Commercials That Annoy Me

If you read my blog much, you know that I am a TV addict. That
means that I see way too many commercials. And some of them
are just plain WRONG. For example:

That kid in utero that tells his mom to stop shoving peppers down
her neck. Uh uh. Talking fetus = WRONG.

The people who are uncomfortable in their clothes due to needing
fabric softener. They look like they are wearing crusty hair
mummy-wrappings. Even though it is animated, it is gross. That
lady sitting on the ground and scooting her butt like a dog is just
OH, SO WRONG.

The close-up of a mattress and sheets, and the person diving into
some slimy sludge of cast-off body cells. Uh, no. I don't want to
know about that. WRONG TO THE 10th POWER..

I don't watch these through to the end, so I don't even know
which products to boycott.

On the bright side, here is my current favorite: Wendy's Spicy
Chicken Sandwich. People are dying for water in any form.
They slurp it up from a flower vase, a lawn sprinkler, a water
cooler, an aquarium, and a punctured water bed. The tag line:
"If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the chicken."

#2 What Would Rednecks Do?

This week you'll have to play along with me, people. Put on your
thinking caps. Ha! Now you all look like geeks! Take them off!
Rednecks don't wear thinking caps. Here's the situation:

Your girlfriend of 10 months does not like your 1970's model
Ford pick-up truck. It is a truck of many colors, with "primer"
and "rust" being the dominant palette. She says that people call
you "Sanford and Sons" when you drive your kids around in it,
and she is embarrassed to be seen in it. She wants to take her
car everywhere you go, but she won't let you drive it.

What is the Redneck solution to this problem?

The official answer will be posted Sunday, though there is more
than one acceptable answer.

How Poor Was I?

OK, I'm not talking about homeless poor, or even college-student
poor, like when you sell your plasma to buy beer. (I never did
that, but one of my roommates did). No, what I'm talking about
is the poorest I've ever been with a full-time job.

When I drove through the bank for some cash yesterday, there
was a man lingering beside the building. I was suspicious, because
even though I live in Hooterville, we've had bank robbers. I didn't
much care if this guy robbed the bank, but I didn't want him to
snatch my cash as it came out of the machine. There was one car
ahead of me, then I took my turn. Of course we popped the door
locks. When I left, I looked back, and loiterer was standing at
the cash machine. Which reminded me of a story....

Back in the day, when I was young and without responsibilities,
I took a job at a small school in Sheldon, Missouri. Actually, it
was the only school in Sheldon, Missouri. It was Kindergarten
through 12th grade. There were about 8 students in each grade,
except the sophomores, who had tripletts in their class.

This was a small small town. No grocery store or gas station.
It did have a bank. The bank was open 9:00-3:00, with the
drive-thru open until 5:00, and on Saturday mornings. I walked
to school because it was only about a half-mile, and I was very
poor and wanted to save gas. Now that's poor...not wanting to
drive 1 mile per day.

On payday, I would walk home and stand in line with the cars
at the drive-thru window. I wasn't about to walk home and
drive my car a block to deposit my check. We only got paid
once a month. My take-home pay was $560 per month.
Granted, this wasn't modern times, and a dollar went a little
further back then. But not much, because it was Reaganomics,
baby. There were not many jobs, and nobody was spending
money. My salary was $8700 PER YEAR. Where did people
get off saying teachers were overpaid? And I think Missouri
was ranked 49 out of the 50 states back then in teachers' salaries.
WooHoo, Arkansas, we had you punks beat! This was before
the minimum salary law that nearly doubled my salary the next
year when I moved on. So I waited in line, breathing car exhaust,
walking forward as each car pulled up. There wasn't exactly a rush.
The most in line was 3: a car, me, and another car.

WooHoo! Payday meant I could pay my rent, car payment, phone
bill, set aside some for the insurance payment, buy gas, and buy
groceries. That $560 didn't last long. I had to drive to Nevada for
groceries. No, not the state, silly. It was the town in Missouri up
Highway 71, where they pronounce it "Nuh VAY duh." I only
bought the staples that I would need to survive for the next month.
And after shopping, I could drive through the McDonald's and buy
a hamburger or fries. That's right. I could only afford a hamburger
OR fries, not both. My money was budgeted to the cent.

