Good People To Deal With

 I always have a tendency to fly all over facebook about people and businesses that I feel do me dirty. I figure I should let you folks know when a business does me right as well! 

Yesterday my car lay down and died on me. No warning. Just gave up the ghost and off to glory it went! I was of the mind that it needed a battery, so I went and paid a couple hundred thinking that would fix things... It did not. Then I had it towed to a shop not knowing what to expect. The place was GARCIA AUTOMOTIVE out on highway 34 near cash. They did me right folks. I have had them do work for me before and have always been happy, but I did not not know what kind of price tag I was looking at this time. I was also in a time crunch.  They said they would try to have it fixed by noon today, WHICH THEY DID! They originally quoted me $465 (actually less than I expected but more than I had). I told them I would try to do some figuring and come up with it from somewhere. When I got to the shop to pay, they said they gave me a discount and it was way less than I was expecting! It is purring like a kitten and I am back on the road! 

That is GARCIA AUTOMOTIVE in Cash, Tx folks! Good folks doing good work!

Raise Your Hand If...

 Raise your hand if you feel violated! I can't believe the way we were treated after the weeks and months of hype and promise! "TYSON V PAUL! GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!" Yeah right...  They fed us so much hoowie it ain't even funny. What's worse is we baught it! We went for it hook line and sinker! 

That was the most staged fight I have ever seen in my life! Eight rounds of pure horse manure! Both fighters dancing around the ring seemingly trying to avoid the other guy's punches (what few there were of them!) when in reality they were trying to avoid stepping in a pile of horse crap! I lost all respect for Mike Tyson. I once thought he was a real one. Turns out he sold his soul to the devil for the 20 million dollars Netflix offered. Netflix...dont get me started! 

Fake Jake Paul is a Youtube guy that decided he could get a few million followers if he beats up old men in the boxing ring. Now he has made a living doing that.  For this fight he made 40 million to Tyson's 20. Tyson is 30 years his senior. There must be a law or something in the bible against that somewhere!

Oh well... I gotta go figure out how to get my money back from Netflix. Y'all take care. Call your mamas! I'm out.

Night and Day Difference

 Yesterday was a strange day health wise. I couldn't walk from the living room to the kitchen without feeling like I had just run a 40 yard dash! Completely out of breath and sucking wind like a Hoover vacuum! "Concerning" is an understatement. Today I am almost the polar opposite. I still feel a little light headed, but nothing like yesterday. Night and day difference. I appreciate the concern shown for me on Facebook by friends who posted comments and suggestions. You do not know what that means to me. I still need to follow up with my doctor. Something caused it, and just because it isn't happening today doesn't mean it is gone for good! I need to know what it was and what caused it! I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile... keep those thoughts and prayers going please.

So I went to the ER...

 Yesterday started like any other day. However it soon took a turn. I noticed around noon that my right ankle was really starting to hurt and hurt badly. I had not twisted it. I had not done anything to hurt it. It just started hurting. By about three o'clock it was becoming unbearable, so I took some Tylenol. That helped some. Around five my wife and sons went to help out a friend and I stayed home. By six o'clock I called her and said I am going to the ER. The ankle was swelled up and the pain was killing me. I had also done the stupid thing and looked up the symptoms on the internet and of course found that my problem might kill me. Literally. It turns out my new meds can cause deep vein thrombosis (blood clots). My mother died of DVT 16 years ago so that set the wheels of my mind spinning! 

Question...Have you ever gone to the ER for something? Anything? What did it do once you got there? It went away didn't it?! My ankle pain mysteriously disappeared! The swelling stayed, butthe pain got a hundred times better! The pain in my pocket would not get any better I guarantee you! 

When all was said and done I was diagnosed with severe arthritis in the ankle, so it isn't like it was a phantom pain. It just wasn't a DVT. Thank goodness! (I tend to panic.) I will probably panic again when the bill for the visit comes in.

Out Of The Dark Night

 Today is November 6, 2024. As morning broke today we as a nation awoke to a brighter future. We as a people have emerged from four years of darkness and oppression and today we walk in the glorious light of a new era! "No longer burdened by what has been", you might say!  I stayed awake and on a conference call with my brother and nephew last night until they called the election for Donald J. Trump, and let me tell you it went into the deep night. I opened my eyes this morning and had a smile on my face because America was on it's way to being "great again!" Even though it was early and I had been awake until the end, I am "No ways tired." (To quote Hillary Clinton.) I am alert. I am feeling great. I am once again PROUD to be an AMERICAN! Let's get 'er done!

What Have They Done To Halloween?!

 Halloween is over for another year. Like it matters! Someone screwed up Halloween a while back. Back in the day (Y'all remember "the day" don't you?) we had a real good time on Halloween! Me and my brother would dress up as something or other, usually involving a plastic mask with a rubber band tied to the sides, and off we would go through the neighborhood to collect and extort candy from the nice old ladies! We would rendezvous back at the hideout (our bedroom) and examine our treasure! My favorite loot was Mrs. Arnold's popcorn balls! Trick or Treating was pretty tame back then. We were in the era that preceeded razor blades in apples and needles in candy. I hope those who did that died a slow and painful death, but that's a whole other Jerry Springer.

Candy has changed now, and not for the better. No more of Mrs. Arnold's best. Now days they have crap like "Smarties". Smarties. Tiny, sour pieces of chalk-like trash that I wouldn't give out to the devil's kids! They even have beaded necklaces made of these crappy candies! I wouldn't feed them to the hogs. When we were kids we had real candy! Zero bars, Hershey's chocolate bars, with and without almonds, Three Musketeers, Chic-O-Stiks, and Pixie Stix(giant ones!), and if there was no popcorn balls we went and checked on Mrs. Arnold! 

Smarties?? That's what is wrong with Halloween these days. They figure no creepy people can slip a blade or needle into that mess so they ruin the whole year with the stuff.  

Now days you have teenagers out trick or treating, too.  Listen kids. When you turn 14 it's over for you with the free candy! Time to get a job and buy your own! Let the little ones have their day. You look stupid out running the streets begging for stuff. I hope you get a bag full of Smarties!

Not The Series, But My Little League World

It was the 60's. A long long time ago in an era when kids played until dark...unless they were playing baseball! Then they played under the bright lights! I started in Pee Wee League at the age of seven. My uniform fit about like a banana peel on a pencil, but I had one and I wore it proudly. My team was the Pirates and we took the field in blue and white. We were a rag tag bunch of kids with average at best talent.We weren't so much concerned about winning as we were about competing. We didn't want any participation trophies, just that coveted snow cone or dill pickle the coach bought us after the game. There was also a delicacy of Frito pie made by cutting down the side of the Frito package and pouring the chili and onions straight into the chips! (You had to buy that yourself, but I felt it was too good a memory to leave out!)

