Is there a draft in here?

Barring an unforeseen boycot drawing steam on NFL draft sponsor Bud Light's Dillys Dilly (or not) upwards of 200,000 NFL fanatics will converge on KC's Union Station for this weekend's NFL draft.

Last year, 600,000 went to Vegas for the event, and in 2019, some 300,000 made their way to Nashville for same. Of course, Vegas has gambling, Nashville has music, and we (KC) have BBQ, so, expect a whole lotta fat guys like me, roaming the streets in the gear of Lions and Jaguars and Bears OH NO!

This year, 17 'can't miss' prospects (and their families) have been invited to sit in The Green Room, steps away from the podium where NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell might call their name once drafted. I say might because even though they're 'can't miss', sometimes all 32 teams pick in the first round Thursday night, they do miss occasionally. Among those past to walk out Thursday night with that hang-dog look: Geno Smith, Johnny Football and Aaron Rodgers. It's completely up to them if they wanna come back for Friday/Saturday, and it's the NFL's call whether they pickup their expenses (or not).

Feel sorry for those snubbed Green Room guys? Don't. First round guys get 4 year contracts for $20 to $40 mil...2nd round $6 to $12 mil; 3rd $6.25 mil; 4th $4.5 to $5.4 mil; 5th $4 mil; 6th just under $4 mil, down thru Mr. Irrelevant who makes $3.925 mil.

What's a 'Mr. Irrelevant'? The title belongs to the very last player selected. Don't feel too sorry for him however either, for in addition to the nice contract, he travels Scot-free to Newport Beach, CA for a weeklong celebration in his honor. Once there, he will get 'The Lowsman Trophy', a spoof on The Heisman Trophy that depicts a football player fumbling the ball.

It's snotnose heaven... they can run a 40, kick a field goal, do the vertical jump, try on actual NFL gear, cardboard cutouts for pics, and even a FB clinic.

Wanna go? It's free but ya gotta download the NFL OnePass app. Wanna sit close? Close to Roger? That'll be $4,200 for a 3-day ticket, but you do get some kinda gift...yippee.

If you do go, no booze, hounds, weapons, glass bottles, laser pointers or drones.

Hungry? Booths from 20 local restaurants will have donuts, steak, gourmet mac and cheese, Thai, Italion sausage, and of course quite a few BBQ options.

Thirsty? I got nuttin, I assume pop, tea and water.

Gotta pee? Depends. I ain't seen anything on # of Ori's.

History? OK. At an owner's meeting in 1936, small market teams expressed their frustration for continued losing (rings a bell), and current player acquisition method. No draft, whoever paid the most, got the player. Sooooooo, somehow they agreed to hold a draft, going in inverse order from win-loss records the previous year.

Worked, kinda sorta...

But, that very first guy taken, Jay Berwanger, couldn't agree to salary terms with the Eagles, so they traded his rights to the Bears, and they got nowhere with him so he became a foam rubber salesman. He does live in NFLdraft infamy for that AND for being the only NFL draft pick ever tackled by a US  President.. 1934, U of Chicago versus Michigan - the tackler, Gerald Ford.

I was gonna tell you some pretty decent players who were not drafted at all, (Tony Romo, Emmitt Thomas, Night Train Lane, Lou Groza, Warren Moon, Kurt Warner, Antonio Gates and Deron Cherry, a free agent punter) and a couple that were drafted but chose baseball (Kirk Gibson and Dave Winfield) and that there are a few fun names expected to be drafted this year (Bumper Pool, Money Hunter and Chris Blewitt, a kicker of all things) and that Tom Brady was the 199th pick in his draft, but names and lists can be boring.

And that one time, band camp, AFL draft day (before the merger, WAY before cell phones), an NFL group labeled "Babysitting Policy", sequestered 27 top college players in a hotel, unkown whereabouts to anyone - so the AFL guys couldn't contact 'em after they drafted 'em.

Whew, quoting Forrest when he ended his run, "I'm pretty tired, I think I'll go home now."

Love, Victurd

I've decided to enter the transfer portal.....

Ahm, Victor. College took you six years the first time. You will be facing questions like Joe is gonna..."Ya sure you're gonna be here that long?"

Bite me question asker.... run along now.. I've cheesy fries to eat... Snapchats to snap back at... Netflix to binge until August 'when I report'... and besides, I can't hear Ariana's 'No Tears Left To Cry' with all your babbling... OK Victor, but you're gonna get all that gooey cheese crap on your new Thrasher hoodie.. GO! NOW!

Victor? Yes, damnit? Are you like mad at Liberty? I can't fathom you still playing a sport - but did they like change coaches on you? Not enough playing time? LOL! (Sorry!... kinda!)

Jane, you ignorant slut.. didn't you read my Twitter?  

"I've decided to enter the transfer portal.  I'd like to thank my coaches, (background giggles) especially the ones who always brought beer coolers to the Sunday night softball league for the past 40 years... the 5 or 6 fans who always came.... the 3 blog readers here.. Please, don't let all these purple spots foolya, I bleed Liberty Bluejay blue, always have, always will. I'm tired. Tired of being old. Blessed I know, but time to roll on. I'm thinking about a college near a beach...and I know I'll have to face my disgust for sand in my buttcrack head on, but oh well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. #hashbrown, hashish, hashtag, however they say it."

First thing I'm gonna do is grow the FRONT of my hair out, it's 'the thing' now. I know I'm blessed to still have a pretty good growth of hair, and I thank dad for that, as 'baldness skips a generation.' If I grow the front out I can hide a lotta wrinkles. I'll get me a backpack, no idea what I'll put in it, buy me some 'Chucks', seems to be the thing again.

Where will you go? What will you study? HOW will you pay?

One question at a time there Clark, I thought you were a 'mild mannered reporter'.... I've narrowed the list to two:

University of California, San Diego. North Campus, near La Jolla. Gonna try to get me some NIL money from interning at Torrey Pines (I have clubhouse attendant experience)... 'Tween studies I'll hangout at Black's Beach, it's where the UCSD surf team goes, oh, and coeds go watch them. I understand there is a nude beach there but I would NEVER....(Lightbulb: Binoculars, that's what I'll put in my backpack.) I wonder if they have a Sigma Nu chapter there?

Or................

University of the Virgin Islands, St. Thomas campus. Unlike Johnny Cash (he's been everywhere: Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana, Wasington, Houton, Kingston, Texarkana, Monterey, Faraday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa, Glen Rock, Black Rock,  Little Rock,Grand Lake, Devils Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete's sake... and prolly St. Thomas too..) Unlike Johnny, I ain't. Oh, I've been to Claycomo, Pleasant Valley, Eureka Springs once, and Branson when I was a kid, but...I HAVE BEEN TO ST. THOMAS, and it's breathtaking... Snorkle (another idea for backpack.)

Gotta hand it to you Victor, great choices. Thanks. What will you study?  Well, I've butchered English since that very first word in 1954 (dad-da insteada daddy), so that.

And how will you pay? Well, even though I lean to being a Democrat, I don't agree with those who lean for that forgiveness crap.  I'd take out a 30 year note... then they could just mail me the bill...But? But, how will they find you?

To everything urn, urn, urn..there is a season urn, urn, urn, And a time to every purpose under Heaven (I hope, someday)

Bye. Gotta go study me some texting abbreviations, Google "what is Blu-ray?".. then, run to the Thrift Stores and gitme some Tie-Dye shirts and baggy pants. Chicks dig 'em,

Here I come sandy beach! (Boom. A bidet, that'd fit in my backpack wouldn't it?)

Love, Victurd

And with the #6 pick.......

