I'M ON A CRIME SPREE

You gotta hand it to that tellie vision picture box. It'll make you laugh, cry or go downright looney. But that can't hold a candle to this here Internet thingy.

Right now I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Or just surrender to stupid. I jus read that in the Great State of Texas there are some outright boneheaded laws. Here are a few examples. I My put my two cents in bold just so's you won't miss out.

1. The entire Encyclopedia Britannica is banned in Texas because it contains a formula for making beer at home. You can read how to make beer here. Now I reckon I'm an outlaw. So why stop there? Here you can get the entire Encyclopedia Britannica FREE for 30 days.

2. A recently passed anticrime law requires criminals to give their victims 24 hours notice, either orally or in writing, and to explain the nature of the crime to be committed. Oh jeez. I shoulda given notice on item #1 & 2. Now I done went and busted another law.

3. It is illegal to milk another person's cow. So, I drink a little glass most every night and I don't own a cow. I must be an an accomplice.

4. In Houston, it is illegal to sell Limburger cheese on Sunday. So, who the hell wants to be in Houston on Sunday or most any other day of the year? The same goes for eatin that smelly stuff.

5. In LeFors, it is illegal to take more than three swallows of beer while standing. Well, if anyone stuck to that law at the Bar None Bar & Bar-B-Q they'd be laughed outa the joint. Sides, what ya gonna to do if all the bar stools and chairs are filled up? Sit on the floor? I reckon that community must have deep pockets to go out and hire "sipper countin cops" to enforce this outright idjit law.


5. In Mesquite, The "hair is to be clean and well-groomed. Unusual coloring or excessive hairstyles that may include “tails,” “designs,” “puffs,” etc. are prohibited." Okay girls, you gotta hack off them pony "tails". By the way, what the hell are "puffs"? Sadly, I had no idea that the "ducktail" I sported back in high school would lead to this here crime spree. I reckon hair do's and don'ts oughta be heeded.

6. Abilene, Texas, for example, "It is illegal to idle or loiter anyplace within the corporate limits of the city for the purpose of flirting or mashing." Whoa! I can understand why a feller might flirt accidental like while waiting for a bus, or for the light to change, or maybe just to catch his breath. But mashing a woman, stranger or not, I draw the line there.

7. Texarkana, where "Owners of horses may not ride them at night without taillights." Now this here law is way past nuts. I mean, how the hell do you rig up lights on a horses tail?

8. In Dallas County it is illegal to own any realistic looking, phallic shaped, personal massager more than one foot in length. I ain't touching this one.

A final note: I'm waitin for the law to show up and haul me in to the hoosegow. I'm gonna need bail money so go ahead and send me some loot now cause I'll be lookin for a right smart lawyer to get me outa this here crime spree. If only I had warned the law afore I went and wrote this I mighta been within my rights.

Small Town Relations

You know, relations in a small town can get all tangled up and confusin like a pile a coat hangers.

Today at the Bar None Bar & Bar-B-Q Later Billy told me he just found out he was his own father. Well, I knew this town was small I just didn't know it was that small.

Without a knowin it he married his late daddy's ex-wife so now he's his own daddy and his only child. And what inheritance he has left he's gonna lose all over again to his step-momma. And that ain't the half of it.

Turns out she may be his sister too. Later Billy splained to me but was way too drunk and not communicatin good.

But I got to ponderin there on that barstool.

If his momma, I mean his step-momma, wife and sister had a kid he could be the uncle, father and brother to his own child and his wife could be the sister, mother, aunt and grandma.

Then a feller at the end of the bar asked, "Hey, Later Billy, you got any kids yet?"

Well, a hearin that I decided to get me another beer and do some serious ponderin.

You Gotta Love Stupid Too

Is it just me, or are some folks goin kinda weird these days? Like maybe their tinfoil hat is on crooked.

Just the other day I was at the Bar None Bar & Bar-B-Q ponderin a way to get aholt of my drinkin problem -- I got whopped on the elbow of my right arm with the bidness end of a heavy duty fence gate and now I can't hardly raise my hand to my mouth -- when Harmon Hicks plopped down on the stool next to me.

"My tobacca ain't growin. Been nearly a month now and nothins happened."

Well, Mr. Hicks is ever bit as dumb as he looks and twice as lazy so I never figured him to actually work at anything let alone growin tobacco. I was curious.

"So," I asked, "what kind you growin?" I know next to nothin about the topic myself but I had to ask.

