Archive for fun stuff

Studies Show

romperI’m writing a piece for my blog entitled, “Studies Show”, and I’d like to include a study of my own in the article. Please answer the poll question below with either A, B, C, or D. DO NOT include a comment with your answer and do not add a comment other than your answer. If a comment is included other than A,B,C, or D, the comment will be deleted and counted as D.

Question: Which of the following would likely result in a physical fight?

  1. A white male in his early fifties walks into a bar full of liberals and shouts, “Obama was the worst president EVER!”
  2. A white male in his early fifties walks into a bar full of conservatives and shouts, “Trump is the worst president EVER!”
  3. A white male in his early fifties wearing a romper and his hair done in a man-bun walks into a bar full of bikers and doesn’t say a word.
  4. None of the above

Comments (1)

It Was Bound To Happen!

This is a true story. It happened in the summer of 1998 when Sherry and I lived in Pflugerville. It was a dawning of the ages, I suspect. I hope it brings a smile to your face; it does mine, every time I read it.

The Grouchy Old Man

 Was not long ago this happenin’ happent

On a Saturday as I best recall

Out the window I saw some kids in a tree

And thought, what if they should fall

 

Stepped out the front door and in a gruff tone

Said, you kids get outta that tree

Their eyes got all bugged & they fell like ripe fruit

Then ran off as fast as could be

 

a grouchThey ran down that street lickety split

Like the devil himself had roared

I chuckled and watched ‘em high tailin’

And then thought to myself, oh Lord

 

The wife had come out to check on the fuss

And saw the kids as they fled the scene

She saw the strange grin I had on my face

And said, dear are you being mean

 

Well, alas, my dear, seems I’ve finally done it

She asked, what is that, my sweet

I replied with a sigh, I’ve gone and become

That grouchy old man down the street

 

Copyright © 1998 C. Mashburn

Comments (2)

Do-lang, Do-lang, Do-lang

The eighth grade dance! It was without a doubt an event every young boy awaited with a gut-twisting eager dread.

I grew up in the little town of Buckeye, Arizona, and by the time my pals and I reached the eighth grade we knew we liked girls, but weren’t sure why, or what we should do about it. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (2)

Police! Open Up!

Thankfully, I’ve never heard those words from the other side of my front door. I was, however, visited by an officer of the law yesterday. He rang the bell and waited patiently for me to answer. Then! Four of them pounced on me, cuffed me and dragged me, kicking and screaming, to the van parked at the curb!
I’m kidding!

policemanI am a much too calm and collected person to have screamed and kicked. What were you thinking?

There was only one of them, and he asked me, very politely, to turn around so he could cuff me.

Still kidding!

Okay! I’m making all this up!

Here’s what really happened (honest):

About an hour before the officer arrived at my door, I had answered the bell to find an extremely angry woman on the stoop. She demanded to know if two young boys lived with me, and I assured her that was not the case. Not curtailed by my blank expression of wonder, and quick denial of what she thought to be fact, she proclaimed they had been seen running into my back yard by her son, who they had just robbed.

I calmly informed her that this was not possible in light of the fact both the gates to my back yard are bolted. The thieves would have had to climb the six-foot privacy fence, and seeing how said fence is a bit aged, I don’t think it would’ve withstood a climbing by the alleged (thought I better throw that in) thieves.

Hoping to get this angry woman off my front porch, I had her follow me to the back yard, where we made sure no hoodlums were skulking. The yard was empty, and the gate bolts were in place.

The woman, seemingly satisfied a gang of thieves was not hiding in my yard or elsewhere in the house, stalked off to the neighbor’s house to interrogate them. Her son—he looked to be about twelve but big for his age–followed along behind her, but not  before casting a sidelong glance at me which said, “Help!” Even the glance was filled with timidity. Poor kid; he was probably wishing he hadn’t told his mom somebody had stolen his Ipod from him.

A police officer did show up about an hour later, and he is the real reason I’m writing this. I would like to give him some kudos. Officer Kling of the College Station Police Department was what I hope all officers of the law could be. He was friendly, courteous, respectful, and expressed a sincere concern over the theft that had occurred earlier.

NOTE: I wrote this little story in a humorous vein, but my true intent was to commend this fine young man. If any of you have the means of forwarding this to his superiors, please feel free to do so. Guys (and gals) like Officer Gatlin Kling need to know their efforts, and their professional behavior, are very much appreciated!

Leave a Comment

There It Is!

One Saturday afternoon a few summers ago I was taking a walk around the small lake at the RV park we were staying at and came upon an old boat. It looked as though it had been there for a while; leaning precariously to one side, weeds grown up around it, paint chipped and faded, and the body spider-webbed with cracks.

boys water skiing

We were pretty good skiers, but no, this is not me and Ed. We weren’t THAT good!

As I looked at the boat, Uncle Marvin came grinning into my thoughts; I can still see his big smile. Some of my best childhood memories are of the times he took us to the lake. Those summers and trips to the lake were awesome.

I can still envision me and my cousin, Ed; huddled shoulder-to-shoulder on one side of the back seat, staring intently at the landscape whirring past. We were filled with anticipation, and around every bend in the road we’d search anxiously for that first view of the lake. And then, finally, we’d shout in perfect triumphant harmony, “There it is!”

Yes, that old boat leaning to one side there in the weeds might seem like just an old boat to some who pass by it, but to me it holds a boatload of memories.

