Tuesday, November 22, 2011

"No Redemption"

I know a fellow who has been on a quest for redemption for the past twenty years.  A man who loved to sing, who had sung every day of his life, suddenly realized that he no longer had enough joy in his heart to ever sing again...and he has not, leaving the art of song to others.  Upon the realization that joy had deserted him, he began to take a good long look at his life.   His quest began, at first, with a thorough reflection of all that had gone before, the road of life he had travelled in the previous years.  He looked at his failures and successes and weighed them, each to the other.  Just as a ship's sonar will ping against an object on the scope, his mind pinged out toward all of the relationships he had built throughout his life.  He tried mightily to evaluate the level of hurt or joy he might have brought to each of those relationships and carefully measured the distance of the gaps which must be traversed to heal where the hurt exists and build a bridge that might grant easier access toward a more joyful and harmonious link to each heart and soul.

To do so he knew that he must first find peace within his own soul, for he longed for peace and tranquility above all else.  The task was arduously difficult,  for peace within one's soul can only truly be achieved when redemption for one's mistakes is granted by those who might have become affected by his actions.  Alas, the fellow learned that redemption is sometimes just not achievable.  No matter how this fellow pleaded for the grace of forgiveness there were those who refused to grant it.  His mistakes and failures were too often tossed back to him and his soul remained adrift.  No matter how many times he raised his sails to plow forward, the headwinds of the old angers and resentments of love ones left him stranded and lost on an angry sea. 

This fellow often set out on distant journeys to loved ones who gathered for all the grand occasions that cry out for familial reunion.  On these occasions, simmering just below the level of quiet conversation, or intermittent familial joys, there still brewed the bitter resentments, ready to flare up at any breach of understanding.  This made any future efforts toward a rapprochement of loving relationships fraught with tentative and frightening possibilities for further hurt.

I know this fellow well.  He has now sadly realized that redemption can only be granted, and not necessarily earned.  He now knows that any redemption to be achieved must come from travelling different roads and encountering different faces where the slate of one's relationships are pure and clean and free of unforgiving memories. 

Until death takes him....and grants him the final redemption, he must be satisfied with half-full glasses, lonely roads and unfamiliar faces.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

"Food Stamp Fraud"

Did anyone notice the news yesterday on the latest Food Stamp fraud?  American taxpayers were cheated out of $500 million dollars this year alone by secondary grocery stores like 7-11 stores paying out 30 cents on the dollar to food stamp holders, then redeeming the full value of the food stamp cards.  Huge profits at our expense!  Obama's Attorney General and the Agriculture Department went aggressively after the businesses but not the food stamp recipient.  After all, the food stamp recipients are just "victims", aren't they?  Never mind that they apparently didn't need the food; after all you can only buy your drugs with cold hard cash.

When Food Stamps were introduced in the late 70's, as part of Jimmy Carter and the Dems unrelenting efforts to reward their electorate, were actually paper stamps.  Within a year the drug culture in Chicago, Detroit, New York and Los Angeles were using Food Stamps as the currency of choice to buy their dope. 

Rather than address the core issue; whether or not a particular person was deserving of this benefit, or whether program "need" was actually being properly audited, the government decided that Food Stamp cards would be preferable.  First, it would completely eliminate the shame that a Food Stamp recipient might feel in the grocery line.  Secondly, it would be so much more efficient.  After all, how could a food stamp recipient cheat with a food stamp credit card?  In recent years, while tax-paying American families have had to forego a night out at a fast food place, the Food Stamp crowd are now approved to enhance their obesity and diabetes just by swiping that Food Stamp card for those Supersize Big Mac combos.

We now know:  Never underestimate the ingenuity of a "victim class" that has developed a sense of entitlement unrivaled in our history.  Many states have now opted to do away with welfare checks and simply re-boot the welfare recipients credit card.  Alas, now we are learning that these welfare folks are now using their welfare credit cards in casino slot machines across the land. 

My mom was on welfare for about a year when I was a kid.  She and we hated it.  In addition to a very small welfare check we were invited to the county welfare office once a month.  We would pull up to a dock in the back of the building and go in and get a box of excess agricultural commodities.  Within the box was a bag of flour, a bag of sugar, a block of cheese, dried beans and a sack of potatoes.  We were also visited at home by a welfare worker who walked through our house, ask us questions about parental care...and embarassed the hell out of us with that state welfare car out front for all our neighbors to see. We hated it and got off of it as quickly as we could.