We had an older league as well. "Little League" proper. It was reserved for kids 9 through 11. Some of the  kids at that level were beginning to show signs of advanced talent. I remember a few names. My brother Stephen was one who could definitely hold his own with them. Louie Pope and Emmit Locket were two more who made a name for themselves as pitchers. Later on they would be standouts in high school ball. There were the Bell brothers, Dennis and Derwin. One of them was a pitcher who threw smoke and had control. Never knew what became of them. Then there were the two brothers I remember as being the legends of our lesgue. The Lidel brothers, Lane and Mark. Big guys who could play both sides of the ball. Mark was a tall, slender fella who pitched and could hit pretty good as well. But Lane...Lane is the one who remains a legend in my mind. One night the Lidels and the Bells squared off for a game, Tigers vs. Indians, Lane, the younger of the Lidels, came up to bat. He strutted, as was his usual way of walking, up to the plate and took the first pitch for ball one. The next pitch was a strike. Lane was unmoved by the call. It was the third pitch that put him in the history books. I believe Derwin was pitching and was throwing particularly hard that night. He went into his stretch and came home with the pitch. A hard fastball. Lane Lidel attempted to lay down a bunt but instead bunted a home run! No one had ever done that before and in the 55 years since, I have not heard of anyone doing it again! 

I played and was average, so no all stars or anything like that for me. I played until I was 17 and decided money in the pocket and gas in the car was more fun than baseball. I couldn't let the game go alltogether. I played church league softball until I was thirty! My old body has long since turned traitor on me, but I still love the game and can watch one on TV and never complain about the speed of the game. I just love watching...and remembering. Baseball, hot dogs and apple pie (maybe Frito pie!), it all has special meaning to me. 

The Mosquito Truck

 

Many moons ago, when the buffalo roamed the plains and stuff like that, I was a little boy. OK, so I wasn't born in the 1800's, but you get the picture...I'm old. It has been a long time since I was a kid. I can still recall those days, though! We rode our bikes and played around the neighborhood until dark. Life was good.

One memory that stands out quite vividly is that glorious thrill we got as kids when the mosquito man came to our neighborhood to spray God only knows what to ward off those pesky bugs. Grab your bike kids! It's time to ride around completely covered by the fog of spray behind the truck! I hear it's DDT day!! To think that no one went to jail for allowing their kid to do this is amazing given the natureof the Karen's in the world today. Beware! They are everywhere, lurking in the shadows and cracks of the very ground you walk on!

Seriously, though...What were our parents thinking?! We were kids. It wasn't expected of us to think. That's why moms and grandmas carried switches, or at least had access to a tree whereby you might be expected to go cut your own. If we messed up we got a whipping. This was pre-time-out. Mom or grandma would put that switch on your bottom to remind you you messed up and to permanently place in your mind not to do whatever it was you just did. If you did something egregious enough they would stand up and grab you by one arm. That way they could whip you in a circle, thus shortening the distance they might have to travel should you be opposed to the whipping. Grandma usually tired out or became dizzy and you got off easy. Mom on the other hand, not so much. It's a wonder we never got run over by that truck or worse yet, got cancer from the poison spray! Some may have. I don't know. I don't recall anyone among my group succumbing to the effects of the moquito fog.

What has happened to our country? You won't find kids doing the things we did back then. No staying outside all day. No playing in the front yard unsupervised even! Too much meanness in the world. Too many perverts. Too much pure evil period! Now days kids are too busy with Xbox and Roblox and Mine Craft and that mess to play outside anyway! What we need is fewer electronic gadgets and more porches where mom and grandma can sit and rock and visit with the neighbor from down the street while watching kids play. And mosquito trucks...we need more mosquito trucks.

Dumb Stuff I Do...

 

If I had to narrow it down to one thing in my life I have done that was, shall we say, "unenlightened", I do not think I could do it. Dumb stuff seems to follow me wherever I go in life. How many kids do you know who can leave music class headed to home room and took a two month detour by way of a hospital bed? 

Tonight was no exception. I had had lunch at my mother-in-law's house and left headed home. I checked the clock on my car radio and it read 5:30. I figured I would just keep going past my house and go straight to church a few miles down the road. Church starts at 6:00, so I would make it just a few minutes early...no big deal, right? Well... 

I pulled into the parking lot at 5:45 and noticed there were no cars there yet. Not unusual for a Sunday night during NFL season. Most people get there right at six. When six o'clock rolled around and still no one but me on the lot I was puzzled. Where the heck was everyone? I checked my phone and saw the problem. My car clock was an hour ahead! I felt so stupid!! It appears that when I set the minutes back to correct the time this morning, I somehow set the hour up one. Only me man, only me.

If the hour were not so late right now (I double checked and the clock is correct) I suppose I could cite many more examples from my "body of work", but I'm tired and this will have to do. Have a great night everyone!

It Really Happened!

I remember back in high school, we had a baseball coach who was, to me, the epitome of cool. Coach Hopkins. He was the freshman football coach and the baseball guy. In the summer he pitched for the area semi-pro baseball team. He was good, too!He could make the ball dance in the air! However, as is the case with all things, Coach Hopkins grew tired or bored or whatever and decided to go a different direction. He left coaching and became a Texas State Trooper. 

I got this story straight from his wife, so I know it is true. Coach was fresh out of Trooper school and was assigned to an area in Buffalo Texas, about halfway between Dallas and Houston. 

Now for the good part. On his first day on his own Coach stopped a speeding car on I-10. He approached the car unaware of what awaited him inside. He walked up to the driver's side window and leaned down to look inside. That's when he saw what could never be unseen. Two occupants. A man and a woman. Completely nude. Sans clothing. "Butt nekid."  Au Naturale as the French would say. Seems they were on their honeymoon and wanted to "let it all hang out"! Legend has it he let them go with a warning. I guess he pretty much had to, I mean...he couldn't pin anything on them!

Here's to our Troopers, Texas or wherever! I'll bet there are many more even better stories out there!

Adventures In Smokey Mountain Travel.

 

That was fun! Just spent a week in the Great Smokey Mountains and I got the T-shirt to show for it! Well... It's a dirty T-Shirt that I took with me on vacation and it's in the hamper waiting to get washed, but I got a T-Shirt! (It wasn't dirty when I took it with me. Just to be clear.)

