? Just put my food in a plastic container, drop it in the tube and whoosh! I’m fed without having to travel out in a raft.
I feel like I’m stuck in a rainy-day version of Groundhog Day. That was an enlightening film starring Bill Murray as a temperamental-high strung news journalist-weatherman who gets stuck repeating the same day over and over and until he gets it right. In the movie, Murray is the only one who remembers this is the same day. He uses this advantage to save a life,learn a lifetime of piano concerts in days, become refined and begin a romance.
Is Virginia deemed to end up as a sponge? Are we turning into a tropical rainforest filled with subdivisions? Those who are pulled to a life of fisherman persuasion must be leaping for joy. Can you imagine opening your front door and a record breaking bass is swimming past your front porch? How would you feel to look out your window and Flipper is smiling back at you?
Think of the money you could save parking your cabin cruiser in your yard instead of at the marina. Do boats get better gas mileage than cars? We could always canoe down Chippenham if our gas gets low.
What about seaweed ? There are markets for that stuff now. Between the fish in our yard lakes, saving money by not having to store boats at the marina, we could make a fortune farming seaweed. Just ponder the possibilities.
The rainfall estimates keep changing as fast as Elizabeth Taylor changes husbands. Two inches, six inches, maybe more? The storm tracking lines keeping swerving like the beam from Luke Skywalker’s light saber.
Just where will the storm ‘s target be? It’s a game of storm roulette; just where will that wheel stop?
On the anniversary dates of Gaston and the heels of Isabel’s anniversary, what can we expect? Add to that the fact that the local fair has started and we should have been planning on the deluge weeks ago.
I just should have bought flippers instead of tennis shoes, but I’ll never learn, Virginia seems destined to become a waterworld.
Batten down the hatches, Chesterfield, thar she blows,again.
#
I See Weird People
I have a great idea for a new blockbuster motion picture. Personally, I think it has “hit” written all over it, but I figure it might be good to run it past you all.
My inspiration came from an experience I had last night...a rather chilling experience, I might add. A friend invited me to join him at a local civic or social club. I’m not really sure what these people are, but to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings, I’ll just call it the Goose Club. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be too interested, but curiosity coupled with the fact that they were having fifty cent hot dog night proved too much a temptation. Off I went.
When I get to the club, and get my guest sticker stuck on me, that’s very important...wearing the sticker at all times, I join my friend at the bar. I take a seat and look around. (Here’s the part where they’ll play some of that really scary-type music, in the movie version of this)
I see the strangest sort of people. If you’ve wondered where all the rednecks have disappeared to, I can tell you. It’s the Goose Club. It’s not that these folks were just a little country-fied, they were strange looking. It was kind of like a cross between Cheers and Deliverance.
My friend pointed out someone else at the bar and told me the guy looked like a caricature of a real person. Except (more scary music), he was a real person. My mind boggled, which can be rather painful. I started to look more closely at the other people at the bar. It’s as if they were all cartoon characters, and grotesque ones at that. I’m serious. The characters in King of the Hill looked more real than did these folks.
It’s as if a Li’l Abner comic strip had come to life. And there they all were...staring at me...me, with the guest sticker. After a rather sudden, and equally brief, panic attack, I calmed down. The music could get softer here. The people seemed friendly enough. One woman seemed particularly friendly to my friend. But, since he’s only in his mid-fifties, and she had to be, oh I’d say, at least twice his age, I don’t think he was especially interested in her.
I was in someone’s home, on business, many years ago. These people lived out on Jeff Davis Highway, in a delightful little trailer. When I went into their living room, I noticed they had two pictures on the wall. The pictures had been, it would seem, torn from a magazine, perhaps, and thumb tacked to the living room wall. There was a picture on each side of the couch. On the left side was Jesus Christ. I recognized him immediately. On the right side of the couch was a picture of Haystack Calhoun. For those who don’t remember Haystack Calhoun, he was a 601 pound wrestler who wore bib overalls, had a wild, wooly beard, and about a handful of teeth left in his mouth.