Sammy loved him some women... He was deft of verse.. handsome... funny... With those tools in his pocket he scanned the restaurant, and across the way ooh la la, there she sat with a couple of her friends ... His eyes caught hers, smiles incurred.. so, of course, there he goes....

"Hi folks," he said to all, but eyes on one... "My name is Sammy," as he then looked around to all.. then, refocused on her. "Ma'am, I gotta tell you...you look just like my 6th wife." "GOOD LORD, MAN...how many times have you been married?"...... "Five."

I love me some love, and while I'm personally in the "Table for one please" mode, I find the relationships of others, fascinating.. 

Fitty-two years, started dating in High School...  

Us? Well, my sister moved to KC 30 years ago, I came to visit, she set me up with a friend of hers, we hit off...back to Virginia to finish college, a year later "I do" and I did KC too!

My own folks. Met in school. Eloped. It was the tail end of the Depression, no one had buckaroos... Along for the ride, and to serve as Best Man, Maid of Honor, aka witnesses, mom's cousin and hubby, great great friends. Back to Depression, money tight...ONE motel room, turned into 'two' with a rope hung lengthwise between the beds to divide, blankets hung over the rope.

"More than Carter has little liver pills" (I'd always heard this too, but I had to Wiki to learn these were marketed heavily up until the 60's to cure a variety of woes.) I don't remember the ads but I'm sure I musta seen a commercial during Jack LaLane, or perhaps Guiding Light...

Anyways, we all know some really cool stories. More stories than Carter has pills. He was my boss. SHE was my boss. We started kindergarden together in the 50's, never dated in school, both had longterm marriages go awry and whaddayaknow, we've been together four years now.

I'd gotten groceries at WallyWorld, and as I go to load 'em in the car and lo and behold there's some dude loading his groceries in my car. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Ahm, putting my groceries in my car to take them home. THIS IS MY CAR. Nuh uh. UH HUH, and with that I clicked my fob thingy to honk the horn. OMG, I'm so sorry, my car is exactly like yours, And it was, and it was parked right next to mine. We started talking, joking. He was cute. Very. Finally he said "OK, I'll get my groceries out, but only if you let me use them to make you dinner? That was seven years ago, and as Paul Harvey would say...well, you know.

On a rollercoaster at an amusement park - we both were in parties of three and were the odd ones out so we got seated together.

Cancun, at a swim up bar. Hit it off. Me, Missouri, he, a truck driver from Ohio. He sold his house, bought a motor home, moved here, and few months later eventually moved in with me.

Laundromat. We met in a YouTube comment fight.  At a Halloween costume parade/party for dogs. Craigslist, seriously. I managed a fast food joint, he delivered the bread.

Of all places, at a bar.

My then boyfriend introduced us at a gas station. Neighbors. (Victor, you could be a real smartass with your punctuation. Huh? Yeah, you know, like "Can I have a little, sugar?" Nah, that's dumb, might offend someone.) At a hostel in Thailand, he's from England, I'm American.

And all that's involved. Smooches. Passing pats on derrieres.Long drives, walks, movies. Arguments, long nights in the extra bedroom. Ahm, making up. Flat tires, flat beers, expired food in the fridge tossed, yummy lasagna made with each alternating a layer. A text, note, surprise gift left in the car for the other. Inlaws, best friends, block parties, whointhehell is that at our ring doorbell?

Kids. Oh boy, girl does that change things, but, that's maybe a blog for another day.

Relationships are yummy, for sure at least at some point. I commend all relationships and every single one is unique, like yours.

Time to go. Laundy. Apartment here, no washer or dryer here. Not a fan of going to the laundromat, then again, I guess ya never know. 

Sock it to me,

Love, Victurd

I get it..kinda... sorta... maybe... I think...

Twenty-four 8th grade girl's basketball player's eyeballs. Probably twenty-four minutes into a 'pick-and-roll' drill. I study them eyeballs wishing they could talk, and, they kinda sorta do. We'd progressed from walking (with verbal instruction), to jogging, minimal coaching input, to full out running... "Nice pick!" to.. "OH YEAH BABY" ('cept, didn't say BABY, I could get fired for that, and I understand that.)

Anyways, their feet, dribbling, pivots, picks, passes, no thinking, just doing, were in effect telling me "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the Plain", BY GEORGE SHE'S GOT IT, I THINK THEY'VE GOT IT!" I was all kindsa back-patting myself, imagining Coach of The Year nominations....

Then...

Then, Tammy raised her hand. "Yes Tammy?"... "Coach, are we talking about offense or defense?"

Such, is life, understanding.

You need a new pair of pups so you walk in Foot Locker. (You might anyways, I'd prolly hit up a Thrift Store for a $3 almost new pair.) Size 11, wide. Ya see aisles and aisles, maybe 65% women's, 35% men's. Why is that, Imelda? 

Today's blog idea is about 'Understanding.'  Holy mackerel, we might as well start male/female.. Remember that post that showed a book with a kajillion pages entitled "How to understand women"? For every 'tort' there is an equal and opposite retort and they/she would probably say "It's very easy to understand the male."

I understand that too.

Back to Foot Locker. After seven total minutes, six aisles, getting a neck crick looking high and low, I've eyeballed size 11, wide.

WHAT?  Not everyone's like me? There's six aisles (shoes on each side), nine up and down shelves on each side. That's one helluva lot to even attempt to "see the view from my shoes." 

Of course I am perfect. Relax, I jest. I was being fahsee... fasee.. faceet..faceat..faceti.. kidding. But too.. somewhere along the way (Yogi Berra said "When you come to the fork in the road, take it") somewhere along the way we run into someone extolling "I am right, always. There is only my school of thought, size 11, wide." Yes, I'm old, but at least 8 tracks had eight, not just one.

Sadly, I ain't kidding. Why God gave ears to 'em (I am always right, don't even try, I won't listen) I'll never know.

Thank goodness for the goodness of teachers, parents, siblings, aunt, uncles, friends, bosses, coworkers, shoe salesmen (You're welcome Al) who say things like "yeah but what about.....", or "What if this...happened", or, "Playing devil's advocate for a moment....." AND, LISTENERS, who may or may not agree, but at least, LISTEN.

God bless the USA (for many)...as well as Bless the USA (for many.)

I can just hear Harry Reasoner say, "let's always stay open to reason."

There's a whole lot in life I don't understand. High heels, Crocs, Cowboy boots, Platform, Roller, Cleats, Pointed toe, Peep-toes, Lotus?, Wooden, Flamenco, Cantabrian Albarcas, huh?

If we are right 100% of the time, sure, it would be the thrill of victory.. but it takes two to tango, Fred and Ginger, George and Gracie, Al an Peg, Siegfried and Roy, Barney and Fred..Barney and Andy, 'Ain't' Bea and Ope... Spongebob and Patrick, .rich man, poor man.. all religions, or not... Donkeys and Elephants, Elephants and Donkeys.. Yin, yang. Otherwise, there'd only be agony of defeet.

As always, please know I have no intention of preaching.

I am human, hear me snore, get mad, blurt, hurt, have been thru rage on the road, tears of sorrow, wrong about things, lost, found, much.

We will never understand it all. We WILL error, others will too.

I just wish we, the size 11 wide wearing dead guy's shoes, and the brand spankin new pair'a Cantabrian Albarcas, would, could get along - whether we agree, agree to disagree, understand one another, or not.

Love, Victurd

A walk in the park...

 Tail wag.... approach from behind... buttsniff.... "Hi, I'm Charley."