Do you know what I ate? Cream of wheat for breakfast. Yeah,
that grainy stuff you boil and it turns to mush. And not the flavored
kind, either. I had it straight, with only a spoonful of sugar sprinkled
on top. I had it for supper sometimes, too. I didn't eat lunch.
Occasionally I had meat--the cheapest hot dogs I could buy.
On bread, no buns. Ramen noodles, which I sometimes ate dry
and crunchy so I could save the flavor packet to make some soup.
Sometimes I had real chicken noodle soup. Macaroni and
cheese, with just margarine mixed in, because I couldn't afford milk.
And now, you're in for a real treat, because I am going to share my
special recipe for macaroni and cheese pizza. Actually, I found this
recipe in an ad in an old Redbook magazine that my mom gave me.

Here's how to make it. Cook the macaroni as usual. Grease a
pizza pan. Dump the macaroni and cheese on it, and spread it
out and pack it down. That is the crust. Pour a can of tomato
sauce on it. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. You can add meat
if you have it. A sliced hot dog will work. Bake at a temperature
for a time that I can not remember. Remove from oven, slice,
and eat. It tastes like...rubbery macaroni and cheese with tomato
sauce and hot dog. Not by any stretch of the imagination even
remotely like a pizza.

I could not even afford soda. I had to wash that "pizza" down
with tap water.

O

INTRUDER!!! INTRUDER!!!

Sit down, buckle up, and prepare for a rant.

I am a lazy slug in the summer. I stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 am, and
on good days I am up by 9:00 am to watch ER reruns on TBS.
Yesterday was not a good day.

At 9:10 am, #2 son came into my bedroom. He usually sleeps until
10:00. He slept on the living room couch last night, because he can.
We don't care about bedtimes in the summer, and he stays up late.
He was in his pajamas (which he insists on wearing inside-out), and
rubbing his eyes. "There is someone on the porch, and I saw
someone walking in the yard."

WHAT? We live a mile up a gravel road. At the entrance to this
gravel road is a sign about 3 feet by 3 feet that proclaims: Private
Road. Trespassers will be prosecuted. That means, people, that
we don't want your trash dumped on our property. It means that
we pay for our own road upkeep, and don't want you using our
2.5 miles of gravel to cut 7 miles off your daily drive. Our roads
are maintained by our hard-earned dollars, not your county
taxes. And we haven't notice you kicking in your $200 every
winter for gravel and tractor gas. We don't want to adopt your
discarded pets. We don't want to host your underage beer parties,
or to provide the guest of honor for your mailbox-bashing sprees.
So JUST KEEP OUT!!! And that expecially means SALESMEN!
And anybody planning to chop me up and put me in a 55-gallon
barrel. (Thank your mama, Redneck Diva, for giving me this
new phobia).

I huffed out of bed, made myself crack-of-the-door presentable,
and traipsed through the living room after #2 son. He put his face
to the glass panel at the side of the door and announced, "He's
still here."

Now what kind of person keeps standing at the door when
nobody answers? He never rang the doorbell--not even once.
And that is the one thing around this house that works. The kids
ring it all the time when they are hankerin' for a trip to spankytown.
#2 said the guy knocked on the door, and that woke him up. So
I guess he had been standing there for at least 5 minutes. He was
probably perusing the yard for kid toys to help his sales pitch.

I opened the door a crack, and there's this kid about 20-25 years
old with a clipboard. "Are you the lady of the house?" Yeah, what
other haggard hag would drag herself to the door to deal with him?
I wanted to say, "No, I am this week's ho. The wife is really ugly."
He started his spiel, "I'm a college student and I'm trying to earn
money..."

"We're not interested." I started to close the door. He took a
step closer and continued. Then I was really ticked, and I said,
"How did you even get in here? This is a private road. We don't
want any salesmen." Then I slammed the door. I guess he left.
I didn't look out to give him another chance.

Last year another guy from this company was here, and the year
before that a different one. They are persistant and don't want to
take "NO!" for an answer. One year I actually went out and
stood on the front porch with one, and when he saw I wasn't
buying anything, he turned to #1 son, who was in 2nd grade.
He started asking him wouldn't he like to read about dinosaurs,
and trains, etc. #1 told him, "No. I'm into computers." The
nerve of that guy, trying to manipulate me into buying something
using my kid! I asked him how he got up in here to solicit on a
private road. He seemed to think it was OK, because a neighbor
had "recommended" us. Then he tried to pump me for information
on the next house up the road from me. No way.

