May Be Worth A Re-Look-See. Mainly Just For Hattie. “What did YOU do in The War Daddy? Daddy?? DADDY!??

Are You My Daddy?” “Dunno Girl. You from Olongapo City? PI? Dubai? Or Sydney Aussie? Or Mombasa? Or Hong Kong or Amman, or Tel Aviv, or Cairo? or Waco?

Please tell me Y’all ain’t from Waco! That Would Ruin my day!…. Catch My Drift? Oh Never Mind! What’s your DNA say? If I broke it, I’ll buy it”

*********

Never mind. I Suppose It’s Possible. Now Be A Dear And Buy Your Ole’ “Daddy” A Beer… Dear? Dear?

Where Ya goin’ Dear?–Come Back Here! I didn’t get my beer!”

(Cannot Properly EDIT This!

Damn You to Hell WordPress!–The Un-Pleasant Parts)

It’s Fittin’

Or it isn’t.

‘Fittin’’

No! It WAS Fittin’!

Very Much So!

So Well-Deserved!

Bravo to You Hattie!

In my mind, I think I have written some incredibly good shit for this here blog, (approaching my one-year anniversary) but then again, who can account for taste?

Certainly not me.

Anyway…

I had some interesting emails of late:

Mostly of the “Jeeze! Yer not dead… I hope.” Strain. (vernacular??)

“No Virginia, I am not dead.”(And No: There ain’t no Santa)

Yet.

Nope. Not yet. (dead: not Santa—try to stay with me here Friends…)

‘So sorry…’

“Maybe next time.” Or as some of my ‘friends’ might say: “Next Year in Jerusalem.”

(But then, that is some other kind of different post, ain’t it?)

I am tired, so I will end this now.

Just wanted to post ‘something’ so that y’all would realize… I am still alive in here.

Peace,

Lance

P.S. Now, that right there is what some might call a virulent (?), brilliant stream of ‘conscientiousness’. Some might, in fact.

Personally, I call ‘bullshit.’ But that is just me.

Cheers Y’all,

Lance

And PPS:

I am gonna volunteer to go to Liberia.

Just to help.

If y’all think I’m jokin’, well then; you don’t know me very well, do you?

Hell! All who know me, know I will risk anything for money! Because ‘money’ is all I care about.”

(And if y’all believe that, well then I am not… aiming… at ‘My Audience’)

And I do have a bridge to sell. (cheap!)

–Lance

Just for fun:

Bob Dylan – George Floyd – RIP

“A Deputy Sheriff approached them in a manner rather rude…”

Bad Idea Officer!

Take Away:

Don’t Fuck With Pretty-Boy Floyd

&

Do NOT

Fuck With Lance

He Looks Nice

But He Bites

Just Some

‘Friendly’

Advice:

Be Nice

Read & Heed

“I Ain’t Never Seen An Outlaw Drive A Family From Their Home”

“A Deputy Sheriff approached them in a manner rather rude…” 

Self-Critique. I Have Noticed, Of Late, A Pattern, A Rather Disturbing Pattern, Developing In My Brain, –A Disturbing One. “Rolling. Rolling. Rolling! Raw-Hide!”

When I Re-Post An Old Post, I Always Begin By Saying,

“This Is A ‘Re-Post’”

Christ-On-A Cracker Lance!

Is THIS Necessary?

Survey Says

“NO To The Hell NO!”

I mean if you’ve seen it, you already know.

If you have not seen it.

Yay!

It is Brand-New to you

***

I Am Gonna Change My Ways. This is My Promise. Hold Me To It—Call Me Out If I Waiver. I have already fallen off-that other-wagon.

I am bruised, but still not broken

Still Alive and I’ll Survive

Bloggin’ Bloggin’ Bloggin’

RawHide!

Yeah. That’s A Young Clint Eastwood

Good Eye If You Noticed.

If Not, I’ll Think About Forgiving You.

Maybe

Don’t Try To Understand Him

Just Tie & Rope & Brand Him

Hahaha!