I should explain that my brother lives in the Smokies and I spent the week with him and his wife. "Enjoyd the livin' tar out of it!" as the old timers used to say. One hour north of Knoxville on a mountain to be more specific. I can't remember the last time I have enjoyed myself so much while doing a whole lot of nothing! Hauling off scrap metal. Feeding sheep and chickens and dogs. Taking the cow to the vet for AI. Picking up said cow from vet. Changing the battery in an old pick-up. Watching a very skilled man use a large piece of heavy equipment to clear a patch of land. Stuff like that. No trips to see the great sights and sounds of East Tennessee and North Carolina. Just a lot of quality time spent with the old man who used to be young like me and who somewhat looks like me! 

I realize the trip sounds like it would not be all that fun, but I had a blast! Time with family takes on a whole different context as we get older. It wasn't about going to the National Forrest or DollyWood or any of that. It was about time spent with family. This was time well spent!

Listen For His Voice

 When I was dealing with cancer, 14 years ago, I would often lay awake in the wee hours of the morning. One O'clock. Two O'clock. Couldn't sleep. My mind was on fast forward and I couldn't shut it off. Too many "what if's" racing through my head. What if the chemo doesn't work? What if the surgery goes wrong? What if I loose my hair? (OK...That one was already in progress and it wasn't from the medicine!) What if my family has to go on without me?

What if I die?

The "what if's" were a major problem, but I didn't want to tell anyone. I was determined to tough it out on my own. Besides, who could help me anyway?! So I lay there, night after night. I tossed and I turned. I got up and played on my computer. I lay back down and tossed some more. 

Then one night, as the darkness of the room tried to hide all hope, I thought about Job and how he was in distress and how he questioned God. That did not go so well for him, but it got me thinking. Many characters from the bible crossed my mind. Then it hit me...Elijah. God caused a strong wind, then a great fire followed by an earthquake, but He was not in those.Then God spoke to Elijah in a still small voice. God asked Elijah, "What are you doing here?" While I did not hear a voice, I did get the message. What was I doing?! It was not so much what I WAS doing as what I was NOT doing. I was not trusting God. I was not listening for His voice. I was feeling sorry for myself! Then I did something I had needed to do the whole time...I prayed. I turned the whole mess over to God...and I slept. For the first time in a long time, I slept. When I woke up I was determined that I was not going to let the "what if's" get back in my head. 

You know what? My chemo treatments went fine. My surgery went perfectly. God handled the heavy lifting when I finally got out of the way!

It is not easy to turn your situation over to God sometimes. It's hard, actually. But if we stop getting in the way with our worries and listen for that still small voice, we may just find God in the room with us! He may not be in what the doctors have to say. He may not be in what we read on the internet. He may just be in that still small voice we hear in His whisper,"I got this. Get out of the way and let Me handle things." 

Listen? Can you hear it?

Brushes With Fame On The Car Lot

 Celeb sightings part two!

I have mentioned before that I spent about ten years working as a Used Car Salesman. During that time I was privileged to meet many people...some of them famous! You never know who you will stumble into on a car lot. 

In 1998 I was working for a Cadillac dealership near Dallas. We also sold very nice used vehicles and that is where I spent most of my time. However, I would venture down to the main store from time to time, and that was where I met a fella whom I had admired through the magic of television. He was one of my favorite pro football players of all time. Preston Pearson of the World Champion Dallas Cowboys! He wore that number 26 jersey like a king wears a crown! He was "Mr. 3rd down and short" and was the "go to" guy for Roger Staubach for years. Pearson was in our dealership with his press agent who was buying a new Cadillac Escalade. Unfortunately I was not the one selling it. He offered to sign 8X10 photos of himself in action. I took him up on the offer. 

Not long after that incident I found my way to a new dealership. It was located in Terrell, Texas. That is why I happened to meet the next guy. I was in the Ford building for some reason when I looked up and saw a young man I knew looked familiar. I wasn't sure why, but he did. I walked over and apologized for staring at him and asked his name. "Jamie Foxx", he replied. Yes! I said, "You're Ugly Wanda!" He laughed and said he was indeed Ugly Wanda. I should explain for any youngsters reading this that Ugly Wanda was a character on a show called In Living Color on a new network called "The WB." Foxx was at the dealership to buy his mom a new car. A nice Taurus, as I recall. He was rather stand-offish, but not rude.

Shortly after I met Foxx I was working the early shift on the used car side. I watched as a nice Cadillac stopped in front of the building. I walked up and asked if I could help them, but the man said he was there to see the manager. I said, "He isn't here yet." Seems he wanted to put up a poster in our building advertising a night of wrestling nearby. It was then that I realized who the man was. Scandar Akbar! Famous in the wrestling world. I had watched him work for years! Now, here he was in front of me! I told him to leave the poster with me and I would get the approval personally! As he drove away it occurred to me that I hadn't even asked for an autograph! Rats!! 

You never know when that brush with fame will happen, so keep a sharp eye and a Sharpee on you!

Celeb Sightings!

 Over the years (and there have been plenty of those!) I have had the pleasure of either meeting famous people or having "brushes with fame." Either way it was kinda cool. 

While in college in Searcy, Arkansas, I was involved with the campus cable TV news. On a particularly fine morning I recived a call from the faculty sponsor of the station asking me to accompany a group from the station that was going to do a stand up interview with a celebrity who was performing in our area. Many of you will not have a clue who this celeb was, but others will know the name but remember his big one-hit-wonder song. Here's a hint: He married his wife (Miss Vickie) on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Another hint? Okay...He was known for "Tip Toeing" through life. Do you know him? Give up? It was Tiny Tim, the 1960's "Tip Toe Through The Tulips" guy! I went along to photograph the whole trip. It was a blast!

One other occasion I was in Mount Pleasant, Texas, when I brushed with greatness. I had driven my mother to a doctor's visit and grew hungry. Of course there wasn't a vending machine to be found in the building, so I walked across the highway to a convenience store to find sustenance and libation! I ended up with a Coke and a candy bar. Before making my final choices I decided it was a good time to hit the bathroom. So I did. As I reached to open the door it opened from the other side. A tall, well dressed,  older gentleman said, "Excuse me." and was gone. While paying for my selections I asked the guy behind the counter if he had noticed the man I described. He said, "Oh yes! He's a regular!" Then he asked me, "Didn't you recognize him?" I did not. "Who was he?" I asked. Come to find out he was a famous country and western singer. Ray Price to be exact! My butt had sat on the same toilet seat as Ray Price! Holy cats!

Years later I would have yet another opportunity to meet a famous person. I was working for a car dealership in Greenville, Texas. As an incentive to boost sales, the owners had challenged the sales team to sell 300 units in the month of February, If we met this goal we would be treated to a fancy steak dinner in one of the Dallas area's finest restaurants. We did. We were! Morton's Steak House in Addison, Texas, was the scene of our soiree. (That is pronounced Swar-ay in case y'all were wondering.) We even had an after dinner speaker. None other than Mr. Randy White (HOF '94) formerly of the Dallas Cowboys! Before the dinner we were each given a photo op with Mr. White. I spoke with him for about five minutes and moved on. He was one cool dude!

