Jilted on a Lonely Creekbank

I first saw her along the bank of some unnamed tributary digging up mollusks with a flat-bladed screwdriver. I watched her, mesmerized, from behind a screen of willow branches as she bent to her task, grunting contentedly, her breasts swinging bralessly ‘neath a threadbare Metallica T-shirt. Small beads of perspiration dripped steadily off her heavy brow ridges, falling harmlessly to the sand below and evaporating like leaking coolant on hot asphalt.
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I disrobed, and moved quietly toward her through the willows. Her ears twitched as those of a frightened mule deer. Her head turned quickly in my direction. She rose abruptly from her position on squatty, muscular legs, dropping the mollusks but firmly clutching the screwdriver. Her dull, expressionless face framed a pair of yellow eyes that sparkled like Listerine™ in a Dixie Cup™. We stood there, suspended in time, staring at each other for what seemed an eternity. Finally, I offered her some cattail root and grub worms. She disappeared quickly into the bushes, leaving me standing there with a handful of grub worms and a broken heart.

Digestive Problems and Young Love in Small Town Amërïkä

I often have a difficult time evacuating my bowels in mid-January. I say this not in an effort to gain sympathy, but as a matter of stark, digestive reality. I don’t attribute this condition to a lack of dietary fiber. I suspect it is due, in part, to my lifelong affinity for contemporary Latvian Folk Music and government cheese.

Some years back I was involved in a brief, consensual, relationship with an orphaned Holstein calf who we shall call, in the interest of discretion, Rene. Sometimes, even now, my thoughts return to those romantic, Summer nights Rene and I spent together, both of us very young, and very much in love. Drinking fortified wine under the light of a Harvest Moon, the sound of country music carried across the fields from a distant farmhouse radio, and the odor of moist, fermented oats as the contents of her bowels tumbled to the Barn floor with a satisfying thump.

I am down to two beers, so I won’t bore you with further details, but I will render this one small piece of advice:
If you find true love, seize it, without fear, and never let it go.

Laundry Day

If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.......





.......blaaahhhhh!

..........out of the frying pan and into the dreyer.

Chicks in the Kitchen

                                             Despite the lipstick stain on the coffee cup........

                                 
                                    .......she gets the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

Paperback Classic

This one appears to be a work of non-fiction. I'm a bit confused. Does the term Sin Strippers refer to the belief that those who would disrobe on stage to provide entertainment are of poor moral character? Or is a Sin Stripper a modern-day Carrie Nation attempting to strip society of sin through public awareness, axe wielding vandalism and bathing suit tops with mandatory nipple stars?



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If this doesn't make you want to crack open a cold one, nothing will.

Paperback Classic

In my neck of the Backwoods the trailer park bimbos weigh considerably more than the almost tramp pictured here, a bi-product of soft drinks, beer consumption and hours spent watching daytime TV while slamming fried chicken by the bucket. The mannish face is pretty close, the bi-product of inbreeding and heavy cigarette use.


Noted author Gil Brewer had a bestseller with 13 French Street and then went and sold out and wrote Backwoods Teaser. But what the hell, a guy’s gotta’ pay the rent and it’s still pretty good entertainment for two bits.

Paperback Classic

Some people look at the glass as being half-full, others see it as half-stoned.
I guess it depends what's in the glass.

Chick needs to quit crying over spilled wine and find her car keys.

Paperback Classics

American Literature is replete with excellent authors. Steinbeck, Hemmingway and Michener are all brilliant, but they ain't got nothin' on Thomas Stone, Hank Janson and perhaps the finest of them all, the incredible E.B. Stuart. (See Below)

Chicks in the Kitchen

This seemed like a good idea until Debbie slipped and her big toe was horribly mangled in the garbage disposal.

That, and the time she sat on a Veg-O-Matic®.