That's what we need today.  We need direct government supervision of benefit programs, active audits, and we need to have welfare recipients to hate it, and want to get off of the program as soon as possible!  Instead, we have three generations of Great Society "victims" who demand more and more from the taxpayer.

At the very least, let's make a deal with this "victim class".  Let's cut out the shady 7-11 store owner "middlemen" and offer these welfare suckers 30 percent on the dollar in cash in lieu of Food Stamps that they apparently neither want or need.  We could balance our budget in a year

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Goodbye Daily Reader

Good Morning Dear Reader,

Today will be the last entry for my daily blog.  I will continue to post to my blog periodically but no longer on a daily basis.  I would like to thank those who have visited me almost daily.  I'm appreciative of your visits as well as your comments on all the many issues I have written about.

I began my blog on the 17th of January, 2011 and have tried to post on a daily basis.  My goals were to entertain with personal stories, educate on our national concerns and motivate readers toward being more responsible citizens.  If I have given even a few of you a thought to ponder...or a laugh...or a feel good moment then I will consider my efforts to have been worth it.

As of today I will have posted 256 blogs entries and have attracted close to 40,000 visits during the last ten months.  That count is more than many but not nearly enough to consider this blog successful and viable.  I have written of such national concerns as illegal immigration, a corrupt and ineffective government and have lamented the apathy of our citizens toward addressing these concerns.  I have written of those I love and those I greatly admire.

I have also written of personal life experiences and have enjoyed the writing of them immensely, especially when I receive comments from readers who relate similar experiences.  Sometimes I have used humor to poke fun at myself or to illustrate some of the government's folly in trying to govern.

Should you care to visit my blog and read, or re-read any of those 256 blog entries, they are there for you to peruse.  To Crystal and Jo and Grenadavet and Just Bob and Pammie Jean, and to all of you "anons" out there that came to visit every day, you have my heartfelt thanks.

Should you wish to be notified of any new postings I urge you to sign up for email notifications on the front page of my blog so that you'll be alerted of any new postings.

I'm not saying goodbye...just "see you later"....look for me around the corner...

Monday, November 14, 2011

"A Curmudgeon's Nostalgia"

Good morning folks.

Today I'm going to talk about all the things I miss.  I've found the list of things I miss gets longer as I get older.  I addressed a bit of the fast paced frustration we all face these days in my earlier blog "Futureshock is Here".  This blog addresses the things I miss from a simpler time.

I miss "Service Stations" where I would go to have my gas filled up by an attendant who would also check my oil, my wiper fluid, my tire pressure, then wash my windows.......then announce "that'll be two dollars, please"...(22 cents a gallon gasoline). 

I miss ten cent coffee, with free re-fills.

I miss two for a penny Tootsie Rolls.

I miss drinking from a garden hose in the heat of summer and never knowing that garden hoses cause cancer.

I miss Dodgeball, and Red Rover and Red Light-Green light and lightening bugs.

I miss the golden era of fast food, before microwaves, when you went to a drive-in and they were forced to make your burger fresh and served to you sizzling on the bun.

I miss going to a Taco Bell for the first time and paying a dime for Tostadas, Tacos, Encheritos and Burritos.

I miss going to a movie and a quarter would get you a ten cent movie ticket, a bag of popcorn and a package of Neccos.

I miss my first car, an aged 52 Hudson that had seats more comfortable than any living room sofa, had a walnut dash and a radio that played Elvis with deep rich tones. 

I miss my second car, a 1952 Candy Apple Red Buick convertible that ferried my friends and I to innumerable drive-in movies.

I miss drive-in movies where you and five friends could go and see "Attack of The Fifty-Foot Woman" and "The Pit and The Pendulum" for "a dollar a car load".

I miss the original Sean Connery James Bond movies.

I miss listening to the Rock Top 40 and being able to understand the words.

I miss the time when a loaf of bread in 1960 cost you a quarter...and it cost a quarter in 61, 62, 63, 64 and 65..because we had no inflation.

I miss when large extended families got together for every holiday; you got to compare the cooking skills of all the aunts and grannies and learned to put up with a nerdy cousin or two.