Uncle Marvin and Cousin Ed are no longer with us, but the wonderful memories of them and the times we spent together at the lake on those glorious summer days will never leave my mind.

 

Leave a Comment

Three on the Tree?

three on the tree

It’s true, we don’t see many standard transmissions these days (do they even make cars with them anymore?) and so the scene I witnessed this past Saturday morning was quite unusual.

We stopped for gas in one of those little east Texas crossroad “towns”; no more than a gas station/convenience store at a four-way stop sign, with a couple of dilapidated metal buildings next door and across the street. There was an old car—maybe a ‘90s model Mustang, but couldn’t be sure—sitting in the sloped drive facing the road. As I pumped gas into the tank, I wondered why the driver had parked there; kind of in the way. As I was climbing back into the truck, an older local (I could just tell, ah’ight) ambled out of the convenience store with a sack of fried chicken in his hand. He was “big” and I marveled at how he could even fit into the small car. He hit the starter, and the car made one protesting grind then went silent. The driver’s door immediately popped open a leg came out and with one smooth motion the car was propelled down the driveway. It lurched as he popped the clutch and the engine sputtered to life, and he made a right onto the farm road and vanished into a cloud of gray black smoke.

I grinned and in my mind went through a myriad of similar scenes of myself doing much the same thing, many times and many years ago.

 

Leave a Comment

A Little Less Conversation – 2

You look a lot older in person, I said

I wasn’t expecting the gray hair

Or the weathered look

Must be the dry desert air

 

How old you think I am, he said

Giving me one a those lopsided grins

Voice still smooth as ever

Every word spoken like a song

 

old men talkingI thought about it for a bit

Shrugged and said, maybe eighty

He didn’t look that  old

But the math said he might be

 

Damn, son, he said

The grin sliding away

Sad eyes looking at me

Like a hound dog sent to the porch

 

 

Sorry, man, I said

Holding my hands up; surrendering

There just ain’t no accounting

For a fool such as I

 

He laughed and raised his hand

We high-fived; his one-sided grin reappeared

And he said, well that’s all right

Long as you stay offa my blue suede shoes

 

I got up to leave, shook his hand

Told him I was glad he wasn’t dead

He made me promise not to tell where he was

Lot of suspicious minds out there, he said

 

I walked away, looking back one more time

Grinned at the flashing neon sign above him

A big blue moon floated above red letters

HEARTBREAK HOTEL

 

Below, smaller letters read, try the king’s sweets

A picture of a Twinkie was below that

As I slid into my pickup, the old guy mumbled

Thank ya, thankyaverymuch

 

Copyright © 2013 C Mashburn

Leave a Comment

It Takes a Lot of Balls…

… to play golf. Especially if you’ve only played twice in the last 12 months or so, and your last round was six months ago. But, one has to put everything into perspective. Ten years ago, “a lot of balls” (I’m talking about losing them) would have been a dozen or so; yesterday, I lost three. So, as I used to enjoy telling my fellow duffers at Spicewood Beach after they’d hit a bad shot, “Well, you’re gettin’ closer!” In other words, what was a bad day yesterday was really good compared to those days of yore.

Son Bill hit the nail on the head last night, after I described my “horrific return to the links” to him. I told him about all the bad shots—like my drive on hole number five that found an unexpected water hazard. I couldn’t see it from the tee box, but there was a pond in the fairway—left over from Monday’s rain—right where my well hit shot landed. Imagine my surprise when a spray of water erupted when my ball came down. And to top it off, the “pond” was just big enough that I couldn’t retrieve the ball. Anyway, after I finished describing the horrors of the day, I finished with, “At least I managed five pars,” and Bill said, “Five pars! That would be considered an outright miracle for me!”

I guess that proves everything’s relative… pun intended. Speaking of relatives…

dont-count-that

 

Comments (3)

Christmas Memories

Over the rumbling of the old motorcycle’s engine, a scream that sounded just like every little girl’s scream in every horror show I’d ever watched echoed through the forest. Uncle Ned always said they used the same little girl and the same scream in all those shows. He said it was a recording.

After the scream spent itself somewhere deep in the pines, the engine quieted and the old cycle slowed, bumping over ruts and crunching through bits of snow still hiding in the low places of the well-worn tracks of the forest trail.

From the looks of surprise and glee on Paula and our little sister Nell’s faces, I discerned the scream had come from yours truly and tried to hide behind the five-foot spruce that would be our “yard” tree this Christmas. The tree rode with me in the sidecar, and Nell rode on the buddy seat behind Paula.

joy-ride-by-david-uhl

Joy Ride” by DAVID UHL ©2016 #holiday #release #2016 “Joy Ride”#oilpainting#daviduhl #RSVP #uhlstudios #christmas #tree#spirit #original #photo #adamwawrzyniak

Paula twisted the throttle, our rusty steed leapt forward, and we shot up the hill toward

the old farm house. As we bounced and crunched along, sliding this way and that, Paula and Nell howled joyful laughter, and that little girl scream bounced among the tall trees.

It isn’t the only Christmas memory I hold dear, but it’s the best one.

 

Comments (2)

Chill, Baby, Chill!

I’ve seen it many times over the years; on a day—Thanksgiving, for instance—that’s supposed to be fun, exciting, joyous, etc., we get so wrapped up trying to make it perfect, we stress out to the point it’s no longer any of those things. Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a Comment

« Newer Posts · Older Posts »