I understand that people have to make a living. That does not
give them the right to make their own rules. Private means
private. I does not mean everybody but you, keep out.
There are plenty of houses in town where you can peddle
your wares. That's one of the reasons we moved out here.
What with the Mormons parking their bicycles in the yard and
wanting to sit a spell, and the Jehovah's Witnesses hawking
the Watchtower, and the van full of kids selling cleaning supplies
one week and magazines the next, and the Sheriff's Deputies
trying to serve warrants on people who didn't live there anymore,
and the traveling health team wanting to suck our child's blood
to test for lead.....I pretty much needed a butler to answer my
door all summer. Now I want my privacy.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against the Mormons or Jehovah's
Witnesses. This is their way of spreading their Word, and
they are just doing what they have to do. And they know the
meaning of the phrase 'Private Road.' My mother used
to invite them in and chat for an hour or so. They stopped
coming back.

New Civilization Discovered!

A new civilization was discovered yesterday on the outskirts
of Redneckland, living in the Hillbilly Mansion. It appears to
consist of only two individuals, who have been named "Whiners"
by the other inhabitants.

The Whiners have highly-developed building skills, but are
quite lacking in skills such as feeding, cleaning, and entertaining
themselves, as well as interpersonal relationships.

Whiners communicate mostly with nonverbal methods. Their
repertoire includes throwing objects, poking, pinching, kicking,
thumping, and sitting on each other until tears flow.

Their limited vocabulary contains one word which has dozens
of meanings. The word "mom," when stretched out into three
syllables, can be used for:

• Where are you?
• I don't want to.
• Don't change the channel.
• I'm telling.
• I have been wronged.
• I am mad at you.
• I'm warning you.
• Please.
• Stop it.
• Feed me.
• Look for it.
• I want to go.
• Help me.
• Come running, I am about to die.
• Here's a spider.
• The toilet is overflowing.
• Why can't we go swimming?
• You like him better.
• Buy it for me.
• I am going to vomit.
• I require some assistance in cleaning my anus.
• You made me lose.
• I want my window down.
• Put it on my radio station.
• Those pieces look equal. You know I deserve a bigger one.
• I am not ready to go to sleep now.
• Stop telling people I used to carry a purse.
• I don't want to take a bath.
• All the other kids get to drink Mountain Dew.
• I thought I was lost.
• Make it better.

The whiner diet consists of anything that comes in a box or
contains sugar. Meat and vegetables are poison to them, and
they won't touch them. They can be persuaded to consume milk
only if it is poured over sugary cereal. Whatever you do, don't
give them caffeine after 6:00 p.m.

I will carefully observe these Whiners to see if they can be
of any benefit to modern society. They seem to be adept at
operating electronic gadgetry, but not capable of taking over
the world until they improve their communication skills.

Bright Idea?


This is how we turn on our redneck lamp. The plastic turny part
cracked, and all it would do was spin. This was no good for
turning the lamp off. Of course, Nobody did it. And of course
it was about 2:00 a.m. when I went to turn it off and found out
that it wouldn't work.

I can't leave a lamp on all night. A light, yeah. But not a lamp.
I am sure it will burn the house down. This lamp is in the
haunted basement, where #1 son has decided to sleep all
summer. So I had to go in the workshop part of the basement
to find pliers to get a grip and turn it off.

First I had to unscrew that metal thimble-looking thing that
holds on the shade. It gets kind of hot. Normally, I would turn
off the lamp and let it cool down before removing the shade,
BUT the reason I was removing the shade was to turn off the
lamp. Next I'll be selling my hair to buy a watch fob.

I told my Hillbilly Husband that the lamp was broken. He grunted,
which I think meant, I, too, know what it is like to have a lamp
that won't turn on or off without pliers. I will fix that situation
for you as fast as humanly possible, for I love you and above
all wish for you to be happy and have a lamp that works.
Or not.