Last night, I’m thinking that maybe I’m at the Calhoun-family reunion. The only way you could tell the women from the men was the facial hair. The gals had more of it.
I'm thinking of calling my movie “The Hicks Sense.” What do you think?
Now, just so I don’t offend anyone, let me say that the people were very nice, and the bartender, I’ll call him Ed, seemed to realize that he was caring for people who were just a little off-center. I’m thinking that maybe “Ed” is some sort of scientist, maybe even from another planet, who has been sent here to observe earthlings. I’m sure he’ll have some stories to tell when he gets back.
Anyway, I ate me a couple of good fifty cent dogs, wiped the chile and mustard from my face, and told my friend I’d see him later. “Not if I don’t see you first,” he laughed, slapping his knee to add to the hilarity.
I slapped my knee, laughed, and grabbed a toothpick, sticking it in my mouth. As I walked towards the door, I glanced at myself in the mirror. (Horrifying music here). And then it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue. Could it be that I also was one of...Nah. That’s ridiculous.
My inspiration came from an experience I had last night...a rather chilling experience, I might add. A friend invited me to join him at a local civic or social club. I’m not really sure what these people are, but to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings, I’ll just call it the Goose Club. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be too interested, but curiosity coupled with the fact that they were having fifty cent hot dog night proved too much a temptation. Off I went.
When I get to the club, and get my guest sticker stuck on me, that’s very important...wearing the sticker at all times, I join my friend at the bar. I take a seat and look around. (Here’s the part where they’ll play some of that really scary-type music, in the movie version of this)
I see the strangest sort of people. If you’ve wondered where all the rednecks have disappeared to, I can tell you. It’s the Goose Club. It’s not that these folks were just a little country-fied, they were strange looking. It was kind of like a cross between Cheers and Deliverance.
My friend pointed out someone else at the bar and told me the guy looked like a caricature of a real person. Except (more scary music), he was a real person. My mind boggled, which can be rather painful. I started to look more closely at the other people at the bar. It’s as if they were all cartoon characters, and grotesque ones at that. I’m serious. The characters in King of the Hill looked more real than did these folks.
It’s as if a Li’l Abner comic strip had come to life. And there they all were...staring at me...me, with the guest sticker. After a rather sudden, and equally brief, panic attack, I calmed down. The music could get softer here. The people seemed friendly enough. One woman seemed particularly friendly to my friend. But, since he’s only in his mid-fifties, and she had to be, oh I’d say, at least twice his age, I don’t think he was especially interested in her.
I was in someone’s home, on business, many years ago. These people lived out on Jeff Davis Highway, in a delightful little trailer. When I went into their living room, I noticed they had two pictures on the wall. The pictures had been, it would seem, torn from a magazine, perhaps, and thumb tacked to the living room wall. There was a picture on each side of the couch. On the left side was Jesus Christ. I recognized him immediately. On the right side of the couch was a picture of Haystack Calhoun. For those who don’t remember Haystack Calhoun, he was a 601 pound wrestler who wore bib overalls, had a wild, wooly beard, and about a handful of teeth left in his mouth.
Last night, I’m thinking that maybe I’m at the Calhoun-family reunion. The only way you could tell the women from the men was the facial hair. The gals had more of it.
I'm thinking of calling my movie “The Hicks Sense.” What do you think?
Now, just so I don’t offend anyone, let me say that the people were very nice, and the bartender, I’ll call him Ed, seemed to realize that he was caring for people who were just a little off-center. I’m thinking that maybe “Ed” is some sort of scientist, maybe even from another planet, who has been sent here to observe earthlings. I’m sure he’ll have some stories to tell when he gets back.
Anyway, I ate me a couple of good fifty cent dogs, wiped the chile and mustard from my face, and told my friend I’d see him later. “Not if I don’t see you first,” he laughed, slapping his knee to add to the hilarity.
I slapped my knee, laughed, and grabbed a toothpick, sticking it in my mouth. As I walked towards the door, I glanced at myself in the mirror. (Horrifying music here). And then it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue. Could it be that I also was one of...Nah. That’s ridiculous.
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