Good Luck With That Effort

Catch Y’alls Later From The Bottom Of My Rabbit Hole

(Please Drop Down Some Booze From Time to Time)

Thanking Y’all In Advance

And Please, No ‘Top-Shelf Liquor.

Don’t Waste Your Money.

Mid-Shelf Will Suffice.

Thank You

Self-Critique. I Have Noticed, Of Late, A Pattern Developing–A Disturbing One. Rolling. Rolling. Rolling! Raw-Hide!

When I Re-Post An Old Post, I Always Begin By Saying,

“This Is A ‘Re-Post’”

Christ-On-A Cracker Lance!

Is THIS Necessary?

Survey Says

“NO To The Hell NO!”

I mean if you’ve seen it, you already know.

If you have not seen it.

Yay!

It is Brand-New to you

***

I Am Gonna Change My Ways. This is My Promise. Hold Me To It—Call Me Out If I Waiver. I have already fallen off-that other-wagon.

I am bruised, but still not broken

Still Alive and I’ll Survive

Bloggin’ Bloggin’ Bloggin’

RawHide!

Yeah. That’s A Young Clint Eastwood

Good Eye If You Noticed.

If Not, I’ll Think About Forgiving You.

Maybe

Don’t Try To Understand Him

Just Tie & Rope & Brand Him

Hahaha!

Good Luck With That Effort

Catch Y’alls Later From The Bottom Of My Rabbit Hole

(Please Drop Down Some Booze From Time to Time)

Thanking Y’all In Advance

And Please, No ‘Top-Shelf Liquor.

Don’t Waste Your Money.

Mid-Shelf Will Suffice.

Thank You

Pap, Huk, Peanut, Delirium Tremens, and Lance or “I Feel Like Hank Williams Tonight”

“Lately I been Thinkin’,

I Just Might Quit Drinkin’.

Now I don’t Know–All–In–All”

I Just May Stay Home

Get Drunk All Alone–

Pound A Few Holes In The Wall

Cred: Jerry-Jeff–No Shit Sherlock

I’m Not Really An asshole–I Just Play One On The Internet.

Basically I Am A Good & Decent Man–

I’d Give You the Shirt Off My Back

If You Were In-Need

***********

 

I post a lot of shit. I post a lot of off the wall shit. If you have read my ‘By Way of Introduction’ page you will know this.

But, OK,  most of you have not (read that).

Therefore, I will be brief here (“More matter and less art,” Yeah yeah yeah…)

More matter below:

And here is some ref: Peanut, stuff, more stuff, and even more stuff.

I stole this from Sam Clemens. I hope you like it a lot. (I do)

I don’t know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an awful scream and I was up. There was pap looking wild, and skipping around every which way and yelling about snakes.

He said they was crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say one had bit him on the cheek–but I couldn’t see no snakes.

He started and run round and round the cabin, hollering “Take him off! take him off! he’s biting me on the neck!” I never see a man look so wild in the eyes.

Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he rolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and saying there was devils a-hold of him.

He wore out by and by, and laid still a while, moaning. Then he laid stiller, and didn’t make a sound. I could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it seemed terrible still. He was laying over by the corner. By and by he raised up part way and listened, with his head to one side. He says, very low:

“Tramp–tramp–tramp; that’s the dead; tramp–tramp–tramp; they’re coming after me; but I won’t go. Oh, they’re here! don’t touch me –don’t! hands off–they’re cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil alone!”

Then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying. I could hear him through the blanket.

By and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he see me and went for me. He chased me round and round the place with a clasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill me, and then I couldn’t come for him no more.

I begged, and told him I was only Huck; but he laughed SUCH a screechy laugh, and roared and cussed, and kept on chasing me up.

Once when I turned short and dodged under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my shoulders, and I thought I was gone; but I slid out of the jacket quick as lightning, and saved myself.

Pretty soon he was all tired out, and dropped down with his back against the door, and said he would rest a minute and then kill me. He put his knife under him, and said he would sleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who.

So he dozed off pretty soon. By and by I got the old split-bottom chair and clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got down the gun.

I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then I laid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down behind it to wait for him to stir. And how slow and still the time did drag along.

