Good Morning Hip Replacements…or whatever,
For the two or three of you new to this forum, it’s important to keep things in perspective whenever the “Rules Committee” is referenced because perception is not always truth! Albeit brief my interview with Cush last evening revealed he is still master of the inane. His basic depth of understanding that essentially exposed his predisposition for wool gathering came through, but the Teamster sure can cook.
As has been witnessed and discussed on this forum Cush is a self-appointed expert on damn near everything! While generally ignored, I’m highly conflicted about his claim of critical insight pertaining to white America’s introduction to the “Blue’s!” Some have tried to convince me Merle Haggard and his ilk introduced ‘white blues.’ Others credit the Beatles and Rolling Stones. I say it was the fecundity of talented children from southern slaves being ripped off by white men! That said, I’m grateful to all the scurrilous bastards capitalizing on it and brought this music to me.
Claiming insight to anything carries with it an obligatory demonstration of one’s skill and grasp of the subject. Cynics like those that sit on the ‘rules committee’ require more than braggadocio to buy into dubious claims. I need not look farther than ‘curmudgeon corner’ for examples. You haven’t lived until you hear Dv’ant’s discourse on the history of beer claiming to be the first God of Beer, Harlen’s insistence on being “Sitting Bull’s” great grandchild, Griz’s tales of almost being a star, Just JOE’s cadre of ‘Nieces,’ Bagwan’s denial of misogynistic tendencies, and Roger the Hairdresser’s phallic obsession with cars seem obvious to most casual observers.
However, long standing membership in the ‘rules committee’ aside, each has had to prove their respective claims of insight to a host of non-believers! Typically there are two ways of proving insight: First, like most, the listener is subjected to daily reiterations of the same baffling bullshit until reaching a state of glassy-eyed nodding. Provided one is even tolerated this method normally takes six to nine months of daily blathering to finally break through. Secondly, and most dangerous is to physically prove one’s claim to having insightful skills.
In a long line of physical mishaps documented in this forum, accounts such as the unsuccessful fording of the Platte River, sodomy by Raccoons, face plants in snow banks, midget clowns, unholy anointing’s, flying turds, date rape, poop-y pants, projectile vomiting, and the dreaded four hour erection; all true accounts of the unfortunate side of life’s rich pageant.
Ill-fated attempts of an old curmudgeon to physically make his/her point usually end up badly. This was clearly demonstrated last weekend when RTH felt obligated to prove his heterosexuality. As the two or three of you reading this avatar know RTH’s physical stature is slight if not altogether insignificant! I’m sure this has been a life long struggle with the man that wants to escape his tiny housing.
Like Napoleon, RTH is compelled to overcompensate for his lack of height. Napoleon conquered the world, RTH by coiffuring hair. Also before he opens his car door he’s gotten into the habit of hiding the telephone books he sits on before getting out.
Sporting a Tam-o-shanter certainly makes him identifiable amongst Blondie’s patrons that tower over him but does little to mitigate his stunted appearance. All agree he’d be better served by the ten-gallon hat of ‘Hoss’ Cartwright fame.
RTH found what appeared to be a woman (still being debated) that seemed to be interested in his goofy dialog and left the bar for the more intimate setting of the couch. As the evening wore on it actually became more difficult to ascertain the gender of the person sitting across from our good friend, obviously frustrating his need to prove manhood to the giggling curmudgeons at the bar. To be fair, it’s hard to relegate height to gender as everyone looks big standing next to RTH, so we gave him the benefit of doubt as he/she dragged him outside for God knows what.
It didn’t help that (his/her) arms were as matted with hair as any man! Curiosity getting the better of me, I followed the couple stopping at the entryway to see if they were going to leave together. Top down RTH and friend looked smug and confident in spite of being perched atop phone books and headed toward the street. On cue, our desperate associate popped the clutch and screeched away in a cloud of smoking Firestones. Unfortunately though, he immediately lost control and got high-centered on the median pointed the opposite direction of traffic and couldn’t move! He immediately got out to assess damage but didn’t secure the telephone books in time and all three dropped to the roadside.
RTH if you’re reading this bag of gas, please come back. While most of us don’t pick up Transvestites we all know you meant well. C’mon I promise not to snicker too much, so just gird up your little loins and come in and take your medicine!