"Marlboro Reds. Filter Tip."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Marlboro cigeretts. Ready rolls. Went down to the feed store and bought me some of them little pots for plantin, some high dollar pottin soil and stuck one in each of em. I water them regular like, but nothin."

Well, I thought he was plumb outa his gourd till he held out a picture of his enterprise like he was showin me photos of his grand kids or such as that.

"Hey!" I called R.L. and Later Billy over to participate in this peculiar event. Sometimes you just gotta share.

"Harmon's got a tryin situation and needs our help!"

Well, Harmon repeated what he told me and passed around the photo.

R.L. slapped Harmon on the back sayin, "Dang boy, no wonder this ain't working for you. You got the filter side down. It can't take root."

"Yep," Later Billy chimed in, "and them pot's ain't near big enough. What kinda fertilizer you usin?.

"None. It comes in the pottin soil. The high dollar kind."

"Well that ain't near enough. You need some good cow manure in there too. That'll help em grow faster. And set out a whole pack a them Marlboros nearby so's the plants can see that and know what they're sposed to turn into."

Well, figurin he was well educated on the topic Harmon Hicks hopped offa his bar stool real sudden like and headed to the Sack and Git for another pack of cigs and then over to his makeshift greenhouse.

By then the entire population of the bar had gathered around, some ten in all, to witness stupid in action.

"Is he nuts?" R.L. asked.

"No," Later Billy said, "he's jus practicin."

FROZEN ASSETS

Big Junior was sittin at the Bar None Bar & Bar-B-Q the other day lookin like he had just lost his best hound, his pickup or maybe even his wife.

"What's got you so weepy lookin?" I asked.

That's when he said his assets was frozen at the bank. He seemed mighty peeved so I left him well alone and went on about more important business, moved over a couple of bar stools and ordered another longneck.

Then, yesterday, while I was sittin down by the stock tank fishin for anything what might be interested in a left-over noodle I remembered what the banker feller told me when I tried for a loan.

"Mr. Gravis," he said squintin at my over his tee-niny glasses, "you need some assets to back this up."

Well, at first I thought he was startin in on some kind of off-color joke, or maybe he got wind of that nickname "Gone-butt" what won't stick to me less it's behind my back. I pondered hard and quick.

"Ass sets?" I asked. "They come in pairs?"

The banker feller looked at me like I was as dumb as he was ugly.

"No Mr. Gravis," he replied talkin to me like Molly that kindergarten teacher does to everyone, "I mean, property, like cattle or a tractor."

Anyway, my point here bein, while I was fishin and ponderin frozen assets I got to wonderin why anyone would want to freeze a tractor and exactly where the bank's freezer was what kept Big Junior's twenty or so hogs.

Then it come to me quicker than thought. Why not take take that freezer full of deer meat I got and let the bank hold on to that so's next time I go in for a loan I have assets ready and waitin.

Nagging the Universe

According to them folks who ponder quantum field theory, if universes are parallel they ain't supposed to get tangled up.

Here's how it works: You come to a fork in the road. You gotta choose one, but other is out there too acting just like you chose it instead. So if you ever made a really idiot decision, relax. Somewhere in the universe you're out there enjoying the benefits of a right smart move.

I reckon them physicists have never put their theory to the test. Some time back in San Saba county I was way lost in a tangled mess of dirt roads. I kept choosing the left fork in the road. Before long I worm-holed my way to that other universe where I started out and got unlost.

The parallel universe, having presented me with a second chance kept poking its head through the fabric of time and space, time and again. At least that was my theory and I stuck to it and it paid off. For spell time I kept this to myself cause I could just hear some bright spot reply:

"The universe is not like a husband. You can't nag it to death to make it change its mind."

Well, I suppose the universe never met my live-in boss.

Christmas Lease

I reckon it's that time of year again when we renew our annual Christmas Lease with those Robber Baron credit card companies. Seems like we just get all those dang presents paid off and here we go again.

I don't know about you but I'm gonna make my gifts this year. I've already sharpened my pocket knife to whittle some chopsticks for a couple what love Chinese food. I let Big Junior know I was needing all his leftover beer cans. I'm gonna wrap them up in a black plastic bag with an orange day-glow ribbon I borrowed from the Highway Department and give the whole affair to Harmon Hicks for his beer can collection. I hear tell he says it's gonna be worth big money some day.

And, since it's too cold to Bar-B-Q outdoors I'll be rounding up those left over charcoal briquets and painting them up like Easter Eggs for that banker of mine who didn't have sufficient funds to cover those checks I sent to the credit card folks.