There have been other celeb sightings, but that'll do for now.

Ahhh the fun we little folk garner from being close to greatness...

In The Days Of Noe

 Years ago, in a far away place, in the mystical land of Noe, there lived a car salesman...me. I spent about ten years in that field and loved almost every minute of it! (There were times, though...)

I guess you could say I was a journeyman salesman. I was never satisfied enough to stay at one dealership more than a year or so, so I would "journey" on over to, or back to, a different one. Sometimes I left because I was restless. Sometimes I left  because they asked me to! I think I got "asked to leave" at least twice maybe three times from one dealership! Being fired from a dealership meant nothing if you were good at what you did. You could have a new place to work before you went ten miles down the road. I know because I did it! I worked for and was fired from the same dealership for about 5 of those ten years. Randall Noe Auto Group was a three part conglomerate: Ford, Dodge-Jeep Chrysler, and a separate Used Car Supercenter. I worked out of the Supercenter. I never sold a new vehicle if I could help it. There was no money to be made in new cars unless you sold in volume. I much preferred to sell one used car or truck and make $1000 in the same amount of time. And I did so often! My apologies to any of you to whom I sold a used vehicle, but fat boys gotta eat!

I often made my way up to the Ford store. They were all situated within yards of each other. My good friend "Loop" (Looper) worked there and was also a dang good salesman. One of my best sales was to Loop. It wasn't a car. No no...something even better! You see...I played the lotto numbers back then and one night I matched 5 out of the 6 numbers! Paid me a whopping $675! I, however, had no desire to find and make my way to the lotto headquarters in Dallas to cash the ticket in! I told Loop about my situation and he offered to "help me out" by taking the ticket off my hands for $500 cash. SOLD!

A couple of days later Loop found me and told me he had mde the trip to Dallas and cashed in. He then told me that the lottery commission deducts taxes from anything over a certain amount. It seems I came out pretty sweet on the deal! Sorry Loop! (He probably came out about even on it in actuality.)

I had lots of good times working at the RNAG. If I could stay away from the owner I was completely at peace! I got quite good at spotting him and the GM lurking around the stores in unmarked cars watching for folks loafing. I stayed on the lot watching for customers, so I had nothing to worry about, but the idea of dealing with them just held no appeal to me. 

From time to time the Used Car Director, my man Mayo, would decide we needed to eat a good meal and we would fire up the grill out back around the corner of the building! Everyone pitched in and we bought meat and veggies to grill. Those were some of the best times I remember! Mayo passed a few years ago. I would almost bet you that the bottom line profit there dropped like a rock in a vacuum! He made that place rock! He also made me a ton of commission. It was a great thing to work a deal with Mayo. You were sure to make a large commission! I once made over $2000 on one sale!

RNAG has since sold out to one of those Dallas based chain dealerships. I would not work for them on a dare. I hate the chain stores and their ways of doing business. But my memories of Mayo, Loop, and all things "car-sales" related remain etched in my mind. An old salesman told me the first day I was hired by a dealership, "Son. Make sure this is what you want to do, because it will get in your blood." He was right. If my health would let me I would be selling cars to this day...somewhere. It gets in your blood.

What Did He Say?

 As I mentioned in an earlier post, I attended Kilgore Junior College and was quite well known at the student union building. While I was very satisfied with hustling young men for their money on the pool tables I also took an interest in the action on the dominoe tables. I became far more interested in the language of the game than the matching of dots. I watched. I learned. Then one day I was invited to sit in on a game as the others were one player short. I had been studying the art of the game for awhile and felt pretty comfortable as a participant. To put it mildly, I wowed the regulars. I was one of only two white guys to be seen playing the games with the black players. Competition was tough! 

The thing that intrigued me most was the colorful terms used for calling count when someone scored. Examples would be: "Fido was a biting dog!" Used when some one scored five points. Other terms for five points were "Nick Willie!" "Nick Bouniconti!" and of course "Nic him, don't cut him!" Should a player score ten points you might hear, "Tenderloin beef steak ketsup and gravy!" or, "Tin top roof don't leak when it rains!" Should one be on his game and score fifteen points you were sure to hear "Ella, Della, and Luella!" Another favorite for fifteen was "Three sisters!" (Probably based on Ella and friends.) When someone repeated the person's count that had just scored they would holler "Don't get excited. Just rewrite it!" Twenty, you ask? That would be cause for a loud shout of "Boats!" or "Bow Ties!" Twenty-five? That was "Quarterhorse!" or "Quarter mule!" There were times that folks scored the elusive 30 and 35, but those were usually followed by the phrase "Get up! You don't play good no way!" 

I believe I enjoyed the banter more than the game itself. 

The players themselves were so colorful I couldn't wait to get a game going daily! There was Cuba. Cuba was a light skinned young guy with two gold teeth who loved talking trash. Then there was Himby. Himby was the other white guy allowed to play at the main tables. I credit Himby with the creation of the phrase "tenderloin beefsteak ketsup and gravy." There were so many it is hard to remember them all. One young man who played a pretty mean hand was named Darryl. If I told you Darryl could sing like a bird I'd be understating his talent. The old heads came to play as well. "Preacher" was well...a preacher at a nearby church who played "inspired" you might call it. Then there was Coach Johnny Rossum. He ran the SUB for the college and coached as an assistant on the football team. Johnny Rossum could play some dominoes! 

I still miss those days and the smack talk at the dominoe tables. I miss my frind Johnny Rossum too. He died a few years ago, I heard. I bet he went and organized a game in heaven.

Step Right Up! School's In Session!

 

From August of 1978 until December of 1980 I attended one of those places intended for "higher learning". I was 18 and figured I would continue my education. It seemed better than going to work in the East Texas oil fields. Kilgore Junior College... It had many names: "Harvard On The Highway!" "The University Of Southern Kilgore!" You get the picture. 

At first I was a good student. I went to class and was doing decent, grade wise. Then one day I stumbled upon a magical place right there on campus. I was headed to the campus book store and, as fate would have it, I turned right instead of left. A quick ancent up a flight of stairs and BAM! I had discovered a whole new world! The SUB. Short for Student Union Building. It consisted of a fully functioning snack bar, people playing cards, people playing dominoes, and to my delight...people playing pool! You see, I was a pretty fair hand at pool. I had been playing since I was about five years old and had become quite fond of the game. My dad taught me to play while attending the festivities at a local tavern on a regular basis. Back then noone thought anything of a little kid and his dad being in such an establishment. There were no Karens in those days to call CPS on you. People minded their own business and stayed out of that of other folks. Before long, dad baught us a regulation sized pool table for our house. So you can understand my delight at seeing multiple tables in this new found haven of rest for the weary student.