After 2 days of plier-lamping, I called HH while he was in Wal-mart.
"Get a lamp." HH said, "I'll get a relay to fix that one." What? Was
he bringing home Wal-mart Associates in their striking blue vests
to run around the basement handing off pliers for speedy lamp
switching? We might even get a strobe effect! But no...he meant
some kind of electrical switch. Which he didn't get. He didn't get
a new lamp, either.

How long do you keep a lamp? I know this one is at least 17 years
old. At what point can you say, "I sure got my money's worth out
of that lamp. Time to get a new one." Especially if the lamp does
not work anymore. HH says it still works--it just needs pliers.

I think I will give him this lamp for his BARn, and get a new one
for my haunted basement.

I'm A Loser. It's Official.

All right, I am officially a loser. As if there was ever any doubt.
Congratulations to Mr. Huggies, winner of Rebecca's Big Blogger
Contest. The final vote: Sheep on a Unicycle (301), Me (2583),
and Mr. Huggies (4002). I hope he puts the prize of absolutely
nothing to good use.

I could have won, you know. I had 4003 monkeys all set up to
click 4003 mice. I had promised them each a bite of Cheese
Sandwich. Then Cheese Sandwich came to an unfortunate end,
and was replaced by a Sheep on a Unicycle. My monkeys did
not want a bite of sheep. Whenever they thought of sheep, they
started counting, and 1420 monkeys fell asleep, just like in the
Wizard of Oz. I could have voted for myself 1420 times, but
that would have given me carpal tunnel syndrome and I could
not continue to put out such high-quality posts for you all to
enjoy--I mean tolerate--each day. So now I am a loser, and
Mr. Huggies has my nothing.

Thank you Deadpanann, for supporting me in my quest for the
Big Blogger title. I am sorry for stalking you, but it was all part
of the contest. Too bad I didn't have a stalker to run up the vote
for me. Thanks to the rest of you who helped my monkeys
vote. I could not have lost without you.

And now, I would like to share with you some quotes about
competition. I don't know who said them, but I heard them
somewhere.

"Show me a good loser, and I'll show you a loser."
"If a tie is like kissing your sister, then losing is like kissing your
grandma with her teeth out."
"It's not whether you win or lose....but whether I win or lose."
"If at first you don't succeed, find out if there's a prize for the loser."
"Second place is first loser."

OK...well, that didn't cheer me up very much. I need to find some
new motivational quotes. I feel like Charlie Brown. Can someone
please get me a scraggly little Christmas tree? Anybody? Anybody?

Bigfootville

Friday night I was watching the Travel Channel again, because I have
no life. Those of you who share my lack of life know that Friday night
is scary night, with Most Haunted and Haunted Hotels. So I tune in
at 7:00, to get the most scare for my lifeless weekend, and what are
they showing but "Bigfootville." That is not scary, just bizarre.

Turns out that "Bigfootville" is in eastern Oklahoma. It's not a real
town, just an area where there have been many Bigfoot sightings.
HELLO! Redneck Diva? Babs? Monty? Why was I never told
about this? I read your blogs regularly, and none of you have ever
mentioned Bigfoot. Is this a secret you are keeping from us?
According to this show, just about everyone in Oklahoma but
you three has seen a Bigfoot. What gives?

Some professor said he had a friend who carved large wooden
feet and walked around leaving Bigfoot tracks. Jeez! And I thought
I had no life! He thought it was all a hoax. A park ranger guy said
he had never seen any sign, like poo or bones, to give any concrete
evidence that could be DNA analyzed. OK, smartypants, how
often do you find bear poo and skeletons? Because wouldn't you
think someone might have found this and mistook it for Bigfoot
evidence and had it analyzed? And you know what bears do in
the woods...don't you watch those toilet paper commercials?

This TV reporter went back in the swampy soggybottom land
with some guys who had seen a Bigfoot there. Did they go in
the daylight? Oh, no....let's go at night and without night vision
and scare ourselves to death in the woods with Mr. Creepy
Bigfoot watching us. They heard something up on the ridge, and
tried to see in the dark. Maybe they should have thought to take
a night-vision scope or something. Silly people. This one guy
whipped out a pistol and pointed it up the hill. Great, I thought.
He's gonna shoot that guy with the wooden feet. But no, he pointed
the red laser thing, and said "Between those trees there?" Then
a rock came flying down the hill at them. THEN Bubba shot that
pistol. Because if there is an elusive, mysterious, missing link that
the world is dying to discover throwing rocks at you, of course
you must kill it dead.

