Emmy-Lou, What to Do? Did I Ever? Write About Emmylou? The Volume Is Borked–Crank it. Crank it Up! And Enjoy.

Pretty Sure I DID (In My Re-past)

I Love Her So Marvelous Much,

She Is A ‘Classy’ Class Act

Did I Ever, Tell the story of When my Best Shipmate met Emmylou?

I’ll Write this story Again,

By & By And ants Goodbye,

bye-bye

It is A heart-warming Story

He (Fish) talked to her for two hours Before he even Realized who he had been talking to (It was at a Blue-Grass Festival)

So as he re-counted this story, I assked,

“So how did you find Emmylou?”

“She was very kind and gracious”

“Of course she was, That’s That Emmylou we love, respect and adore” I said

He had no words

I have so many more Emmy Lou stories to recount here, But, respectfully, I shant “It aintn’t No time for lendy, trendy lengthily speeces sppec ies”

What-evah!

Y’all catch me drift

Goodness Gracious!

What A Perfect Woman!

Two Missionaries Came, Un-Solicited A-Knocking, Actually Pounding, Rather Vociferously, at My Door–I Was Endeavoring to Take-A-Much-Needed Nap

Yet, I Aswered their Much needed / Heeded Call–Might Have Been a Damsel-in-Distress–For All I Knew…

Oh, Hell No!

Just two Morons!

“Oh Lord, Please Forgive Them—For They Know Not What They Do, Nor Who They Were Fukken With”

And of course I was Respectful–I am NOT a Complete Moron! Had They Been Mormons From Utah, I would have introduced them to the under-side of my boots, but these were Texans, and being same, deserved some semblance of my respect. I invited them in…

I AM Only a Half-Way Moron.

And Let Me ‘En-Lighten Y’all:

Neither One Looked Even Remotely Like Emmy Lou.

If’n They Had,

Things May have Gone Off Some-What Smoother for Them…

But, Alas.

I DID Try To Explain to These Two Idiots How Much I Respected Folks of Faith.

But I am an Atheist.

“Forever how long?” One inquired.

“Ever since I learned to read,” I responded.

Our ‘Conversation’ kinda went South after that.

FAITH:

There’s a Hallelujah on The Lips Of All Good Dyin’ Men

The High-Women

“Heaven is a Honky-Tonk”

My Relationship with ‘God’ is rather, shall we say, ‘Complicated’

Flew, Like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Right Over Their Heads…

Again, Alas. I gave Up

And then I Cordially Invited Them to Go Get Fu*kd

Emmylou!

I love You!

For You and You Alone,

I would go to Church

FAITH

Bull-Shit Department:

Cred: Carlin

****

NO! I Learned to Read

Story at Eleven

To Be Continued.

I Have Only Scratched the Surface of

This Holy Encounter

Stray Tuned

Had To Had To Had To! Just Had To. I Need To ‘Finish’ This. Re-Write This. Everything About This Post is Pissing Me Off. It Is Poorly Written. It Don’t Pass Muster. Profanity Caution.

Probably Why I Have NOT Continued it of Late:

A Tale of Two Grandmothers

(WIP RIP)

I need to start fresh over with this one.

From scratch.

Pauline A. Marcom:

Ed note: Someone made her gravestone before she was even dead.

Who does that?

Who the fuck does that?

As a fucking job??

How fucked up is that?

I will never have a gravestone.

When I die, I will just be worm’s meat.

And this is how I want it.

This is how it will be.

How it should be.

I don’t want no idiot standing over my grave pontificating, telling lies about ‘What a great man he was.’ Blah! Blah! Blah!

Bullshit! He was an asshole, just like all the other assholes of the world.

Simple. He lived. He lied. He died.

Wipe your ass and your eyes and walk the fuck away.

Do not mistake me. I have long lost dead friends. I think of them often. I remember them. I cherish my memories of them. My most cherished memories are of Peanut and a few others. Do I visit their graves? Do I bring teddy bears, beers or flowers? Fuck no!

I hold them in my memory.

Fuck that grave-side shit!

That, to me is just theatre.

Self Pity.

Fuck that.

Fuck all that.

“Don’t sugar-coat it Lance; tell us how you really feel.”

“Go fuck yourself and leave me alone! How’s that?”

“I think we got the message.”

***

I had two grandmothers.

Most of us do/did

One was pure Saint.

One was pure Satan

I loved them both

Let us begin with the ‘Saintly One’

She was my Daddy’s mother.

Her name was ‘Pauline’ (Born in Levelland, Texas—NATIVE TEXAN—this is important—to me–Obviously)

She was beautiful.

And pondering back on her over the years, best contemporary help I can provide:

She was exactly like Emmylou Harris,

But prettier

And believe it or don’t,

Classier. 

If that is even possible.

Yep.

‘Tis.

She had so much class.

Fun trivial fact:

Pauline (Grandmother… duh… who I am writing of…)

Once confided to me during a road trip:

“I had a streak of gray hair running in my hair, ever’ since I was fourteen. (Emmylou did too, btw) Did not prevent your grandfather from marrying me… go figure.”

***

My Paternal Granddaddy

He scared me

Into insanity

 

Emmylou!

        

***

The other one…

The ‘Maternal One’

Name of ‘Mamie’

(From Tennessee—go figger)

Well,

She weren’t no Emmylou.