I watched as young men played, and then I noticed something. Money seemed to be changing hands at the end of the game. I was intrigued. I calmly watched and learned which players played for money. To challenge the table you simply placed a quarter on the rail to signify that you had the winner. We played for an amount determined at the start of the game. It had to be kept "on the down low", as they say, because gambling was expressly discouraged. There were actually signs saying just that hanging above the tables!

My normal fee for "lessons" was $1 payable in cash immediately upon conclusion of the game. No credit. No cards. Cash only. I was in heaven! So many suckers...er...young men in need of a pool lesson. I would soon find myself spending every morning at the SUB handing out grades, usually a "D"...for defeated! I could easily leave with about $50-$60 in my pocket after arriving with only a couple of bucks that morning. So easy. Sooooo easy. Remember, this was 1978 when $50 was worth what today would be about $300! Who needed a job?! 

Then reality set in. My time at the SUB had eaten into my classroom time. My grades were horrible because I rarely went to class. I was making too much money to be bothered. But that all finally caught up to me. I had a 0.84 GPA and was put on academic probation. I dropped out of school and went to work at a machine shop for six bucks an hour. Forty hours a week pulled in about two thirds what I was making having fun in about 20 hours a week. That's life I suppose. 

Here I am forty-four years later and I haven't seriously picked up a stick in all that time.What a waste. Oh, but what a time I had for those two years?! Separating those young men from their money was great fun! Especially those cocky fellas who talked a big game but fell short when it did not translate to their sticks! I sometimes think it would be fun to get back into practice, but the reality is I just don't have the heart to take folk's money in these hard times! Besides... Folks will shoot you these days for taking their money! 

But PT Barnum was right ya know?

Hey! That's My Finger!

 

Yet another incident that happened just minutes before quitting time at the jail. 

There was just 30 minutes left in my day. I was finishing up paperwork from a transport, when a call came over the radio that Greenville PD needed assistance with a combative customer at the back door. Since I was only about fifty feet from there I figured I should respond. Right? Wrong.  I should have let somebody else do it! I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I headed out of the book-in department and approached the area in question. Greenville PD and their substance addled friend came through the door into the holding area. He clearly wasn't interested inbeing a guest at the Hunt County Hilton! The control room opperator, watching on camera, saw that I was there and popped the electronic lock on the inner door for me to enter the area and help. I was just about to slide sideways through the door when the fine, upstanding citizen in question decided to jerk away from the Greenville officer. When he did this he stumbled into the door I was about to go through causing it to slam shut. My left hand was still on the door frame at that time which caused a party I'd just as soon not have been invited to! You see, these doors weigh hundreds of pounds and they slam with an unforgiving force. 

In the heat of the moment I yanked my hand back out of instinct. I did not notice the door was already shut on my finger. I was running on adrenaline and as quickly as the door was reopened I went after the inmate. That's when I had one of those odd feelings that something wasn't right. I looked at my right glove and saw that the tip of the pinky finger part was ripped. I peered inside and...let's just say my first thought was "It ain't ever looked like THAT before! I must have been in shock because all I remember was telling the cops, "He cut my freaking finger off!" It wasn't hurting. It was just mangled.

About that point another transport officer came and saw my hand and all the blood. She grabbed me by the arm and said, "We need to get you to the ER." Off we went! All along the way I kept stopping and showing people my hand and repeating "He cut my freaking finger off!" It was just the end of the finger, but it was MY end of MY finger and I had grown quite attached to it over the years!

The trip to the hospital was "interesting" to say the least. My partner was driving like a 1970's  Meatloaf  song, you know...A Bat Out Of...well you understand I'm sure. I was laughing and telling her I can live without the end of my finger. Don't get us killed!" 

When we arrived the ER folks asked what we were there fore. I just held up my bloody hand and they jumped up and took me to the trauma room. Soon the feeling was coming back to my hand and it was not a good thing! The nice nurses hooked me up to a morphine drip and I was once again feeling no pain! We had a great time taking selfies with my jacked up hand and my morphine bag! I liked my morphine bag! Before long the doctor came in and did his thing. He was actually able to save the end of the finger and reattach it! Once the morphine wore off the pain came back, but I had a perscription for something or other and my wife, who had been called by my partner, took me to the pharmacy where I regaled them with my story while waiting on my meds.

After two or three months of rehab and other such fun I was able to return to work. I did not, however, make it a habit to offer my assistance with combative newcomers to the jail after this incident! 

By the way, the guy who caused this ruckus got 5 years for assault causing serious bodily injury. 

Big City Traffic Fun!

There's nothing more "fun" than driving in a major area, right? Not hardly. During my days with the Sheriff's Department I was often called upon to drive prisoners to big cities. With that lovely duty came big city traffic. Yay... 

I have noticed that people in the city have a particularly interesting way of showing their love to other drivers! Often they wave. Sometimes they don't use all five fingers.

One day I was driving to the courthouse in Dallas and an old lady pulled along side my van and was staring at me. I was afraid she was going to have a wreck not watching the road! I waved at her thinking she was just curious because of the Sheriff;s decal on the side of the van. She waved back...sort of. The old battleaxe flipped us the bird! My partner and I were so blown away by her "gesture" that we couldn't stop laughing! I am surprised we didn't wreck! 

Another transport I did was to a big city down I-35. Now...I-35 has just a tad bit of construction going on. But I was doing my best. All of a sudden I got a call from the Jail Administrator that some clown had called the Chief Deputy and complained that I was driving too slow in the left hand lane. I was doing 80! IN CONSTRUCTION! I could not get into the other lane because traffic was just nuts! The chief threatened to demote me if he got any more calls like that. What a clown. The guy who called in, too! 

Do you have stories like these from your travel?? Drop them in the comments! 

Missed Opportunity

It was a bright Wednesday morning in June of 2008. I had gotten to work early to prepare for the day's activities at the jail. My partner and I were to transport nine prisoners to  a transfer facility in Oklahoma City, four and a half hours away. It was 7:30 in the morning and we were almost ready to leave. My phone rang. Without question the worst call of my life. My mother had passed out and was being rushed by ambulance to a hospital. Ten minutes later she flat lined for the first of three times in the ER. Before I realized it, I was on my way home to prepare for a far different trip than I had thought I would be taking that day. Jellico, Tennessee, was about 15 hours away and I was headed there. 

The whole way there I kept thinking about something that has bothered me ever since: Why did I put off calling? On Monday I had said I was going to call mama...but I didn't. I got busy. On Tuesday I was going to call for sure...but I got busy again and didn't call. I was absolutely going to call mama on Wednesday. During the transport would be a great time to call. But you know how that went. 

Mom died on Saturday morning without ever regaining consciousness. I never got to make that call. I was "too busy". I was too freaking busy. I missed my last opportunity to hear my mama's voice one more time. Now...now I would give anything to hear it one more time, but it is too late. That haunts me. It sometimes consumes my mind until I just have to force it out. 

Do you have a mama? A daddy? A close friend? Anyone? Do you need to stop being "too busy" and call someone who means the world to you? Do it NOW! You never know when "too busy" will pass into "too late". 

I missed my opportunity. Don't miss yours.

The Preacher And The Kid

 

 It all started in 1969. A school accident put a nine year old in the hospital with a broken leg. This broken leg was special...because it was mine!  My femur was snapped in half and it would take some real magic and a whole lot of luck to fix it where it would be right again.  Back then there was no such thing as a titanium rod or a pin or screw to fix broken bones.  We had what was called "traction". A series of ropes and pullies and weights rigged together to keep just enough pull on the leg to allow the bone to knit back together properly. It closely resembled a midevil torture rack! It meant staying in the hospital for nine weeks and doing so entirely on my back! Have you ever tried to keep a nine year old in one spot for nine weeks? You see my point. 

One day, while I was laying there talking to my grandmother, (who was kind enough to sit with me every day), a man stopped by my room. He was a tall, young, nice man. He introduced himself to me and gramma. He said he was the preacher at a local church. We had been to church a few times but mostly out at a small country congregation several miles away. He noticed a checker board on the table and asked if I was up to a game! You bet! ANYTHING to break the monotony. I don't recall who won, but if it was me I am sure he let me win. He said goodbye and was gone, but the next day he was back. More checkers. This continued for a long time. Eventually his visits were timed where my mom and brother would be in my room. He always invited them to come to church when they got the chance. They did and so did I when I finally got out! 

It wasn't a big curch but it was bigger than where we had gone before. All the people were friendly and spoke to mom and my brother and I. That young preacher had three kids of his own and we became friends. That was fifty-five years ago. To this day I love that young preacher and his family. He made a huge difference in my life. He also made a huge difference in the world and had no idea he was doing so. My brother became a missionary and because that young preacher took a few minutes out of his day to play checkers with a broken nine year old kid, there are thousands of Christian converts in many parts of the world. There are also two special angels in heaven I can't wait to rejoin... My Mama and Daddy.

You never know what impact you might have on others just by giving a smile, a kind word, or a minute of your time to listen and make them feel special. 

To this day I am friends with all three of that preacher's kids. The oldest is probably my best friend. Fifty-five years is a long time, but true friendship can make that seem like no time. I can not imagine how different my life would have been had that tall young preacher not stopped in that day. I'm just thankful he did. 

Retirement. A real heart stopper

I decided that 15 plus years was long enough to deal with the dark side of humanity and made my decision to retire on March 2, 2020. The day finally arrived and excitement filled the air! The gang at the jail had put together a special lunch for me and we enjoyed a good time together around noon. By 1:15 I was out of my uniform and had all papers signed and turned in to the proper people. I decided to make my last trip through the secured area of the jail as my path to the parking lot. As I passed through the last set of doors I met an incoming officer with a new prisoner. I was not surprised by who it was. Let's call him "Mike." Mike was a frequent flyer and a mental patient. He also liked to fight. I had dealt with him for 15 years and had had my fill of him and his desire to mix it up with us officers. I just smiled and kept walking, knowing I didn't have to mess with him ever again. I heard he died a couple years after that.

Being retired was great! ...For a week. I am not cut out for sitting around doing nothing, even though that is what I am doing these days. After a week I went looking for a job and found one. I was going back into the auto sales business! I had done this for about ten years prior to joining the Sherrif's Depaartment so it was nothing new to me. However... In fifteen years the auto sales industry had changed dramatically. The dealership I joined didn't even use the tried and proven "Four Square" method! (IYKYK) They used some kinda mess I had never seen or heard of before! They were also heavy on the tech side of things when it came to the sales people. I hated that!

Then one night it happened. I was checking door locks to make sure the inventory was secure when a young man and his wife drove in. It was almost time to lock the gates and go home...of course. Lucky me! So I worked with the customer and we drove about six different trucks. I had his trade in appraised. We sat down and worked numbers like usual. He agreed to the payment and even signed beside the spot where I had written the figures. Time to go to the finance man and get signed up for that new truck! When the customer entered the finance office I took the opportunity to go put away all the trucks he had not chosen. Five minutes later I look up and see him driving off in his old truck. I went in to ask what happened and was met with a lot of anger. When I say "a lot" I mean A LOT! The finance guy, being the horses butt he was, flat lied to me. I then went to the manager's office where the rage continued. At that point let's just say, words were spoken, issues were discussed and the air got dark green!

I was accused of not doing my job. I accused them of being full of mule buscuits. Hey,,,If the finance man is too weak to get the job done that ain't my fault! I'm still not sure why they were mad at me. I was the one who just lost a $500 commission!

I left. Mad. VERY MAD! I drove the twenty minutes home and went straight to the bedroom and laid down. I didn't feel well and just wanted to relax. Thirty minutes later I walked to the living room where my wife was. She took one look at me and said, "Do I need to get you to the ER?" I mentioned that there were two days left until my insurance took effect so that was a no go. I sat down at my desk. Three minutes later she came back into the room and took another look at me. "Put your shoes on. We are going to the ER!",she said. I was not arguing this time. My chest and arm were hurting and I was a little nervous for obvious reasons!

We left and it was very quickly apparent to me that I might not make it the twenty miles to the ER. We detoured to the local fire station. No one was around that I could see, Fortunately the police station was next door and it just happened that two officers were there. It was after hours, so I knocked on the outter door. An officer i knew appeared and immediately said "You don't look good, man! I'm calling AMR!" AMR was the ambulance service and they were also twenty miles away. By this time the fire guys were running across the parking lot. A second officer had called them. They started taking vitals and the like. Turned out my blood pressure was 216 over 165. In case anyone is wondering, that isn't good at all!

The ambulance arrived and they also took my vitals. Same reading. By now I didn't know what to think. What I DID think was not helping. Off we went in a major rush toward The ER. The ride took a total of about ten minutes! We were flying. The AMR guy had given me a shot of some kind and I was feeling better. I mentioned to him that I felt normal now so this was probably an expensive wasted trip. That was when he rocked my world with a comment I was not expecting. "This is not a wasted trip Mr. Meeks. At some point tonight you have either HAD or you are NOW in the middle of a heart attack!" ...Say what, now???