Let's be reasonable for a minute. Why would you shoot at it?
Isn't it more likely that it's some Bigfoot impersonator dressed up
in an ape suit, than an actual Bigfoot? What if Bubba had killed
someone? What's his defense? "I thought he was Bigfoot." What
if he actually killed a Bigfoot? Would he want the head to mount
on his wall? "Yep...that's a big 'un. Well, I think he's a big 'un,
but it's the only one in the history of the world, so you'll have to
take my word for it, cause there's nothin' to compare him to.
He was chuckin' rocks at us in the dark, so I killed him."

The same night of the rock chucking, there was a Bigfoot sighting
several miles away on a farm in the middle of nowhere. The guy
said there are no houses within 10 miles. He saw a Bigfoot walk
across the field in the moonlight. It put its hand on a fencepost
and stepped over the barbed wire fence. That Mr. Bigfoot sure
is athletic. I would definitely pick him first on my rock-chucking
fence-stepping team.

And wouldn't you know it--these Bigfeet pop up at will when
you don't have a camera with you, but set out some bait and
night-vision cameras, and they don't even phone to say they're
running late.

Back in the day, there was Mo-Mo, the Missouri Monster.
He must have been Bigfoot's hick cousin. I never saw one of
him, either. It's hard for me to believe such a thing exists.
Wouldn't some hillbilly have married one already, and had
a passel of kids that are hard to buy shoes for?

I may believe in ghosts, but not in Bigfoot. There's not enough
evidence. And since I'm from Missouri, you'll have to show me.

#1 Official Answers: What Would Rednecks Do?

Question: What would rednecks do with a possum that was "sleeping"
in the driveway all day?

Official Answers: Toss it in the neighbor's field OR throw it down the
sinkhole. Details can be found here.

The closest to the official answer was Chewy, who said "toss it next
door into the yard of the neighbors." Close, but no dead possum, was
Redneck Diva, who said "toss it out in the field." She also pointed out
that her husband would shoot it 47 times, even if it was already dead.

All answers this week were in the acceptable redneck range. Misha
said "shoot it and run over it a few times." I think she might have some
issues to work out. Rebecca must be one of those recycling fanatics
that lets no part of the possum go to waste, because she says to
"run over it, make grub and grits, and tan the hide to make a hat for jr."
My teaching-buddy-without-a-blog thinks this way too, as she e-mailed
her answer of "drive over it with a 4x4 until dead, skin it and tack the
hide to the barn door, and prepare a gourmet meal for hubby and little
ones." She watches Emeril, so I guess he cooked gourmet possum one
day.

Now I am a bit worried about the redneckness of Rachel, because
she said "bring it in as a pet, with a name and place to sleep, and give
it something to nibble on." While she claims to have redneck roots,
they must have been the black sheep of the rednecks, because the
only way rednecks would be so nice to a possum is if they were
fattening him up for a main course. Rachel, you are on double-secret
redneck probation. I will watch for your answer to next Saturday's
Redneck Quiz.

BARn Bed-The Last Corner of the Loft


In case somebody drinks too much to walk down the steps
of the Barn Bar, Hillbilly Husband installed this bed. It looks
small, but it is like a twin bed. Now. It used to be our redneck
waterbed from our old house. He sawed the frame in half, and
put an air mattress in it. Not the $2.00 kind from Wal-mart
for floating in a blue plastic Wal-mart pool. It's one of those
as seen on TV that you blow up to make your guest sleep on
when you get uninvited company and want to teach him a
lesson about never dropping in for an overnight visit.

The "pillows" are 3 fund-raiser butt cushions that the older boys
sold years ago for school. Above the bed are a bunch of beer
goblets. I don't know where the genie bottle came from, or what
HH has been wishing for.

In the foreground is a small drafting table that HH painted with
black squares for playing chess and checkers. He plays chess
with 7-year-old #2 son. I don't know who wins, but I would
guess that it's an even contest.

This now concludes our tour of the Redneck Barn. Please proceed
down the steps in an orderly fashion. Feel free to walk around the
grounds. Anyone who finds a possum or a chipmunk may keep it,
no charge.