(Editor's note... Why do dogs sniff each other's butts? "When one dog greets another with a nose in the derriere, (they're) basically getting a brief biography of (their) new friend, written in scent molecules and pheromones," according to an article by Mental Floss. Two pouches — known as anal sacs — produce these scents, which provide information to other dogs about everything from your pet's health and reproductive status, happiness, gender, owner and diet, the article said.)

Charley gets a reciprocal sniff... 'Sup Charley, I'm Rosy. Do you get to come here (the dog park) often? Are you firing on me Rosy? That's like what a human might say?  Ohh, no, nooo.. I was just making Chihuahua-talk..I can tell you're 'High rent', me, I live in a 2nd floor apartment, I rarely get to come here, you?

Well, yes, I do have a big-ass fenced backyard, but don't assume money makes life Gravy Train Rosy. Oh I can run and run in my backyard...there's lab named Susie that lives next door, but (or butt, pun intended) a wooden fence separates us, thus, no buttsniffing. I hearya Charley. There is a Rot that lives on the 3rd, butt we only see each other in passing.. I don't think he's had much education though, in fact, every time he sees me he slobbers horribly, and worse, he sticks his little dinger out. Wow, that is crude Rosy.

You know what I find goofy Rosy? Dogmatch.com (coming here to the dog park), is sooooo easy compared to what my master Vinny goes thru. Yeah, how's that? Well, he's divorced. He's got tons of money so it should be easy for him, meeting chicks, but it's arduous. He spends all kindsa money on dating sites like OKCupid, eharmony, Tinder, then he spends hours and hours online, flirting, chainsmoking, until finally he gets the courage to meet someone. And he hasn't found one he likes, wants to...oh, 'you know'...

Yeah, 'I know', and nope. He goes to meet 'em in Overland Park, Belton, Smithville, yada... And what happens?  Well, he always comes home dejected, pets me on the head and says something like "I just dropped a hunnerd bucks on a stupid meal and I'll never see her again. I wish I was a dog like you Charley."  Dang..a hunnerd bucks would buy a lotta Purina Dog Chews.

You're telling me Rosy. One time Vinny took me with him - we drove all the way to Joplin..met at a park..gal brought her Chow, we sniffed, no interest, they idle chit chatted for what seemed like forever..then he told me to jump in the truck, "time to go home," he never ever even sniffed her butt!

What a waste of time that musta been, here (dogmatch.com) it's eassy. Yep, here, we just run up, sniff (no, hours online, long drives, expensive meals), we just buttsniff, can tell a lot right away..if it's not a 'fur sure'... NOPE, we just run-on and go sniff another.

Yup. Hey Charley,  nuttin personal butt when I sniffed I could tell you'd had some plumbing done. Did you get to have any pups? Yeah, thanks for asking Rosy, I did, two litters (different puppy mamas)..7 boys, 8 girls. Then, and I wouldn't talk to Vinny for like 6 months...he grabbed my leash.. I assumed we were coming here, or Joplin, PetSmart...nope, to the dam vet, snip snip. You have more than one litter? Nuttin' personal either but I could tell from your boobies hangin' a bit you were a mom.

Charley I should kick your ever lovin' butt for saying that, and yes, one litter, three girls...'Benny' never even came to see 'em after our night of fun... Charley, can you take a joke? Sure. Life's fun, funny, I can handle it.

Ah, nevermind, it was stupid anyways. Maybe some day we could meet up for a Bud Light?  Sure. I never understood all the hullabaloo about that anyways. Me neither - hey, gotta go, Vinny's hollerin', it's been nice sniffin'. Yep, same here. Hey Charley don't forget your tennis ball!

Arf arf, dilly dilly,

Love, Victurd

Come and listen to a story about a man named.........Red?

I suck at golf.....

Oh Victor, this is your normal, self depricating self... You WORK at a golf course, you can't suck at it.

Thanks, but I suck at golf.

There are four of us.  We've pretty much known each other since before JFK was in office. Damn Victor, you ARE old. Yes, bite me, and I/we are blessed. We play golf, in good weather, pretty much every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

We gamble. VICTOR! Don't you know the Law, Cops, Deputies, authorities from  Liberty, Kearney, Clay County, Missouri, maybe even Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg are listening, reading? FOR SURE, Facebook, Meta and Zuck will see!

About that. We bet a dollar. My partner and I bet a dollar against the other two guys, then, (we'll call him 'Red'), then, Red and I bet a dollar head to head.

I'm more worried about my buddies being upset by me posting this on Facebook, albeit anonymously. You see, their opine of Facebook is "Now the WORLD will know! Faceboook is poopy, for gossips... has HSV (herpes simplex virus), I/WE WANT NO PART OF IT!"

 Relax fellas. Yes, there are in fact instances of TMI (color me guilty), dirty laundry (I probanly did that too.) Sure, Facebook has all that, plus "Trump sucks"/"NO, Brandon does!"... and "Bill Self cheats!"/"HA! We live rent free in your head - show us your National Championship trophies!"...

But...

But too... there is fun on Facebook. Grandkid pics, funny jokes, videos of people falling down, amazing dog tricks and cats demonstrating "we don't care."

So, they, he ('Red') are likely to be upset with me.  Eh, oh well.

Victor. Seriously, are you really bad at golf?

Well, I'll let you decide. First hole, our course. A row of ten or so two-story houses on the left, and a large pond running the length on the right. Many folks have hit the houses (me too) but as far as I know I am the only person to ever hit one OVER the houses. (It's OK, kids were in school, I waited a bit for ambulance sirens, didn't hear none, played on. I've hit hundred$ of dollars of balls into the pond.

Party on Garth, I mean tell us more about how you suck Victor...

I've had lessons in Liberty, Kearney, Orlando (twice). I've fallen asleep after watching literally hours of youtube instruction videos ( in my defense, even though it's English, hard to understand those Brits.)

I've swung and missed, MANY times. I've dribbled balls a few inches, feet, yards, in vitually every possible angle, right AND left. It got so bad my buddies said "let's make 6 the maximum score on a hole." Then, sometime later, 5.

Wow, you really do suck. Uh huh.

Red beats me like a drum, with regularity. I think I beat him once in July last year, and once in April the year before. Victor? Yep? Ain't it kinda dumb to continue to bet him? Sure. I've made him break a twenty dollar billl many times..paid him with 4 quarters a few times, and even a couple rolls of pennies once.

BUT...

But, on the rare occasion I do win (see pic below) it is SO fun! I tease, tell him he sucks, and now, I tell the World, cops, the FBI and Alvin Bragg.

Editor's note. I love these guys and I think the same is felt across the board. We have more fun than should be legal. We have a couple beers after.. discuss events from 50, 60 years ago.. sports, '57 Chevys (yes, old Ford Mustangs too), old girlfriends, ex'es, glory days, hip and knee replacements, cataracts, and whether derriere has 3, or 4 R's. (ty spellcheck). Without them saying "Damn, you walk just like Joe Cocker" they help me down muddy hills, go into the forest to retrieve my errant shots, get the ball outta the cup, and even pick me up at the door when it's time to go home. Blessed I am.

Go Big Red. Don't shoot me for this, and please continue to let me win once a year of so...

Love, Victurd

Bora Bora... Bonbons on the sofa... A trip to the gas station...

Oh boy... the hell is he going with this one?

I'm so glad you asked.  Woke up, fell outta bed, dragged a comb across my head...

All those are conditional. Woke up: 'must pee'. Fell outta bed: 'must look around for some damn thing to put my hand on to brace me to help boost me up. (Don't you dare laugh at me/that!, you're old too, aren'tya?!) Drag a comb across my head: Usually that's true, I stare at the mirror, one sidea my hair is ok, the other, flat as a pancake, in need of water and 'poofing.'