I was admitted to the hospital after a couple hours in the ER. I should mention that this was the beginning of the whole Covid epidemic, so my wife was not allowed to come in or even see me from this point until the ordeal was over. I had also left my cell phone in my wife's car, so I had to communication with my family. The next morning I had a heart cathertization. Lots of damage. Great. Then the doctor said, "They'll be transferring you to Baylor Hospital later today. You will be having a triple bypass."

Holy cats. I never should have let those two at the dealership get me so mad. Too late now. Time passed and I had the proceedure and finally healed enough to go home. I called my best friend Keith to come get me and take me home. He lived just a little ways from the hospital.

I am now nearly five years past this event and unfortunately on disability. If I told you this thing screwed up life as I knew it it would be an understatement. No more working ever. Sounds good don't it?! It isn't. But I am alive and doing pretty good, so that works out. I enjoy most days. That works, too. I write this post to let people know that the old saying is true: Don't sweat the small stuff, and it's ALL small stuff. Nothing is worth getting as upset as I was that night. Nothing. The two who caused it still have no idea I hold them responsible and likely have no clue they even played a part in my almost dying. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

Breaker! Breaker!

 

Citizens band radios. The CB. They were the cell phones of the 70's. You could talk to your friends all over the place with no monthly bill! Just install one under the dash of your car, add an antenae, and BAM! You were on the air! 

CBers had their own language back then. Everyone was your "good buddy" and "10-4" was not fourteen and "3's and 8's" meant "have a great day!" You never said "is ... on air." You said "You got your ears on?" Ahhh the life we lived in the 70's! 

In our family we had several cars and therefore several radios. In addition, I owned a Navaho base station from a mystical place called "Radio Shack" where you could buy all types of radio equipment! Mom ("Cactus Flower") had one in her car, which surprised me to no end, because she never struck me as the type person who would talk on the cb. I believe she had it to keep track of me and my brother ("Card King"). I was known across the airwaves as "Saddle Tramp". I have no idea how I came up with that handle. That's what you called your self on air. Kinda like a vocalized avitar or user name.

We spent our nights breaking 1-9 and checking to see who had their ears on. We talked to each other while the world listened in. There was a group of us in our little town. Red Rider, Green Machine, Baby Blue Eyes. (We were nothing if not "colorful"!) Card King, Little Wet Back, and Little Biscuit Burner, Chocolate Chip... and me. There were many more but time and chance, as it does with all men according to the bible, has happened to me and I cannot recall the rest. 

Later in my life I discovered the joys of the "SSB", the single side band. This was a whole new world for me! I purchased a new ssb from a customer of mine who had "modified" it, shall we say. I installed it in the bobtail delivery truck I drove for a local propane company and suddenly going to work became great fun! I was a kid again! I talked to all 50 states and 8 foreign countries on that radio using the side band. I really enjoyed talking to the guys in Jamaica. There was a taxi driver there who had a big time set-up in his car. I talked to him quite a bit. 

But... as with all good things, the days of me talking on the cb and ssb had to end. It had been a blast. 

Then,,, I discovered HAM radio! 

The story goes on...

Chinese Food To Go...

 

As a member of the Jail Transport Team we could be required to go in a thousand different directions on any given day and there was no saying "no". The jobs had to be done and it was up to us to find a way to make it happen. Since the Judges had never had to deal with what we had to deal with they were not concerned with our scheduling, only that what they wanted happened on their terms and their schedule. 

We had had a particularly hectic month but somehow we made it happen. The Judges were happy (and clueless as to the hoops we jumped through to satisfy them). So...the sargent decided to take us all out to eat lunch at the Chinese buffett! A good time was had by all...for a while, anyway. About an hour after we returned to the jail I got a radio call that the Jail Administrator wanted to see me in his office. No problem. So I thought. 

When I entered the office I was greeted by him, the Sargent, and another officer. Odd, but not unheard of for several people to be there at times. "Have a seat," the Administrator said. I sat down a bit less at ease than I had been before. It seemed that an inmate had filed a grievence on me on some bogus charge that I had "threatened to kill him." They should have known it was a lie because if I threatened to kill him I would not have simply said "I'm going to kill you." Had I threatened his life it would have sounded more like, "I'm about to beat your sorry behind until you bleed profusly from the mouth and nose and your skull is mush!" That was not what he told them. The offender in question had sent the grievence directly to the brand new Chief Deputy, fresh off of retirement from an unrelated job and new to dealing with inmates. Apparently he didn't realize that they were not known for their honesty. 

It went beore the Internal Affairs officer to be checked out. Apparently not wanting to have a problem to deal with the Chief Deputy sided with the inmate and suspended me from Transport for six months minimum. It would be "revisited at that time." Normally I would have just appealed it to the Sherrif  but he was out on medical leave for a few months. I was caught in a bogus situation with no way out for the forseeable future.

I decided to take an unorthodox step. I wrote a letter of appeal to the Sherrif and mailed it to his home address. Time passed with no response. It was about a month and a half later that I was passing the office of the Sherrif and saw him sitting at his desk. I immediately knocked on his door and was invited in. We sat and talked for a few minutes and I finally brought the subject up of my being railroaded. The Sherrif was a huge proponent of loyalty to him and the department. I told him it was time I was shown some loyalty for ten years of dedicated service. 

The Sherrif pointed to the corner of his desk where I saw my personel file. 

"I've already been looking into it for you and I think it was simply an overreaction." Overreaction? That was an understatement! "Give me until I can speak with the Chief Deputy Monday and I'll see what we can do." This was a Thursday and I was going nuts already! I told him I would be waiting for his answer.

Tuesday of the following week I was working the control room when I saw the Admin and the Sargent at the exterior door. I allowed them in and waited. Soon the Sargent came to the control room door with a piece of paper in his hand. I popped the door and let him in. "I got you back in Transport!", he said. "Sign this paper and be back in the office tomorrow!" I was very very happy, to say the least. But from that day on it was a running joke that if someone (especially me!) was in any way out of line someone would say "Y'all don't wanna go eat Chinese food!" I've been retired nearly five years and the joke lives on. 

Whatever, Bobby...

 

It was a fairly normal Friday afternoon at the Hunt County Crossbar Hotel when the phone rang in the Transport department office. Of course it would be almost quitting time when we got the call. The decision had been made to transport a prisoner to the mental facility in Dallas. It was now our job to deal with the inmate... Did I mention it was quitting time on a Friday? 

Bobby was a frequent flyer with us and it came as no real shock, really, that he needed some professional help. He often got off his meds and ended up in our care. So, after counting heads of those still around, I was chosen to assist my Sargent in transporting Bobby on the 60 mile (one way) trip. I should mention that Bobby was really "out there" this time. He was talking quite a bit of trash and threatening staff. 