Let me tell you.

Mamie was uglier than a homemade mud fence.

She was ‘Satan-on-Steroids’

I loved her.

***

This is just a preamble

I’m too drunk and lazy to do this justice right now.

Stay tuned.

I swar’ on both of their graves, I will write no other shit until I return to this one.

It is important to me.

Probably not to you.

But, then agin, it ain’t never ‘bout you, is it?

It is ‘always’ ‘bout me.

And my self-empathy.

Ain’t it?

Thanks for watching/reading.

(And for tolerating a drunken fool–me)

***

And now a word from our sponsors:

Everything About This Post is Pissing Me Off. Probably Why I Have NOT Continued it of Late: “A Tale of Two Grandmothers (WIP RIP)” I need to start fresh over with this one. From scratch.

Ed note: Someone made her gravestone before she was even dead.

Who does that?

Who the fuck does that?

As a fucking job??

How fucked up is that?

I will never have a gravestone.

When I die, I will just be worm’s meat.

And this is how I want it.

This is how it will be.

How it should be.

I don’t want no idiot standing over my grave pontificating, telling lies about ‘What a great man he was.’ Blah! Blah! Blah!

Bullshit! He was an asshole, just like all the other assholes of the world.

Simple. He lived. He lied. He died.

Wipe your ass and your eyes and walk the fuck away.

Do not mistake me. I have long lost dead friends. I think of them often. I remember them. I cherish my memories of them. My most cherished memories are of Peanut and a few others. Do I visit their graves? Do I bring teddy bears, beers or flowers? Fuck no!

I hold them in my memory.

Fuck that grave-side shit!

That, to me is just theatre.

Self Pity.

Fuck that.

Fuck all that.

“Don’t sugar-coat it Lance; tell us how you really feel.”

“Go fuck yourself and leave me alone! How’s that?”

“I think we got the message.”

***

I had two grandmothers.

Most of us do/did

One was pure Saint.

One was pure Satan

I loved them both

Let us begin with the ‘Saintly One’

She was my Daddy’s mother.

Her name was ‘Pauline’ (Born in Levelland, Texas—NATIVE TEXAN—this is important—to me–Obviously)

She was beautiful.

And pondering back on her over the years, best contemporary help I can provide:

She was exactly like Emmylou Harris,

But prettier

And believe it or don’t,

Classier. 

If that is even possible.

Yep.

‘Tis.

She had so much class.

Fun trivial fact:

Pauline (Grandmother… duh… who I am writing of…)

Once confided to me during a road trip:

“I had a streak of gray hair running in my hair, ever’ since I was fourteen. (Emmylou did too, btw) Did not prevent your grandfather from marrying me… go figure.”

***

My Paternal Granddaddy

He scared me

Into insanity

 

        

***

The other one…

The ‘Maternal One’

Name of ‘Mamie’

(From Tennessee—go figger)

Well,

She weren’t no Emmylou.

Let me tell you.

Mamie was uglier than a homemade mud fence.

She was ‘Satan-on-Steroids’

I loved her.

***

This is just a preamble

I’m too drunk and lazy to do this justice right now.

Stay tuned.

I swar’ on both of their graves, I will write no other shit until I return to this one.

It is important to me.

Probably not to you.

But, then agin, it ain’t never ‘bout you, is it?

It is ‘always’ ‘bout me.

And my self-empathy.

Ain’t it?

Thanks for watching/reading.

(And for tolerating a drunken fool–me)

***

And now a word from our sponsors:

A Tale of Two Grandmothers (WIP RIP)

Ed note: Someone made her gravestone before she was even dead.

How fucked up is that?

***

I had two grandmothers.

Most of us do/did

One was pure Saint.

One was pure Satan

I loved them both

Let us begin with the ‘Saintly One’

She was my Daddy’s mother.

Her name was ‘Pauline’ (Born in Levelland, Texas—NATIVE TEXAN—this is important—to me–Obviously)

She was beautiful.

And pondering back on her over the years, best contemporary help I can provide:

She was exactly like Emmylou Harris,

But prettier

And believe it or don’t,

Classier. 

If that is even possible.

Yep.

‘Tis.

She had so much class.

Fun trivial fact:

Pauline (Grandmother… duh… who I am writing of…)

Once confided to me during a road trip:

“I had a streak of gray hair running in my hair, ever’ since I was fourteen. (Emmylou did too, btw) Did not prevent your grandfather from marrying me… go figure.”

***

My Paternal Granddaddy

He scared me

Into insanity

 

        

***

The other one…

The ‘Maternal One’

Name of ‘Mamie’

(From Tennessee—go figger)

Well,

She weren’t no Emmylou.

Let me tell you.

Mamie was uglier than a homemade mud fence.

She was ‘Satan-on-Steroids’

I loved her.

***

This is just a preamble

I’m too drunk and lazy to do this justice right now.

Stay tuned.

I swar’ on both of their graves, I will write no other shit until I return to this one.

It is important to me.

Probably not to you.

But, then agin, it ain’t never ‘bout you, is it?

It is ‘always’ ‘bout me.

And my self-empathy.

Ain’t it?

Thanks for watching/reading.

(And for tolerating a drunken fool–me)

***

And now a word from our sponsors: