Hey! I’m Writing Here! (Once Again)

Now, C’mon Y’all.

Vid Credit: Guyism

I am just having fun, exploring (exploiting?) some of my inane, insane, In-Same, recent posts.

And of course, I love to ‘share my wares.’ Because I am just that vain (don’t ask me why or how I justify that statement.)

So there!

If I post something you have already ready read, sorry…

New shit will be forthcoming.

And soon. And I promise. And the check is in the mail and I won’t… do that in… “Ah don’t go there Lance.”

But, in the meantime:

And not to put too fine a point on it (trite, yep): My writing and my posts are ‘all over some places…’  But ‘Twould behoove to follow some of the links, as I find them entertaining. (Your individual experience may vary, and even differ, or beg to)

***

Hey! I’m writing here!

(Fleeting thoughts seem to fly away. Okay? That’s Okay, Right? Isn’t it?)

Credit: https://www.youtube.com/user/mattfosternow

It is easy

“Now Go fuck off and leave me alone. And while you are leavin’ me alone, make me some more coffee.”

“Please.”

“and thanks for the pepperoni.”

(Sorry.. vague Lenny Bruce reference)

I actually said this aloud to my much maligned invisible muse. Bless her heart.

The dog walked over to me an inquired, “Hey! Rance!” (he cannot pronounce my name. He is a dog after all) “Rance,” he said. “You OK Bubba?”

(Overheard by some fly on some wall in some other multi-verse.)

Probably it was just the wind.

***

‘Tax Day’ (they say) Means nada to me: means  Bupkis! (great Yiddish word: use it in a sentence today and then it is yours for all of maternity)

Why? “‘Cause I had no income last year. That’s why!”

Oy vey! Yep! Good thing ‘bout that there: No taxes.

Moving on to today’s post…

(Oh yeah: first order of business: “The Daily Lenny”)

Well, You May Find it here, whisked into a long post about a mechanic. Yes. You will have to work to find it. So Sorry.

Let us paws for a second.

(Goddamnit Lance! Enuff with the fucking puns!)

Take a breath.

“This is swerving dangerously close to being another rant.”

*sigh*

“Yes. I know.”

*Moving on…*

Now Where was I?

Oh Yeah!

Taxes!

Not really.

CNN?

Nope (but theirBreaking Newsis ‘bout to break my spirit and my capacity to love anyone)

Serious for one second. I weep for those family who lost family on That Plane.

*Whew! Now we got that sentiment out of the way…*

Still trying to Move On Dot Org…

(Just kidding—I do not even know where that is)

More Breaking Fucking News!

Some idiot on CNN just said, “Let us be Frank.” (and Tom, Dick, and Harry)

(not sure in reference to what—generally—I only half-listen, but that one caught some vacant, unused part of my ear)

*Still trying to move on and find a purpose for this purposeless post*

Y’all know what?

This is gonna be an “all-day” project.

There is just too much shit running about in my head.

I will get back you.

As they say:

To be continued…

Make No Beans About It

???????????????????????????????

The ‘pinto bean’

“Phaseolus Vulgaris”

“texmexiconus pintofusiorius”

(My etymology)

Consider for a moment the lowly pinto bean. In The Great Republic of Texas the National Dish is Chili. Specifically: Texan Chili.

Which-Means-No-Beans.

Do not bean up chili. On pain of death Son, do not bean-up chili.

Still freshly pressed from California, (Actually four years into being ‘freshly pressed,’ but some things take more time to take than others) I did not know this.

My junior year in Honey Grove High School I volunteered to provide the chili for the fundraising endeavor of my class. We were to sell chili-dogs and Frito pies during the breaks—the break before lunch and the break after lunch just before liberty: Two of the hungriest times in High School. We would have a captive audience.

Yep.

On the Friday afternoon before the Monday break time when the ’74 Junior Class was to unveil their fundraising enterprise, I was at-a-loss. I had never until that day cooked anything resembling food. Once, during a camping trip years before, a man who was somehow kin to me, (by marriage—not genes), brought out some bacon and proceeded to throw it into a skillet on the camp fire.

“Hey!” I said. “Don’t you need to put some flour in there with that bacon?”

Yes. I was stupid.

Anyway… Here I was after shooting my big mouth off, now needing to produce tons of chili for the chili dogs and Frito pies. (OK. I do realize there are some not-Texans who have no idea what the fuck is a Frito Pie. Here is the quick version: Take one ah dem very small packs of Frito’s corn chips, slice it down the side, open it up, pour chili on top, et voila! Frito Pie, or as some call it: Meskin Lasagna.)

Dear Gloria, (My Stepmother, who was actually from ‘Up North—Montana- or sum such place), Dear Step Momma, I need to cook up a big batch O’ Chili. Kin ya help me?”

“Sure, Stepson, I can help you.”

Well… what do I do first?” I honestly enquired.

“Stepson, first you soak some beans.”

“Beans? I am makin’ chili. Why do I need beans?”

“You need beans, Red-Headed-Step-Son, to fill in the profit.”

“Ah don’t recall beans in chili, Step-Mom.”

“Trust me: Step-Son; beans are what everyone needs… in chili… here.”

“So… I need to cook beans before chili?”

“Yes.”

“How do I do that?” I asked.

“First you soak them. Soak them for fifteen hours.”

“Then what?”

“Cook them. Cook them for another fourteen hours.”

“And the chili?”

“Cook that for hours…”

“And then?”

“Combine.”

“So… I ‘combine’ the chili with them beans?”

“Do not say ‘them’ in this house.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, you ‘combine’ the beans with the chili, and then you have a profitable enterprise.”

“I see, thanks Step-Mother-from-North-Dakota.”

Following Monday, I show up with my ‘CHILI’

“Marcom! What the fuck is this? This ain’t chili! This shit has beans! Beans! Beans!”

Imagine my shame.

“But…but…but… My Mom… er…my sometime Mom…

Ah shit!

Beans!

IN chili.

I shouda knowed better.