I miss going to school, having a class of 35 kids and all listened to and learned from their teacher..else you went to the Principal's office for the dreaded leather strap.

Don't get me wrong; I love many things about today; IPODs, my Kindle E-Reader, My Microwave Oven,
beautifully stocked grocery stores, more reliable automobiles, the convenience of the Internet and Diet Sodas that really do taste like the sugarized version.  (Anybody remember Tabb?, ugh).

But, I do miss many things from the "good ole days".  I'm lucky though; I can travel back in memory to re-visit those things; hell, I can even do that while reading my Kindle or listening to my IPOD!

Pardon me..gotta run...gotta go up to the gas station and spend $75.00 bucks to pump my own gas, check my own oil and wash my own damned windows!


Thursday, November 10, 2011

"Life Goes To The Movies"

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1The last time I went to a theater to see a movie, the showing was "Forest Gump".  I think that was about  1994.  I don't like the cracker box theaters, $7 dollar boxes of popcorn and, if I wanted to hear cell phones ringing, I could go to the nearest mall.

However the biggest reason for my non-attendance has been the dearth of good movies, or at least movies that have some interest to me.  I do not enjoy computer enhanced car chase action, massive explosions or, in another vein, movies that exploit and degrade the human condition.  Even Disney, in the aftermath of the great Walt, has sold out to purely stupfying commercialism.  I cried when Bambi lost her mother, was enchanted by Snow White, enraptured by Cinderella and mesmerized by Fantasia.  But "old Walt" would not be happy with Pochahantas or most of the other computer animated films without a soul that came after. So many Disney films these days are like wax people, attractive to look at but lacking heart.  The Harry Potter series is much more appealing.

Ironically, I absolutely love movies!  I'm sure a little of who I am emanates from models of behavior that I've seen in movies.   I love the old movies and first thing every day I turn to Turner Classic Movies to see what the fare is for the day.  TCM is pure class.  By contrast, if you watch AMC you are surely watching the sixth showing of a Stallone or Eastwood action flick...and it'll take you three hours to watch it as you wade through an hour of commercials dispersed every five minutes or so.

A good movie, to me, will have a good solid story, meaningful dialogue and plot and will touch my heart or stimulate my mind.

I learned about social justice from watching "The Ox-Bow Incident", "A Few Good Men" and "12 Angry Men" and "The Grapes of Wrath" and "The Heat of The Night"

I learned about love from "An Affair to Remember" and "Ghost" and "Rome Adventure" and "Charade" and
"Pretty Woman" and "It Happened One Night" and "Gone With The Wind" and many more.

I learned what a great teacher was by watching "Stand and Deliver" and "To Sir With Love".

I learned about history by watching "Roots" and "The Winds of War" and "The Civil War", and not a bastardized account of the Vietnam conflict with "Hamburger Hill" and "Appocalipse Now".

I learned about compassion from "The Ice is Blue" and "Philadelphia" and "Of Mice and Men" and "It's A Wonderful Life" and "Mr. Deeds Goes To Town" and "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington".

I learned to laugh by watching Oliver and Hardy and "Some Like It Hot" and "Blazing Saddles" and "Tootsie" and "The Odd Couple" and "When Harry Met Sally" and "Bull Durham" and, thankfully, many more.

The best movies provide pathos, laughter, spiritual richness, escapism and the inspiration to be just a bit better as a person. 

Gotta Go now...American Graffitti is coming on and I don't want to miss a minute!

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

"Oprah, Where's My Kitchen?"

I love Oprah Winfrey.  She's smart, well-spoken, funny, and has a kind heart.  Although I don't watch her every day, those times when I do I find the show quite interesting and entertaining.  I do have one problem with Oprah and that is her "screening process" for those oh so wished for home re-models that she occasionally sponsors.  Most irritating are those kitchen re-models.  I have watched many of those "before and after" shows and I can barely sit still in my battered old recliner as I watch some yahoo proclaim that they have the ugliest kitchen in America. 