And, for my live-in boss, I'm gonna get around to that Honey-Do list and finally have R.L. haul off that old broke down pick-up what's been sitting on blocks going on five years now. He called just the other day to say he'd give me cash money for it and I sure could use the $25.

And with that loot I'll get a store-bought turkey for Christmas dinner. That one I harvested last year was tough as an old boot. What we couldn't eat -- which was dang near the whole critter -- I passed along to my hound Roy. Being one of your smarter dogs Roy wasted no time in giving the bird a decent burial.

I'm still pondering other ways to get through this Christmas, not spend any loot and give folks something they just might find useful. Still in all, that family heirloom fruitcake what's been passed around for nigh on a generation makes an mighty attractive door stop.

Maybe it would be enough just to give folks a helping hand from time to time. It don't reach into your wallet and you'll be giving folks something they really need. I know for a certainty that Later Billy could use some help on that winter garden he started last year.

The Mongrel Hound Trial

Once we had a law firm here in Lazarus. Blankenship & Blankenship. But he lit out of town for lack of work not long after the Mongrel Hound Trial. Folks in these parts have a way of solving their own problems without dragging in the law. And they certainly didn’t need the services of one man what used his name twice to make is business look bigger.

Seems Little Junior had a garbage eating dog. Every now and again, any trash can within a quarter mile of his place would be overturned and its entire contents dispersed across the landscape. Little Junior was at a loss as to how to control that critter of his, so Miss Cora, the spinster lady, took him into court over his dog’s periodic habit.

Miss Cora hired the firm of Blankenship & Blankship to represent her as the plaintiff against Little Junior and Two Bits the mongrel tick infested hound who had so many breed types in him he looked much like any dog around. All the critters, like most folks in Lazarus, were related in some way so it shouldn’t come as no surprise to learn that Little Junior was Miss Cora’s cousin’s nephew by her first marriage and her uncle twice removed by virtue of her cousin’s short-lived second marriage -- the details of which were so remarkable they are remembered to this day like some epic drama of bygone days belonging to legend.

Anyway, there they were in the courtroom. Miss Cora and her attorney Blankenship & Blankenship at one table, and Little Junior at the other, bib overalls, tie and all. The trial, being about as informal and anything else in town, started and ended pretty quick.

“So,” Judge Lincoln Jackson III said to Little Junior, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Well, Your Honor” he responded using his deepest voice trying to sound all lawyer like, “I would like to call Miss Cora to the stand and have her identify the critter in question.”

“You mean your hound?”

“I ain’t going that far, your Honor. But, with the court’s indulgence, “ he watched a lot of lawyer shows on TV to bone up for this moment. “I would like to introduce a dog for the plaintiff to identify as the critter in question?”

“I object!” Blankenship bolted upright and pointed to the ceiling.

“Oh, hush,” the Judge said.

So Miss Cora takes the stand fusses with her hair and parts of her clothing like there were TV cameras all around. She smiles at the Judge and then turns a cold eye on her adversary.

“Could you let in exhibit A?” Little Junior bellows making a dramatic gesture to the hollow core pressboard door at the back of the courtroom. And in trots a mongrel, tick infested hound being led by Big Junior.

(No one knows how Little Junior and Big Junior came by their names. Seems their daddy named them in the hospital when he was drunk and never could remember why. All he remember was hearing that he had twin boys and his wife only had girl names in mind so she left it up to her drunk of a husband to name them.)

“That’s the one.” Miss Cora shakes her boney old finger at the dog what’s busy licking folks all down the isle toward the bench.

“This dog here? Are you certain to a fraction?” Little Junior asks the courtroom before turning to Miss Cora.

“Yes. That’s the dog that’s tearing up the whole neighborhood.”

“Now Miss Cora, could you be mistaken? Could it be this hound, AKA, -- that means Also Known As, for you folks in the bleachers what may not be up on lawyer lingo -- Exhibit B. Both of these varmits live in the self same neighborhood as the defendant’s dog.”

And in trots another mongrel, tic infested hound looking for all the world like Exhibit A’s twin, being led by some volunteer drunk from the Bar None Bar and Barbeque. Seems Little Junior went just four houses down from his place and borrowed one of Two Bits’ litter mates.

Well, Miss Cora fell plumb apart cause she realized all sudden like that she was out witted by one of the Juniors. Still and all, that weren’t nothing compared to the humiliation felt on the part of the law firm Blankenship & Blankenship.

I reckon the neither Blankenship ever recovered from being outdone in the court room by Big Junior’s older brother Little Junior. It wasn’t long after that he packed up and left town, especially after folks started calling on Little Junior for legal advice.