We cuffed, shackled, and belly-chained our guest and off we went in the Sherrif's van. I was driving so I needed the prisoner to sit and cooperate with us. He was thinking a little differently. He constantly got up and came to the front of the vehicle where a cage wall separated the back of the van from the officer's area. After telling him and warning him he better sit back on the seat and stop getting up, I hit my brakes sending him forward into the cage. I then hit the gas and he was jerked backward toward the afore mentioned seat. No more getting up after that. I might need to add here that the whole trip Bobby had been threatening to "kill" me! Practically every other sentence out of his mouth was "I'm gonna kill you Meeks! I'm gonna kill you!" I simply replied, "Whatever Bobby." Bobby and I normally got along great when he came to jail, but this time he was different. He was far more aggressive. He called my partner in the van every derogatory name he could think of. We quickly grew tired of the bull and decided to speed up the trip. I stood on it, to borrow a term from NASCAR. When I looked down we were doing 95 across the Lake Ray Hubbard bridge! We still had a ways to go before we could unload the lovely and talented Mr. Bobby, so I was glad we were in a marked vehicle. 

When we finally arrived at the mental facility we walked Bobby into the waiting area. Too many people were in the outter area so we made our way into a seperated room. 

The constant barrage of threats continued  with the new addition of "Are ya scared Meeks? Are ya scared?" until I had had enough. I turned to our prisoner and calmly said, "Bobby! You are chained down at the waist and feet! You can not free yourself! I have a gun, a taser, and a rather big partner who you have been insulting since we left Greenville! Why in the name of all thing holy would I be scared of you?!" No real effect on his thinking but I felt better.

Before long the hospital staff arrived and took him from us. I am sure he received a "cocktail shot" within minutes of that. I needed a drink... a strong drink. Coca Cola. Full strength. None of that caffine free crap. I was burned out for the night and it was already three hours after quitting time! 

The trip home was much easier than the trip over. I left the jail and put all the mess behind me. 

Monday came and as I entered the jail I saw Bobby sitting in an observation cell. I walked straight past him without a word. That is until I heard him call my name. I went around to the front of the cell and Bobby calmly appologized for the trouble he had caused and the way he had treated me and my prtner. I was glad to see he was back on his meds. I assured him there were no hard feelings and he sat down and drifted off to wherever it is he would go when he was like this. He was a perfect inmate for the duration. 

I've not seen Bobby since he left. It's been about 10 years. I hope he is OK.

Heads Need To Roll...

That's twice. Twice some left wing whacko has attempted to assassinate former President Donald Trump. Someone please tell me how a crazed gunman gets that close to a man who SHOULD HAVE been surrounded by highly trained secret service officers. Instead, here we are today, once again, talking about a botched attempt on President Trump's life! Who are these people in the secret service detail? Why did they not catch a man who almost assuredly had to walk across an open area carrying a rifle and a scope. Not suspicious at all, right? I say he walked across an open area because he was on a golf course. Not much more than sand traps and water hazards to hide behind. I hear the guy was shooting from a bush. Apparently a secret service agent noticed the barrel of a gun sticking out of the bush. Glad that guy was trained enough to know you ALWAYS keep your head on a swivel. I still can't get over how the guy got to that point, though.

I do not want this blog to be a bunch of political opinion (even though I am a fairly political person). But I had to blow off steam on this one. We still have 6 weeks left of the campaign, so anything is possible. I hope and pray that we do not see more of this type of news, but with the lefties and libs out there it is conceivable.

If I were President Trump I would hire my own protection since the clowns "protecting" him now seem completely inept at the job!

Boys And Girls...

 

I was born way back in the "dark ages," circa 1960. Back when science had settled the question of, "How many sexes/genders are there?" It was determined by people with much larger brains than I had that God, in His infinite widom, had created men and women. "Men and women created He them." No one challenged the science. No one gave it a second thought. There were two and only two.

If there was any question whatsoever it was easily answered by the good folks over at Schwinn Bicycle company. They made a product that was fool proof in determining whether you were a boy or a girl. It was a unique little product called a "bike" and it was absolutely fool proof in the matter. A girl's bike had a low area in front of the seat, whereas a boy's bike had a steel bar about two inches under the seat that extended from the seat to the frame of the afore mentioned apparatus. This bar, in it's genious design, could instantly bring forth the answer of which sex a child was, simply by being where it was designed to be, when a child slipped off the seat and landed astraddle of it! If the child said nothing and had no reaction, the child was a girl. If, however, the child fell face first to the pavement, writhing in agony, with tears streaming from their orbital sockets, they were a boy! Thus life as we knew it strode merrily along toward current times, not knowing that some idiot would someday question the birds and the bees and which one was which! 

Today we have people who want to tell our children that there are hundreds of sexes/genders. They want little boys and girls to question which sex they are. I can not for the life of me understand where these people are coming from! These morons actually believe the nonsense they are teaching and want to teach it in our schools! I say we buy them a boy's bike and let nature take it's course!

Never tackle a naked man...

It was an ordinary day working in the county jail. I was just finishing my paperwork on a project I had done for the Classification department. As I neared the book-in area I heard a bunch of commotion and figured some idiot was acting up. What happened next did not disappoint. 

The book-in area consisted of a caged room where the officers were stationed, two rubber padded cells for violent offenders, two observation rooms, and four holding cells. When I arrived in the area I observed several officers standing in front of an observation cell with an inmate who was clearly uninterested in being with them and what they had to say. Oh right...He was naked, or as we say in Texas..."Nekid". 

It was about this time he broke and ran...my way.

 I figured to sweep his legs out from under him when he reached my position. We then would tackle him and cuff him.  No problem, Right? Wrong. As I dropped to sweep his legs the guy decided it was time to drop me! He was hopped up on drugs so he didn't know his own strength. Well I found out about it! He hit me on the right side of my head full strength. I tell you folks, it was like I got hit with a Louisville Slugger! I went down hard. Later I was sent to the ER for concussion protocol. But back to our story...

Our naked friend continued down the main hall with nowhere to go and a short time left to get there. It was on this hall that two guards intercepted our hero and tackled him full force. By now I had come around a bit and I was hot! The Captain saw me head toward the scene on the hall and ordered a few other guards to keep me away from the guy. Like I said, I was hot! He had seen the guy clock me and decided to intervine and keep me from breaking my foot off in a most unfortunate place!

All's well that ends well, I suppose. Ol' "Naked And Afraid" was cuffed and stuffed back in his cell. He caught an additional charge of assault of a public servant and I got a couple hours pay for sitting in the emergency room. I made a vow that day to never tackle another naked inmate. Too many jokes at my expence and a major headache to show for my troubles. Im going to pretend they are horses and "Let 'em run!"