Not true.  These supposedly "ugliest kitchens" do not hold a pot holder to mine.  I live in a house built in 1960 and no where is this more evident than in the kitchen.  How bad is it?  Well, first, you've really got to watch re-runs of The Brady Bunch to get an idea of the decor; then you have to imagine that Brady Bunch kitchen 50 years later.  My kitchen counter tile is kind of a yellowish-brown tone, made more hideous by years of coffee stain and food sediments which have settled nicely into the grouting.  The "decorative" back splash tiles have imprints of quaint little coffee pots that were the rage during the Eisenhower administration.  The stove top is ancient and was made by a company that went out of business fifty years ago.  A few years ago I was so desperate for an upgrade I bought a wall oven to replace the 1960's model.  The "new" model was manufactured when Nixon was directing break-ins at the Watergate.

But folks, it is the kitchen cabinets that bring this kitchen to the ultimate hideousness.  They are the original 50's cabinets that probably nicely accommodated a 1960's household where the state of the art appliance was a four slice toaster.  When I first moved into this house I made a futile attempt to stain the greased stained maple cabinets.  I scrubbed and sanded and tried mightily to apply an even coat of cherry stain to the old wooden cabinets.  Alas, being the oaf I am, the stain is splotched and uneven and is not much unlike those young men you see walking around with dual-toned brown and blond-frosted hair tones.  Really ugly.  The cabinet doors do not close, the door clips having long ago given up the ghost.  So the cabinet doors stand half-open at all times, inviting the kitchen visitor to see stained oil cloth kitchen shelving. 

Tried my hand at painting too!  I painted the kitchen walls yellow to match the counter top tile.  Ugh!  My kitchen lighting is a five-foot florescent light fixture that glows brightly and serves to highlight the quiet desperation that is my kitchen. 

Every time I walk into my kitchen (on shit-brown linoleum floor tiles) I am discouraged and disgusted.

So, Oprah, when you choose those folks who are "suffering" under the antiquity of 90's style maple cabinets and simply  must  replace that ten year old tile floor, you have badly chosen. 

Oprah, can you even imagine the stark contrast of MY "before and after" kitchen re-model?  Choose ME and my kitchen and win the praise of home re-modelers everywhere!  Oprah, you owe me a new kitchen! 

Gotta go now....I think I hear my dishwasher dribbling.

Monday, November 7, 2011

"Through A Child's Eyes"

Good Morning Everyone,

Can you remember back, when you were a child, how everyday things appeared to you back then?  Can you close your eyes and remember how big grown ups seemed to you?...and they seemed to be even bigger, depending on their level of authority!  For instance, my mom when she was mad at me, and coming at me with a switch, was huge and scary!  With few exceptions, I always put my teachers on a pedastal and they seemed so big and wise...but they didn't compare to our school principal, who was a very large man whom we held in awe!  He was "the enforcer"; you never wanted to be sent to his office, for his spankings with the leather strap were legend!...and most probably, exagerated. 

Even mundane things back then appeared larger in the eyes of a child.  I still remember our school cafeteria trays; they were made of a strange combination of cork and melmac or something and served as both plate and tray.  As we lined up in an orderly fashion at the serving counter our "hair net hostesses" (usually someone's mom or grandmom that we knew) would dole out white bread in one pocket, jiggling jello in another, then we moved on to the mac n cheese or meatloaf or fish sticks or whatever...and sat down on low tables that, for us, we're just the right size!  But those plate/trays seemed huge to me back then.  Even a brown bag sandwich from home was something we had to maneuver with two hands!  And those little half-pint cartons of milk were just the right size.

As I get older, I have the luxury of time to recall those child hood years and it is such a delight to re-visit them!  Does anyone remember when we made shoe-box theaters?  We would bring to school a shoe box and were shown how to cut a circular hole at the end of the shoe box and a similar one in the lid.  We would then make stick figured people and little trees and bushes using plants or materials from the yard.  At Christmas time we would make shoe box nativity scenes and then thrill to the scenes as we viewed it through the hole at the end of the box.  More spectacular were those little Viewmaster slide machines with the little round disks of pictures of the Roman Colleseum or the Eifel Tower or little dutch people standing next to a windmill.  I loved those viewmasters; they magically swept me away to distant lands and peoples! 

I wish, when I was raising my kids, that I had the luxury of hindsight; the luxury of time given me now that affords me a better understanding of what the world looks like to a child.  I wouldn't have been so tough on them.  Perhaps, in an ideal world, grandparents could always be around to temper the harshness that a child faces every single day, whether from a harried parent trying to make a living for his family, or marital discord, or taxing schedule, or for the harshness that comes from a school bully or the frightening real world events for which the child has so little comprehension. 

Thank God, I have wonderful children who are wonderful parents.  I don't live near any of my grandchildren now so my visits to them are pretty special..and memorable.  Although I've never told my kids this, I often look at my grandchildren's photo on Facebook and focus on their eyes....and I try to imagine what they are thinking and seeing at the moment of the camera click.  I was also fortunate to visit two of them at Christmas time; it was such a joy because I can now more clearly see what they are seeing....thanks to my own visitations to a child hood I hold so dear.

Like a child peeking through the hole of that little "shoe box theater" I now have the freedom to filter out all of life's distractions and see the magic and wonder that can only truly be seen through the eyes of a child.

Life is good.                                              

Thursday, November 3, 2011

"The Goat Lady"

Good Morning Folks,

There is a lady who lives up in Utah named Kazia Hancock.  She lives out in the country with her dogs, her ducks and geese and her goats.  In fact, she is known as The Goat Lady.  When you look in her eyes you see the sparkle of a bright shining soul looking back at you.  Her face reflects an aura of peace and love and contentment.  It should; her part time occupation is that of "peacemaker". 

Ms Hancock has attended no peace conference nor does she hold official credentials as an Ambassador, though ambassador and diplomat she is.

Ms. Hancock is a renowned artist.  Her work is captivating and eclectic...and superb.

But Ms. Hancock's best work is reserved for only a select special few;  she paints portraits of every serviceman and woman who have given their life for our country.  Using a photograph, Ms. Hancock paints an original oil portrait of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice and presents it to the service member's family.  She says she falls in love with every warrior she has painted.  She loves to quote Father Denis O'Brien of the U.S. Marine Corp:

It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag

As the war toll has risen Ms. Hancock now enlists the help of three other cooperative artists who formed "Project Compassion" to insure every surviving family has a portrait of their loved one.  The families love her and speak of the immense comfort this gesture of love and respect gives them.  Service members write Kazia and say such things as "thank you....we cannot think of a better example of who we're fighting for than you"..

Yes, Kazia Hancock is indeed a peacemaker.  She is the Ambassador to the Human Heart.  She is the official liaison between the fallen soldier and his family, giving them, through her portrait, the last whisper of love from the noble heart.

And May God forever bless our dearest Ambassador.

Note:  Should you wish to write and thank this wonderful lady for her service to our country, you can email her at ProjectCompassion@manti.com.

"Music Doth Soothe The Savage Soul"

My earliest memories of music was the sounds that emanated from a five feet tall wooden monstrosity that sat in prominence in our living room, a solid but ancient Motorola radio.  My folks were Okies and loved that four-four beat and the nasal twang of a Webb Pierce or Ernest Tubb singing of forsaken love and honky-tonk heartbreak. 

I couldn't relate to those singers but, between radio broadcasts of Roy Rodgers or Hoppalong Cassidy, an occasional song would stir my innocent soul.  The first singer that captured my attention was Hank Williams; his songs were melodious, or funny, or achingly sad, and, though I couldn't identify it then, I sensed a genuousness to ole Hank's music.  Hank would sing honky-tonk and you just knew he was enjoying himself in some Alabama beer joint off the main route someplace.  And when, he sang of heartbreak, my heart would ache a little myself.

A decade later I would join the army of teenagers walking around with a red plastic Japanese red transistor radio growing out of our ears.  While we all held vigil until Elvis could be released from the prison of military service, we listened to Roy Orbison and Ray Charles and Ricky Nelson and two stunning new sounds; the fantastic notes from Mo-Town and Phil Spector's "Wall of Sound".  You couldn't listen to that music without tapping your feet or rising into a mad dance of glee.   And when our young hearts were aching from unrecognized or forsaken or broken love, we could turn on the radio and listen to others singing out expressions of our angst.

As I grew older my appreciation for music expanded to other schools.  I found classical music to not be "long hair" at all and could be soothing or dramatic, by turns.  I learned to appreciate the sincerity expressed in good gospel music or the gutterly sexual joy or amplified torment expressed in jazz. 

