Y’all

Now, let us ‘deconstruct’ “Y’all”

Why not?

In the English Oxford Dictionary, ‘you’

“Used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing”

See?

Plural.

Simple.

Yeah, not so fast.

Southerners having none of that.

See? English English breaks down right there.

We (us southerners) need more.

Southerners need ‘Y’all’

Now ever’one needs “Y’all”

Sometimes… we need “All Y’all.”

(just to make certain there is no ambiguity)

Jes’ sayin’…

And P.S. My good friend, Pain,  over at http://exileonpainstreet.com/

 once said, and I try to quote:

“If I see too many posts in My Reader… I get ‘overload’ and delete them all.”

He said that.

I admire that: his truthfulness.

I too, try and usually fail, to read… ever’one.

But..

But… I never delete.

I just try to catch up.

That’s all.

Y’all.

 

“I like it Stripey” or if you will, “Chardonnay! Take me Away!”

This is a tale of two blogs. Or perhaps a blog of two tales. Or perhaps…

“More matter with less art” may be apropos here.

Indeed Gertrude!

(This post will surely go ‘viral’. Which by my standards simply means, ‘Six will read it. Three will ‘like’ it, and one will comment on it. Yep. ‘Viral’)

So without further ado, here we go:

My English Girl Friend asked me to mow her yard (years ago). As I was dusting off the old mower she remarked,

“I like it stripey.”

“Huh?”

“You know: ‘stripey’, like a golf course.”

So I’m thinking, ‘Stripey. Do you see a fucking candy cane on my shirt woman?”

Now of course I did not verbalize my musings. Oh hell no! I have learned a thing or two about women in my time. (Well certainly not near enough, but enough to keep my balls away from them late at night when they, just maybe, have had that one-too-many-glass-of-wine and have been ferreting about in the utensil drawer, coming out with a steak knife and a Lorena Bobbitt frame of reference.)

I know some shit about women.

Anyway, hoping to scare up some Karma and justification for a ‘Beer Run’, today I mowed the yard and by damn! I made it ‘Stripey’, and it cost me, by my estimation, an extra beer and a half in sweat. You see, it ain’t easy mowing greens.

Stripey

The next bit involves Real Drinkers (Yeah, but Y’all probably knew that already)

I lived with a woman once.

Okay, more than once and more than one woman.

“Round Round, Get Around” I got around!

(Stop it Lance!)

OK

I lived with a woman once…

She was / is (probably still) my best friend.

We had a rather platonic ‘lationship. We were more or less (generally more) ‘Drinking Buddies’. (Please remind me sometime to tell you of the time we drove her new Jaguar through a brick wall)

While I was working in Iraq I would fly her to Europe when I took my R&R’s. I let her plan all the trips. (I could not be bothered you see? I was too busy trying to keep a relationship with my ass and trying not to walk over an IED, and other such things which tend to keep one’s mind occupied. No. Travel Plans and Itinerant Itineraries did not fall into my Top Ten Things I Need To Do Today.)

Once I found myself between gigs, as it were (And I had escaped my fourth marriage), I ended up at her house.

She had a huge, and yes, Texan-Huge, yard(s). She force-labored me (and herself, to be fair) to slave away in the yardI(s) until “Wine Time” Which was at precisely 1600hrs. Believe me: I was watching my watch all day, hoping Einstein would make an exception and speed up his Time/Space Continuum. Just for me.

I wanted that fucking ‘Wine Time’ and by Jove! I wanted it Now!

So, the two of us would shake (and rattle and prattle and roll) until ‘Wine Time’.

Who were we kidding?

I finally secured a new Gig in Afghanistan and escaped

And not one moment too soon.

The daily anticipation of ‘Wine Time’ almost did me in.

***

These two posts were inspired by my sometime muse, Mark.

Now, Mark has a blog site (you probably could have guessed that)

Well, Mark’s site always seems to inspire me to write some reeeely stupid shit. And yes, I use ‘stupid shit’ as a term of Endearment, when referring to Mark’s Blog (and his column in ‘The Syracuse New Times’)

But, using Mark in this shamless fashion often gets me in Trouble with My Real Muse. Let’s call her Maggie, as that is her name. (shhhh! Don’t tell, but if you get ‘stuck’ with Writer’s Block head on over to Mr. Mark’s Page. You will depart with a month’s worth of shit to write about… Please don’t quote me. I have to live with my muse, and sometimes, well… She just ain’t amused)

She has been with me for some years (many years and beers).

Well, today, as I was laughing my ass off at something Mark posted, she woke up from her nap.

“Hiya Maggie. How was your nap?”

“I had a horrible dream,” she said.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” I said back. “What was your dream?”

“I dreamt you were cheating on me.”

“Nonsense!” I said with not enough sincerity.

“Yes! And I am a fucking Muse, and I know about these things. Back when I was working for Will, he used to cheat on me with that bitch Viola. I dumped his ass and he never wrote another play worth a shit or a cup of warm spit.”

(Opps! Nothing worse than a woman scorned for fury. Note to self: “hide the steak knives.”)

And just in case Y’all don’t yet think I have gone completely insane, I leave you with this:

Vid Credit: PsychoDad1860

 

Today, a magical thing happened to me.

I’ll edit this later…

But for now I gotta go see a goat about a man. Be right back…

******

I woke up.

I woke up happy.

This has not happened in some years.

Why? Why now? Why today?

Well shit! I have no fucking clue, but I do know this:

It was a welcome change. I woke up Happy!

Fucking Happy!

And ’till now, I have maintained it.

And I am gonna embrace it ’till it leaves.

***

Now I had planned a very verbose post about my theories of depression but then I said,

“Naw! There are others who dedicate their lives to depression. They live for this shit.”

Who am I? I just went passing through…

“Just passing,” Thank You,

“Mind the gap.”

(You probably have to be British to appreciate that last bit)

Here’s to “Happy Days Are Here Again!”

(I’ll take them)

Evey’ one.

Y’all should too.

well we will marry and tarry

There

Here is a happy song to get you ‘in the mood’:

The moodiness of happiness:

“The Line Forms to the Right”

Just choose Happy

 

‘en anglais’

Henry Fifth (Hank Sank)

Emma Thompson is Charming

Emma_Henry_Fifth

Kate and Hank

Ed. Note: “Foutre” en français: Well, see below.

 “Kate: How do you say le pied (the foot) et la robe (the dress) Alice: The foot (how sounds like foutre which means to fuck) and the clothes  (that she doesn’t pronounce well and sounds like con which means assshole) Kate: Foutez le con? (fuck the asshole?) For God’s sake, this words are horrible, they are mean, indecent and not proper for a lady, I wouldn’t like to pronounce those words in front of the lords of France. Foutez le con???!!! But I least I can recite all that you taught me.”
–From Some Person via YouTube comments.

Well,  Just Google Henry Fifth

Happy Sunday, Y’all!