It is, so you must. Death, taxes, touching home on a homer, putting away 10% of your income every paycheck and no touchy til you get brown spots. (Damnit darnit, I missed that last memo.)

Or, as Mr. T might say, "I pity the fool who would write a blog and share that." (I'm reminded of my favorite Fleetwood Mac song, "Oh Well.")

Basically, stuff happens propelling the need for other stuff to 'have to' happen.

Eric Burdon said "We gotta get out of this place", ie I need a vacation: Bora Bora.  I'm bored, starving: Bonbons on the sofa. (Truth, I don't think I've ever had a Bonbon, so Chili Cheese Fritos for me. 

Wasn't it Newton (Isaac, not Grundy) who said "For every action, sumpin' else has gotta happen."

Pavlov, bell, "treat?" Bell, "treat?" Bell, "treat?" And finally, bell. no treat, slobber, slobber.

Woke up, fell outta bed (VICTOR! You already told us!)

I mean, (damn I loathe hearing that to start a sentence! So, does that mean, the next time I start a sentence and DON'T preface it with 'I mean', you should be leary?)

I mean, sorry, you had heard the 'fell outta bed' part. I meant to say, I felt like I had to blog. Before I continue, please know I am way beyond blessed and thankful to have anyone read this. Sometimes, "rabbit in a snowstorm" happens, ie, staring at a blank page. No ideas so I know it would suck.

Anyways, we old farts, born 1940, 50, 60-something, no likey 'have to's'.

We done did that. Must: have baby. Change diaper. Work (as that made us all, but particularly Maynard G. Krebs, cringe.) Go to meeting. Stay awake at meeting. Drive to soccer practice. To Piggly Wiggly. Drive from soccer practice. Assigned seats (yuck). Homework. And, do it all again the next year, the next year, bell, treat, bell, treat, slobber slobber.

I remember from a previous blog we discussed looking at life as "GET TO" and not "HAVE TO". In fact, one friend said her friend's dad, always corrected them, "No, you get to!"

That, pardon the pun, rings a bell (slobber slobber) with aging.

Now, life ain't all about being dealt five cards, you MUST play these. Well.. no. Not if we don't wanna. Misdeal, reshuffle, or here, hand us the damn deck, we'll pick our own.

Of course, there are still have to's, but the beauty with aging is we can be deliciously selfish with our time, order, day.

(Nodding head up and down, akin to slobber slobber.) OK Victor, I think I get it. If we're like Eric, we gotta get outta here, it's Bora Bora, or Destin, Vegas, yada. And if we ain't wantin' to do any 'o that we can say 'screw you keto' and plop on the sofa and eat Bonbons all day? By George I think you've got it.

But, Victor, knock knock. Who's there? Blog reader. Yes (and thank you for not ringing that damn bell.) So we get the Bora Bora and the Bonbons, but, the hell?  A trip to the gas station? That ain't fun and gas just went up twenty-five cents overnight?

I mean, it fits into, aging, have to, get to, bell, slobber slobber. I saw something once I really liked. It said something like, "Hang out with people who could even make something like going to the gas station fun."

Victor? Yes? Did you mean that, you didn't start with "I mean." Nice catch, and yes, we are so lucky to be in the company of wonderful, happy, fun, friends.

Victor? Yes? I took your advice. I picked Harv'. Me and him went to the gas station and we actually DID have a blast! Thanks. You're welome, and thank you for reading. Well sure! Hey, remember when they used to have those bells when you pulled into the gas station?

Slobber slobber,

Love, Victurd

Old...

I am old, I am told...

"Move it Pops", dadgum they're bold...

It's me, it's me - the same ole me...

A little slower... man I gotta pee..

Logon to my bank account, oh, tummy churn,

Which happen fir$t, run out or the urn?

Most youngsters nice, but some looks we got,

Joke on you Sonny, you work, I not..

That Uncle Joe, he movin' kinda slow at the junction,

ED can happen, though some still function,

Majority, a simple goal to keep,

Make it to bed, before we're asleep.

Fitty came quick, that we all knows...

Remember ? We could still touch our toes.

Sixty, man, the snap of a finger..

More gas and geez did it linger.

I once was skinny but now I'm round,

Was svelt, but now a mound.

That don't bug me, that a sin?

I do wish though, I could iron my skin.

Seventy come, whew that was fast,

That OK, havin' a blast.

What once was hop, run and jump,

Now, we mostly on rump.

Ain't dead yet, no hurry to go..

Tween you and me, here's what I know..

Every day is a gift and of course we are blessed,

Good day ahead, just check Depends, haven't messed.

Laugh, love, hug..

Put a smile on that mug...

Bragging... we find fun at little cost...  We spread love and kindness as we learned from the Greatest Generation.. We love much: children, elders, acceptance of others even if different.. We've questioned much, thus, we've learned and we've led. Music, animals and friends cause us to emote - and in a good way... Yes, we look back - it's been a good thing. But too, we look ahead because we've a learned appreciation for so much.

Happy any ole' day - special, just like the rest,

Love, Victurd

Fill 'er up!

If you remember hearing that, damn you're old. (You can trust your car to the man who wears the star, the GREAT BIG Texaco star!)

Ears.

Been thinkin' a lot about ears.

Sweet corn (I LOVES ME some sweet corn!), on sale fitty cents an ear at the Piggly Wiggly. I think I bought ten. Later, when Googling 'how long does fresh corn stay yummy' Google filled my ears on the ears, "Don't do that (buy so many)...it's best eaten within 1 or 2 days when the ears are the sweetest...dry out fast...lose juiciness." 

My ears itch. I guess you could say I've got an itchy itchy rash. Hydrocortisone cream bought, spread, and yes, with a little rubbing too. Sorry mom, I think I remember her telling me not to scratch an itchy rash.

Victor, your blog could use it's OWN checkenginelight. Our eyes would be much better off if you'da left the TMI paragraph about ears, out.................. I hearya....

Grandson soccer game. (Oh boy, here we go, you're gonna fill our ears about how he's gonna be the next Pele', Messi, Ronaldo.) Ahm, no. Actually, I was gonna talk about Clayton. WHO'S CLAYTON?

Clayton is your typical, beautifful, eleven year old child. Clayton's Dad (we'll call him 'Dad"), was a spectator . A very loud and vociferous, spectator. From the moment I sat in my lawnchair right next to him, until the very end of the game (where I'd moved my chair 40 yards away from him) he 'helped' Clayton.

"CLAYTON MOVE OVER....SCOOT UP...HERE IT COMES, BE READY...USE YOU RIGHT FOOT!... PAY ATTTENTION... GET INBETWEEN HIM AND THE GOAL!... FASTER, FASTER!... SLOW IT DOWN!... DID YOU SEE JIMMY'S KICK? YOU DO IT LIKE THAT TOO, JUST LIKE JIMMY DOES!"

This went on the-entire-game. Clayton had 2 eyes on the ball and 2 ears on Dad. Clayton was 'lucky' to have such constant advice - but I wondered aloud how in the world was he gonna survive his spelling test in English class if Dad ain't there? What if, at recess, Dad wasn't there and a brouhaha ha'd? DAD? DAD? I'M ALL EARS DAD, HELP ME!

Unless you've been in a cave with that Spanish lady for the last year plus, you've heard about our shooting in KC too close to home.  April 13, a 16 year old teenager rang the doorbell at the wrong home in effort to pickup his twin brothers. He was shot (twice) by an 84 year old man who'd answered the door. By the Grace of God, the young man was able to leave the hospital a couple days later.

The teenager is African-American, the shooter, Caucasian. It makes me wonder who (and how) the shooter's ears were filled growing up (or not).

I am, of course, biased when it comes to family. I know, if I asked my grandson what he thought about the shooting, he'd reply "That's messed up." Whew, his heart! He's been observant, listening (and thinking on his own two feet), and thankfully surrounded by those professing love, not hatred.

I wonder how Clayton's Dad would have him think about it? We (all) are responsible to spread love. Just my opine, it is, can be, a learned behavior.

Peace (and love) to all... our eyes (and ears) need it more than ever.

Mark, set, go! Moral hunting! (S'more about the fungus...)

Victor, dadgummit, don't you have spellcheck? YES, it is that time of year we mushroom loving folks take our mesh bag, head out to our favorite AND HIGHLY SECRETIVE, river bed, or moist soil forest, peek around dead elms, burned areas, old orchards to find MORELS!

Calm down Senor', and be sure to wear your snake boots. I actually was referring to MORAL, and in general (my opine) we, as a nation, as a people, have slipped a bit. (As an example, you might Google your word dadgummit to see what the inference is.)

Victor, get off your Clydesdale, and I don't need no Google to tell me that's a 'high horse'. I've read your blogs, I've seen some of the sketchy, suggestive stuff you post... am I allowed to say 'forked tongue', even 'pot calling the kettle stuff you're doing?

Perhaps you're correct. I admit to profanity here and some R-rated posts. Facebook is all about screened friends...yes, checkenginelight goes out to the World, but I don't think the Googling reader, trying to find why the caution light to his Subaru Outback has suddenly come on would read very far into something like this (unless maybe he couldn't spell and he liked mushrooms.

You are correct though and I offer apologies (and escape routes) to anyone I've ever offended.

Maybe I've been watching too many Andy Griffith reruns. Victor, YOU ARE OLD! Correct, I am.

I've reached the age where it's a given to complain about the Government, the price of gas (and eggs, ground beef, rent, houses...)..OK OK, we get it... But, I wasn't done.. I was gonna add "keep your whiffleball outta my yard Sonny", but that wouldn't bug me, I'd actually delight in that...

One last paragraph of complaint:

Music lyrics. At the stoplight. Windows down. WAY too loud. (YES, I'm guilty of cranking music, it ain't the loudness that bugs me, it's the lyrics within some music.) Hibernation of The Golden Rule, theft with no moral compass. Littering. VICTOR? Yes? Seriously, LITTERING? Yes, littering.

Enter the whistling theme (The Fishing Hole) to Andy, Barn' and Ope' here. Oh, and keep your eye peeled, you may find a moral.

By Henry Gibson     (Communication Director/Sarah...Transportation/Goober.. Catering/Aunt Bea.. Set construction/Ernest T... Refreshments/Otis... Stylist/Floyd)

Love, Victurd

DD.... but not that one....

DD... YES, color me in favor of handing off the FOB to a nondrinking buddy, taking Uber, Lyft, Yellow, or if you're real old and happen to have grown up in Liberty, MO, Atkinson Cab. Maybe best yet, don't imbibe.

Again, this ain't about that. 

What then Victor, what?

DD, as in, degree of difficulty. Whenya hear that, immediately the brain springs to skiing, diving, gymnastics, skating, surfing, trampoline and even synchronization swimming. An objective dealybob where points are assigned for things like twists, turns, axels, Salchows (the hell is that?), loops, vaults, somersaults (pike, straight), rotations, and a baby partridge (jumping/flying/first time) outta a pear tree.

We, OK, me (and maybe some'a you) gravitate, tune in, plop in our easy chairs, up the Nielsen ratings to watch many of those events. Mundane don't sell. Daring, "first time ever", "OH BABY WHAT A PLAY!" (jump, dive, breathtakeaway fear, stuff like that) DOES.

And yeah, it translates to life. As a young snotnose, dad (or mom) grabs the wrench, takes the training wheels off.....PERIL... muscle, balance, arm SPASMS!

Then ya get old, it's no big thrill, it's used by assuring friends when you fear doing something new, maybe difficult. ."don't worry, it's like riding a bicycle."

Life is, can be, will be, difficult. To what degree, reckon that's up to us. 

Some factors effecting our degree of difficulty, oh wow, the list is endless. Driving, working, 'relationshipping', procreating, aging, weight gain/loss, diminished eyesight/hearing, affliction, loss, grief... buckle-up buttercup, shrinks (and cardiologists) might caution "it ain't for the faint of heart."

Within eacha them up there, degree of difficulty, much. Driving, for instance. Imagine you and me and maybe eight other 'judges' getting all gussied-up (for TV), grabbing our chairs, sitting back a ways from, 435 Highway, watching commuters commute. "That one there! Driving waaaay too close, disqualified!"...

A ninety-mile-per-hour crotch-rocket outta nowhere! "Be gone, seeya, too difficult."... "Hey! Did you see that lady driving the blue Ford Edge? She was TEXTING! I know her! I'm calling Jake from State Farm! VICTOR? Yeah? You're difficult ! You pick on women! Are you... are you calling me a misogynist? Well.. you maybe lean that way, but don't think all male drivers are AJ Foyts, just since we got here to judge, I've seen FOUR (male) ear-pickers, SIX nose-pickers, five guys eating a burger, and even one SHAVING! Whatever happened to 'ten and two on the wheel'?

Just driving alone, the difficulty is diverse - and then ya throw in snow, ice, rain, wind, darkness, rush hour, yada.

Weight gain. Victor? ... Yes?... Don't you DARE say nuttin' about Fat Bottom Girls!... But...but...but(t), it's my favorite Queen song!  OK, look, I've gained weight, I hate it. MUCH degree of difficulty. Having to damn near use vice grips to button one's jeans. Worry. Will that wimpy chair hold me? Break? Ah nevermind, what's for lunch? Women AND men can change, grow. I envy those who've never dealt with it. Band camp. I recently visited my SIL, 5 inches of snow on top of one inch of ice, car way up here, front door way down there, hella long driveway, FORTY-FIVE DEGREE (of difficulty). Looking at it positively (I guess), momentum was on my side. I took one baby step. Then another. Then, once the fat gets out there ahead, there ain't no stopping, slowing down. As my feet approached crotch-rocket speed, I did what any old geezer started to do, I started laughing. I knew I was gonna get hurt, kiss (sorta) the garage door, and wakeup in the Eureka Springs  Hospital. Miraclously, I was ok. Peed a bit maybe, but I counted, four, ALL for limbs still attached!

Relationships. Wow. I recommend..VICTOR STOP! YOU recommend? Ain't you been married TWICE? (Not to mention a couple live-ins!)... Ahem (clearing throat), I recommend a minimum of 7 meals with your potential inlaws, two weeks in the delivery room of a maternity ward, six plane trips with an infant, a two year old, and a four year old in the adjacent row...if you can handle all that, go ahead and get engaged, but don't get married, or take your clothes off for six years. Then just think about lost jobs, forced transfers, life in Timbuktu, cub scouts, boy scouts, girl scouts, little league life, tourney$ to faraway citie$, weekly... and, remember how happy you were to buy that new fancy Buick SUV? Well, Junior turns 16 next month.

Aging. I don't quite remember stuff from the class in HS preparing us for aging. Huh? We didn't have one? Oh yeah. The degree of difficulty in aging is hella. Blessed is the old person, but aside from all the tribulation physically, the saddest part are all the obits that hit home.

As always, don't get me wrong - there is so so much to enjoy in life. Sometimes its like a double flip off the pommel horse and you STICK the landing. Laughter, happy tears, loved ones, great friends, concerts, ballgames, BBQ, taco Tuesdays, movies, Christmas, yada, oh, and finally, your 6 year dating anniversary! OH BABY WHAT A.... well, you know.

Seen something yesterday I'd never seen. Snotnose, 13, maybe 14-ish. He did a STANDING, BACK DOUBLE FLIP! It was truly awesome.

However.

You wanna impress me sonny, come back when you're 70 and we'll see if you can tie both shoes in under 30 seconds.

By Henry Gibson                        Forward by the IOC (Olympic judges), Wapner, Judy, Joe and Lance Ito

Love, Victurd

PS: The 'Salchow' was 'invented by Ulrich Salchow (no, I woulda guessed Ralph Smith, duh) and it's skating with a backward takeoff from the backward inside edge of one skate to the backward outside edge of the other, with one or more turns in the air.

24%

I woulda guessed more. Survey says, 11% of Americans indicate Winter as their favorite season. I have two friends among this group. One loves pictures of frozen lighthouses in the UP, the other does backflips anytime it snows. I think they're both nuts, don't tell.

41% prefer Fall and I do love Fall. Summer comes at 24% as does Spring. I love all three of those but if forced to pick, yeah, Spring, getting Winter outta the damn rear view mirror.

"In the Spring I have counted 137 different kinds of weather inside 24 hours." Mark Twain

This town, Liberty, Mo, is here because explorers two hunnerd years ago found an inexhaustible spring, kept being thirsty, pitched tent, stayed. Just to our East, they found springs, many, believed them to have healing powers so they started a mineral water health resort, juala, Excelsior Springs, MO. I think they're all wet, but that's only because they beat us my Senior year in the annual HS football game to claim (temporarily) the infamous dueling pistols.

A majority of critters are born in the Spring, Spring chickens per se. The grass is greener, better to munch on. Cows won't wander off, freeze or have predators get their babies, so they birth in barns. We all know deer go nutso in Winter months, RUT Roh, Spring Bambi's.

At what age do we become "No spring chicken?" I remember the basta's sending me my AARP card at 50 (I tore it up, the next year I admit to peeking to see what kinda discounts we get.) I learned I was fer sure no Spring chicken ten years ago when I ordered "a small black coffee" at Mickey D's and the snotnose chirped back happily "One Senior coffee, comin' right up."

A spring in one's step - much provides impetus: pay raise, a birdie, finding $20 bill in jeans, 30 cents a gallon off thanks to Piggly Wiggly purchases, and getting laid. I wouldn't know but my friends tell me, "not so, usually a nap in order."

Arkansas has Eureka Springs (there's gold in them teeth they still got) and Hot Springs, home to 47 Springs having temps over a hunnerd. Folks in Hot Springs don't get married in Hot Springs for hot springs, instead, they drive to Miami, OK 'cause there ain't no waiting period.

I was gonna do a blog all about pee (we all pee and I try to find things we all relate to), didn't, then Spring sprung to mind.

There are the joys of Spring, warmer temps, tilling the garden, and baseball Ray. 

"People  ask me what I do in the Winter when there's no baseball. I'll tellya what I do. I sit and look out the window waiting for Spring! Rogers Hornsby

Spring cleaning, gonna Google later, never heard of it.

Spring fever, I get it, bad.

Spring has sprung, I am glad. Sorry to relate, that's all I had....sorry.

By Henry Gibson                               Forward by Bruce Springsteen 

Love, Victurd

Please Mr. Custer.....

Chocoholic, alcoholic, shopaholic, foodaholic, cokeaholic, dogaholic, hugaholic, tanaholic, Webaholic, runaholic, golfaholic, readaholic, talkaholic, cleanaholic, Catholic. (JK on the last one..happens when you Google "words that end in holic.")

That's alotta holic.

Of course one more, workaholic.

Recently I was visiting with a dear friend whose mate works hella more than Dolly's Monday thru Friday 9 to 5. It was a Saturday. In response to "What are you guys doing this weekend?", the answer was "Oh..so-and-so is behind a bit at work, so so-and-so went in to tie up loose ends."

There are BooKoo-holic possible reasons behind this, or anyone in same boat:

Money.... Want to... Pressure... Seasonal jobs... I no likey real life - work is my escape.. I no likey home situation - if I'm at work I ain't at home... loneliness.. going thru a bad time - if I'm at work I no thinky about bad time.

When EF Hutton talks, come tap me on the shoulder 'cause he's been dead since 1962.

I wrote that because, yes, I'm gonna give my opine, yes, simply because one has lived a lotta years they've seen a lot. Old is about all that's on my resume', LinkedIn.

One example, there ain't no changin' em. While many might say Cabo, Bora Bora, right behind home plate for an enter-favorite team here, Vegas, Roaring River tangling lines with way too many idiotic trout fisherholics like me... THERE ARE THOSE who never saw The Wizard of Oz, thus, THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE WORK I'd rather be. Done, finito, no changing them, thus, no try.

Conversely, some are maybe stuck, prefer not to be there, but compelled.

One band camp I worked at, for six months, we weren't exactly little Miss Muffet sitting on her tuffet, but we had normal ole normal workloads. Then, for six months, we couldn't keep up. One buddy and I worked every.single.day.yes.even.4th.of.July.

EF might suggest (grab your damn phone, record this! Remember! He's dead!)...EF might say "That's too much."

Really, this doesn't even have to be about time involved - but moreso, mind involved.

We need to live, breathe. If one is "busy building Rome" ya need  to take some damn time off to see Pompeii, Naples, Mount Vesuvius, Yada.

'Because I have to' can be an occupational magnet. Ugly.

If you are old like me, retired, you (too) occasionally might look in the rear view mirror in disbelief of how trivial (in the scope of life) work is.

I have a habit of spouting advice when it ain't asked for. Sorry, kinda.

To my dear friend up there above (the one who has told me on more than one occasion "Oh..so-and-so is behind a bit at work, so so-and-so went in to tie up loose ends," I did. Advice slipped out. I simply said "It's impossible for me to see the view from so-and-so's shoes but I understand  (if that makes sense.) Just know this, better days are ahead but don't be in too bigga hurry to get there because every day is a gift to enjoy."

I'm off to see the wizard.

No, that ain't it. I'm off to breakfast out(aholic), drink coffee(aholic), smokes cigs(aholic), read the paper(aholic). Then, nap(aholic).

Much. Much just above ain't good forya, but did you notice? NO TIME CLOCK.

By Henry Gibson           Forward by L. Frank Baum

Love, Victurd

I've got a 'hitchy hitchy' rash....

As in, a hitch in the getalong.

(Editor's note: Blogs bear resemblance to Wiki. Anyone can contribute (truth, lie, embellish, affirm, avow, assert, pronounce, dance a little sidestep, swear to goodness, swindle, yada, cougar mellencamp, etc.)

It is written, it must be so eh?

Well, no. Quoting my stepson, "Not no's, but hells no's."

So, where are we? Damnit Jim (Victurd), with an intro like that, I ain't real sure. Let's start with your "hitchy hitchy" up there, we're itchin' to know.

Glad you asked, thanks.

In life there are hitches. Band camp, a few years back - after a Royal's game (dark-thirty) my buddy TR and I, seeking our car, found the row, walked along it (brisk clip, whatever speed that is at age 65) and a trailer hitch, had to be two foot long, 'jumped out' and sent TR to his knees. He's a religious man but he owes a few quarters to the jar and frankly, I didn't blame him. YEEEEOOUCH!