Music is truly magical in that it is probably the strongest means to instantly bring back the memories of a particular time in your life.  I can hear a song from my youth and instantly be transported to time and place and circumstance!  Music is like little "place mats" that allow us to sit down to another place and time and sup from the richness of past. 

When music is meaningful to me I can feel a stirring of my soul, the chill bumps appear and I am in ecstasy!  And it can happen with all forms of music.  When Brian Wilson is singing "In My Room", I am in that teenage room with that old record player, a school pennant and a "Top 40" radio flyer pinned above the bed!  When I hear John Phillip Souza I am marching on that parade field on that USAF Officer's school graduation!  When I hear Canned Heat or The Greatful Dead or Big Brother and The Holding Company I am in a bunker in Vietnam.  Music is better than any time machine; it transports us to a meaningful past in the comfort of the present.

Music is universal but intensely personal.  While I can't stand today's music (just as our parents could not stand ours), I am absolutely sure that today's music is as meaningful to today's generation as ours is and was.

Our world is plagued by great troubles and great struggles and pain and heartbreak.  And yet, our world is blessed with great beauty as well; the painting arts, the written arts and yes, the beauty of music.  Art, and particularly music, becomes the means to express all the life experience.

We must truly give thanks to our creator for giving us the strength to endure all that life throws at us, while giving us the gifts of music and art to express our frustrations and the comfort that they provide.

gotta go now...Chuck Berry just came on...and I gotta get up and dance!

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

"Buttering Up Paula Deen"

Last night my daughter emailed me to recommend a Food Network link to a Paula Deen recipe for English Peas.  The recipe called for 1) an appropriate sized pot, 2) two cans of English peas 3) a quarter pound of butter.  Basically it was "select pan, turn on burner, open two cans of peas, add cube of butter, enjoy".  The recipe was so clearly simplistic that it drew a host of very funny reviews. 

Let me first say that I love Food Network, have long enjoyed Giada's cleavage as she makes pasta dishes "sexy", really enjoyed Rachel Ray until she became as overexposed as a Britney Spears limo exit, and love to see Bobby Flay get "whooped" by a southern chef with a killer barbecue recipe.  However, I've always been a bit put off by Paula Deen and her orgasmic delight on adding huge gobs of butter to every cooking recipe.  I'm also always a bit uncomfortable when she has her two sons in the kitchen with her and, as they prepare an old family recipe, like buttered butterbeans, she reminds her sons on air that she bought them their palatial homes.  This is so "Y'all will know how sweet she is".

However, at last night's reading of the English Peas recipe, I have fallen madly in love with Paula and want to be her business manager.  I can take Paula to new heights of success, far beyond the Walmart Carrot Cake and the pots and pans business.

I am proposing that Paula apply her love of butter toward a host of additional endorsement deals:

I will first have Paula endorsing a national brand of real butter.  She will be dressed to the hilt, divinely coiffed silver wig in place, and endorse the joys of cooking with real butter, as opposed to the leading tub of margarine; all she need do is curl her lip and point to that yellow tub of margarine and say "I know damn well it ain't butter".,,,:and "y'all know it too!"

The next endorsement will have Paula smack dab in the middle of a Home Depot aisle and she'll hold up a can of WD-40 while in her other hand she holds a tub of butter.  All she need say is "To lubricate those rusty joints and stop those squeaky doors, I prefer mother nature's own remedy, Y'all". 

Next I want to see Paula stepping out of the shower, dripping wet, scoop out a gob of butter and begin slathering her Reubenesqe body with this versatile product and say "Hey Y'all, Cleopatra enjoyed milk baths but I've never enjoyed a more luxurious moisturizer than what Elsie the Cow provides".

Finally, we'll shuffle Paula over to the late night audience.  We'll bring in her hubby, Slud, or Mud, or whatever she calls him.  We'll have she and hubby cuddling in a huge heart-shaped Hollywood bed, lights low.  Paula will give Mud, Slud a big kiss and reach back to the night table, cup her hand erotically and dip out a healthy helping of butter as she gazes passionately  into the camera and whispers "Slud, Mud just loves the pleasure and intimacy good ole butter brings to our passion sessions...camera fade-out, with Slud, Mud smiling devilishly.

Paula!  Y'all call me, hear!

Note:  Folks, if you enjoy these blogs, let me me know through the comments section just below.  And mark me in your "favs" and come back and "set a spell".