Shoot at me you son of a bitch!

“Lately I been thinkin’, I just might quit drinkin’… now I don’t know, all in all…”

Yep!

Grace!

Love You!

Re-Post Be’Cuz I Can. I Have The ‘Technology’–Hem Is On My Mind Today: “On Writing. On Thinking. On Drinking.” HAHAHAHA!

I Throw Excuses at Me for Not Writing:

‘Too Early’
‘Too Late’
‘Too Hot’
‘Too Cold’
‘Too wet’
‘Too Dry’
‘Too Sober’

‘Too Drunk’

‘Oh Wait!—There’s ‘Breaking News on CNN!’

(I am far too Easily Distracted!)

Eventually, I empty out my ‘Excuses-Bag-of-Tricks’

Then I Park My Ass On The ‘Writing Chair’

And I Begin trying to write.

I have SO Much Shit to ‘Write’ ABOUT!

Not Un-Like So Many Fire-Flies

Swirling About in My Head–

As Fire-Flies On A Hot Texas Summer Night

***

But then My Mind

Wanders.

“Meanders.”

NO!

Not the proper, suitable Metaphor.

My Mind is trapped in a Pinball Machine.

Stolen (by me) From The Movie

‘Tommy’

Cred For Vid Share: Umbrella Entertainment

***
I am the Stainless Steel Little Ball.
Just Bouncing About.
Aimlessly
Flying All Over The Fu^king Place.
Just Looking to Rack up ‘Points.’
And for what?

****

Fun Fact: When I, Bob, Peanut Et al, used to hang out at the Pool Hall (er.. ‘Recreation Center’) on Sixth Street, Honey Grove America…

We would place empty Marlboro packs underneath the front legs of the pinball machine—Thus making it impossible for us to lose…

Yes. We all had larceny flowing through our veins.

***

But To What Purpose?

Just for Fun, I Guess

(And we had a limited cache of quarters)

I will never write like Hemmingway
(But at Least I can drink like him)

That’s Half the Battle/Bottle Won.

Ain’t it?

Apocryphal Hemmingway Quote:

“Write Drunk. Edit Sober”

Ernest never said those words, but he should have.

Right?

Right?

RIGHT??

Will never even be a Two-Bit Paperback / Pulp-Fiction Writer.

Yet I ‘Sailor’ On!

Pour yet another drink

Park my Butt on my ‘Writing Chair

And attack that GD keyboard

****

Cheers!

See You in The Funny Papers!

****

I just drop this photo because I am infatuated with Info-Babes

(See Below Recent Post O’ Mine)

Just Fer Fun! And Yes! I Will Finally Admit: This Is A True Story–Y’all Know, I Never Write Fiction–No Time/Talent For It. “Richard & His Lame-Ass Jeans Store Chapter Les Deux (My Love–My Sister–My Madelyn)”

So as we were sitting so very close together on her bed I said,


“Why is he closing the store?”


“Not making any money.”


“Oh. I guess that makes sense. What else did he say, if anything?”


“He said, I guess I could just burn the place down and collect the insurance.”


I said to Maddy, “He would never do that. He is too much a pussy.”


“Yeah,” she sighed.


Then she confided:


“I stole a lot… A LOT of stuff from the store. Closing right
? I lit a fire, but I think it didn’t take. I am so afraid My fire went out! They will find me out!

ZZ Top – Blue Jean Blues by Billy Gibbons:


“Don’t worry ‘bout that. I’ll fix it for you.”


“How? How you gonna fix it for me?”


“You still have a key to the front door?”


“You know I do.”


“Give it to me.”


“What you gonna do?”

I flashed her a grin:


“I’m gonna burn the place down to the ground. For you Dear Sister”


She gave me the key.

*****


To be continued….

***

As most of you who know me know…

This is a TRUE STORY!

I do not write fiction!

Fuk ’em!

Let them come after me!

“They” will regret that!

And that is a paralyzed fact!

Do not fuck with a copperhead snake!

“Red Next to Yell’ah Will Kill a Fellah”

cHAP uNO Here:

*******

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