Life is a steeple chase. There be all kinda obstacles in our paths. Many are physical, many are medulla oblongata related (remember that one from High School - you probably don't, you were in all likelihood trying to look up that one chick's dress - another certain hitch to come.

Hitches can be bottled, rolled and smoked, snorted, popped, which (because it's MY blog/Wiki) I can relate that list reminded me of Arlo's 'Alice' song, ie, "injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected." Much. Much in life is a hitch.

We jump in different cars. Some love First On Race Day, other's like Dinah's "See the USA". (Damn you're old.) Yet others like compact, "save the Earth, 43 mpg" (scew that, you seen gas prices? That's why.). Some like 2 wheels. Some folks even like children and have three, count 'em THREE rows of seats. And don't forget Sparky, he prefers the plug in variety. 

(SOMEONE, I say SOMEONE, it wasn't me. I PROMISE relatives, former students, players I coached, those who formally liked me, I DIDN'T WRITE IT!".)

For goodness sakes Victor, you didn't write what?.......................

If it has tits or tires, you're bound to have trouble with it. <-- Nuh uh, wasn't me....but... it does kinda fit today's blog/Wiki. (James Greer it WASN'T ME! I ain't no misogynist!)

We ALL have hitches.

Victor, how do you come up with this crap, these ideas?  You really wanna know? YES. OK, but I'll forewarn you the last time I did this, a gal on Facebook (actually, the first gal I ever kissed, ha, kiss-n-tell, Plaza Theater 19AnotherCenturyAgo) wrote in big, REAL BIG LETTERS, TMI!, and then she unfriended me!

The idea for this blog. I have an affliction. It's slowed me down, I can no longer walk a long distance or stand on my feet very long. It is forever. PLEASE KNOW, I have a blessed life, I work part-time at a golf course, play golf, I just have to chase women that don't run as fast. Stage 1, controlled by compression socks and elevating my feet. THERE ARE MANY, MANY WORSE OFF.

This morning, I was reading from an online support group and someone asked "how many (stage 4, 5) were homebound?" and the answer wasn't good. Many in their 50's, some even in their 30's, 40's.

Thankfully, beautiful people abound. Many brought the message "When it's hard, you don't wanna get up, GO, DO."

I know there are those (in life) that physically may not be able to get up and go, BUT, they get that abdula oblongata UP and'a SMILING, We all, perhaps, are friends to those whose mate may have dementia - and they, our friend, are the GO, DO cheerleader in their lives.

And ya know? There are slam-dunkers, 400' home run hitters, singers singing and strumming to 40,000 in the arena that have HITCHES.

Next door neighbors, kiddos that announce "May I take your order please?", Pastors, bowling teammates, the plumber, ---------------------------- HITCHES. No one is immune to hitches.

Bottomline, GO, DO. Sure, it might be easier to fold up like a taco, stay home, hide. Don't. Get up, GO, DO.

TMI, I know, but I didn't expect you to kiss me anyways.

Again, the 'T & T' quote, I didn't do it. Professor Plum did, with the candlestick, in the library.

GO, DO, love, Victurd

Word'll killya.... or not....

Much, about Wordle, reminds me of life.

There are the night owls. They Pavlov/Wordle at the stroke of midnight. Most, ain't seen the sunrise since their 20's, and that was only because "oh baby, oh baby.....I do" was said somewhere along the way (right Meatloaf?).. followed closely by "Everyone is having babies.....let's,"... and then, off to work at ungodly-o-thirty "THE SUN! I CAN'T SEE THE DAMN ROAD, but, I must get the baby to daycare now for a jumpstart on rush hour.. and I must do all this to pay for the shag carpet we're getting this weekend.. not to mention our car payment (Ford Escort) is due.. and speakin'o'that, we have GOT to get a bigger car.... two lava lamps and a sweet ole bean bag chair from Dolgins, pulled into Schoellers to get groceries.....NO ROOM! Fast forward to today, "THAT...all that, is why I never get up at ungodly-o-thirty any longer."

Editor's note, I hate 'em, btw... I can't make it past the 4th inning of the Royal's game, and I ain't seen Letterman in years..and besides all that, they NEVER get  a 5, 6 or X on Wordle. JK, kinda sorta...

A few, somewhere between 1:30 and 3am, get 'Kramer eyeballs', wakeup, Wordle, then I ain't sure what they do.

Then there's the group I belong to (those of us that ain't seen Letterman in 20 years....HUH? He retired? Wow). Anyways, we toss, turn, go pee, try sleeping on our back instead..no, that don't work...toss, turn s'more..give in, get up and run (if you can call it that) to pee (so we don't wet our undies.) Make coffee, hear the morning paper hit the sidewalk, turn on National news (it's too early for local), flip on the laptop/Facebook, "would you look at that? Same weird insomniacs every morning.. oh wait, that would be me too then, eh? Nevermind."

It's then, the game of life, and Wordle begin.

ALL GRAY. It's like you stepped in a recent, very recent, fur-ball. That big bite of the sausage, egg and cheese sandwich you just swallowed, I think you shoulda thrown that sausage out. All that, and when you checked your bank account earlier, you goofed and you have $163 less than what you thought.

(Vowels. Vowels are family, relatives. Regardless of how you get along, or not, they're there and they ain't goin' nowhere. Tweren't for them, we wouldn't be here, ie, mandatory.)

That said, one yellow letter, first try, is ucky . About as exciting as "One beefy cheesy burrito, no sour cream", pay, pull off, unwrap, bite...sour cream.  Or, for those that have ever dated online, meeting, walking in, seeing right away "nope....now what?"

First try, three letters, maybe even one in the right place, YEAH BABY, it's gonna be a good day!

Consonants. R, S, T, N, L. Ain't them the ones Vanna automatically turns over? They're the frequents that ain't blood in your life. You know, your BFF, next door neighbor, favorite classmates, coworkers, friends from your 'Cheers' (or bingo, bunko, the gym, church.) Mainstays.

Some consonants, like Q, Z, X maybe. It's that Aunt or Uncle you see once every few years at the family reunion at the City Park. Then the rest, W, Y, P, D, F, etc, these are the everyday, common folks in our lives. They tailgate, or pass you, come the opposite way down the aisle in the Piggly Wiggly. They hold the door for you, or not, at QuikTrip. Recipe ingredients. Parts, necessary Wordle parts.

X= damn. Nap maybe. Probably gonna rain. I never noticed that mole before. 'RING', caller ID, "I wonder whatinthehell he/she wants?".... Five, count 'em, five three putts.

4 or 5 = meh, Buehler...Buehler... Unless by chance it enables you to beat your most ardent competitor, then it's "Ding dong the witch is dead, which ole' witch, the wicked witch."

3 = that's the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it! Peacock proud!

2 = Let's: go to the casino.... chase each other 'round the room tonight... go to Jess & Jims for a big ole' juicy, yummy, steak... buy a new(er) car.... call in sick.

1 = CHEATER, LIAR.

I love life, Wordle. Some days are diamond, some days are mold. Life/Wordle is: traffic jams, smooth sailing, I feel pretty...oh so pretty.. I feel sh*tty, oh so sh*tty....WHAT? But I had a streak of 137 in a row! I know, I'll grab my phone, redo it on there. WHAT? It won't let me..I can't do that?

I get tired of letters man. Oh, NO, NO, NO, don't get me wrong I LOVE waking up daily, and know I'm blessed, be it a 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. X kinda day.

I do miss Letterman though.

Love, Victurd

Ever eat a pine tree?

Holy guacamole.....

The division was perceived to be between The FedEx Cup folks and The Arabian Oil Can folks (or whatever that's called.)

Yes, Woods to be a center of attention, but not that woods.

A weather delay happened at The Masters. Strong winds, rain, caused officials to sound air horns, signaling suspended play, "seek shelter" or, "Marky, I'm gonna whip your little ass." (*more about that.)

*Band camp, years ago, living in our neighborhood were three of my son's wonderful, VERY active little buddies (9-ish, 10-ish, 6-ish.) I know not details, but they lived with their grandparents, 6 or so houses up the block. Good, good kids, but you could tell, 'wearing' on Grandma, Grandpa. I truly admired them for stepping up, showering their love. In bad weather, Grandpa didn't mess around, calling out all three names for the kids to "Get home NOW!" The two oldest raced home, the youngest, Marky, ignored.  If the weather was bad enough he might get hurt, Grandpa would again emerge, and at a volume loud enough to hear from Apco to Sutherlands, he'd bellow "MARKY, I'M GONNA WHIP YOUR LITTLE ASS!"   Then, Marky would comply.

Where was I? Oh yeah, air horn at the Masters. As it sounded, some 15,000 spectators checked the radar on their Accuweather app to ascertain the severity (ie, just passing through, or, 'Marky I'm gonna whip your little ass' bad.) Deemed, "there's a clearing coming," they stayed. Fans are ardent like that, yeah they are.

"All clear, play ball"(golf)

Not real long after that, the sky again threatened... Some fifty folk sitting in green Master's lawn chairs by the 17th teebox, hear an excruciatingly LOUD 'CRACKING NOISE', looked up, looked behind, eyeballs enlarged, the fifty (thankfully) scurried out of the way of THREE HUGE PINE TREES (65 FEET TALL!) that were crashing down. Miraculously, no one was hurt. Fortunately, as two pines started to fall, a third pine held them up for a few seconds until it could no longer and all three fell. That very slight delay literally saved lives.

Immediately after, the air horn sounded ('Marky bad'), play was stopped. Chairs (empty) were crushed. One lady saw another lady standing BETWEEN the fallen trees, and a man was seen (safely) crawling out from under fallen pine branches. Certain Good Friday, Master irony.

In good ole Augusta CYA language on the back of the badges all patrons ('Patron' is Augusta for spectator) it's written (and I paraphrase):

By entering onto the grounds of ANI, Holder agrees to assume all risk and danger arising from attendance, including risks associated with COVID-19, eyeballs put-out by Pro V1's, injuries from a misguided haymaker from either a LIV or PGA player, found classified documents, unwelcome advances from porn stars, and droppings from a partridge in a pine tree. Holder releases and holds harmless ANI, its affiliates, directors, officers, employees, volunteers, agents and all Tournament officials and participants, from any claims of liability, including claims based on their alleged negligence, arising from the Agreement or Holder’s attendance at the Tournament, all as set forth in the Agreement.

Round three hopefully happens today.

By happenstance, I work at a golf course. Only once have I had to blow the air horn. I truly wondered, what if they ignored and got hurt? ("It's ok Vic, I've got graphite shafts!")

From now on, after I sound the air horn I'm gonna holler "Marky, I'll whip your little ass" so you'll know how severe it is.

By Henry Gibson         Forward by Euell Gibbons

Love, Victurd

 

A quickie...

(No, not that one.)

A quick note of thanks for all of the incredible folks lining our paths of life.

We are imperfect, human. Life, sure, can be real ugly - the last few years can attest to that.

I awaken daily and occasionally current events, vitriol make me wanna jump back in bed, throw the covers over my head until someone can assure me all the boogey men and women are gone.

I wanna come here to write happy, upbeat, in effort to turn the tables. I don't have to, people 'get in the way' of yuck and make life grand.

Just when one feels there's no way people could be kinder, nicer, fun/funnier, uplifting... more patient, generous, honest, positive, complementary, forgiving, attentive - THEY ARE.

Village people, as in it takes all them, for all of us.

Contrary to the perceived daily forecast of dark and stormy, it's the remarkable people within that look past our imperfection, errors, and without judgment, bring us sunny and pleasant. Sure, an occasional cloud, but it's the people in our lives that enable us to come out from under the covers and thrive.

Good humor bar....

I know a Libran. (You know, the sign is/are The Scales {forgive me Grammar master, Mr. Miagi, Captain Kangaroo, Dr. Phil, Elvis], I'm all shookup as to which, and same for whether it's for effect or affect.)

Balance. All about balance, yeah right. When's the last time you nuked a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and successfully carried it to the dinner table without spilling a drop of that sticky broth crap on the floor - not to mention doing so without 3rd degree burns?

We're an unbalanced sort, desperately wanting to level the scales of life, no teet, no tot.

Doc say "#1 reason you go nursing home, stability, balance," inferring lack thereof.

So, we almost octogenarians tippy toe here, tippy toe there, find an immovable object (preferably away from mirrors), grab on, Ben Dover, remove our undies, TT (fyi tippy-toe abbreviated from hither on out), TT to the bathroom, TT (complete with baby jump over the damn 3 inch wall into the shower), grab soap, drop soap, "oh shit" (sorry), grab grab bar, TT to soap, Ben Dover, grab soap, shampoo, all that, TT (another IHOP over small ledge), grab towel, dry off, "Whew, done" (Celebrate, celebrate, baby hop to the music) home free now.

Then, we trip over the hairbrush we dropped last Tuesday but were to tired to pickup, fall, break hip, hitchhike in big red vehicle with cool lights, put us out, have surgery, drive us to Golden Acres, sans cool lights where they will issue scorn about the impotance of balance, and in the weeks ahead (which could also be spelled 'weaks ahead') learn us all over again, how to TT.

Where was I? Oh yeah, on the tile. So, physical balance, vely important to help you paint the fence, wax the car.

Mental balance. We're all a tad crazy, and if you tell me you are ALWAYS balanced, I will assume you ain't got either CNN or FOX, inlaws, flat tires, 10 minute waits in line at the Dollar(.25) Tree, spam calls, wi-fi down, an itchy itchy rash, and you awaken in the morning with every hair in place.

I call BS as in our Balane Sucks, all of us.

Woke up, fell outta bed.... no, that ain't it.

Woke up. Sat on edge of bed a bit (for balance, ha.) Thank you for another day. Go #1. Make coffee (to help eyelids, sanity, and, to go #2. (Oh don't you 'geez Louise' me, you do TOO!

Turn on the news, read FB. Holy unbalance. Shooting inside Texas Toms, car wrecks, indictments, another rocket shot, tornado warnings ("oh sh*t, no basement", don't worry about it, between 2 and 3am, you'll be asleep) another school employee molestation, damn cable is 'buffering'....HELP! I need somebody, HELP! Not just anybody. HELP! You know I need someone. HELP!

Well sure, we all do, but don't call the Beatles, hell, half of 'em are gone.

Humor. We need humor for balance. Sure a good book, a nap, a cold beer, sitting out in nature, a hug from/to/with a friend/loved one, a Xanax or gummy for some.

Humor helps. Humor is important. EDitor's note, especially if you're maybe impotent.

In walking thru life, I have heard folks mildly admonish those who 'live like that' (almost always resorting to humor.) For those, that line of thinking, should they ever go to the zoo, I wish the chimpanzees good aim.

Life is imbalanced. We've all fallen off the balance beam.

If I overdo it, or attempt to, I'm sorry, I guess.

Life, like tile floors, is/are hard. Excuse me while I kiss the sky. No, that ain't it.

Excuse me while I TT into the bathroom to fix my bedhead. Now whereinthehell did I put my hairbrush?

Love, Victurd and the chimps