Things I like

It's been a fair while since I'ved posted here. Well, it's been a hellvua long time. Nevertheless I'm back in the blogging saddle. Thought I'd crank things up with some thing I like.


* Good whiskey. I swore off the stuff a good while back, but I'll always be a fan of good whiskey. I hate seeing folks ruin perfectly good whiskey by mixing it with stuff. I've seen guys buy a $50 bottle then ruin it by cutting it was a 50-cent Coke.

* People with heart. Hell I know we all have a heart or you'd be dead. The heart I'm talking about is having the moxey to set up and stand out.

* People who don't quit. I hate a quitter. The deal with quitting is it's real tough the first time you do it. Then after giving up and quitting a few times it becomes easy. I like folks that hang in there no matter what the odds.

* Dogs. There have been very few times in my life when I didn't own a dog. They loyal and listen without talking. I think it was Gene Hill who said, "People who say money can't buy happiness never had a puppy."

* Kids. I've got a good one and wouldn't trade her for a gold cow. Even before I was a parent I like kids a lot. I spent four years in high school as a teachers aid in the kindergarten. In fact, I've often said if I had it to do over again I'd be a kindergarten teacher.

* Trees. You see to many neighborhoods these days that don't have tree. Bradford pears dont' count. I'm talking about real trees like oaks, hickory and maple. There's just something strong and solid about having a bunch of trees around.

* Old men. I grew up around some world class old men and I'm looking forward to being one. Some people dread getting old, but I'm looking forward to it. You can be amean cuss and sort of get away with it because people will just say, "Aw don't mind him, he's just an old man."

* My wife. It should go without saying that a man should like his wife, but I think I like mine more than most husbands like theirs. I'm sure I married the best one. She puts up with a lot and doesn't complain and she surely has a lot of things she could complain about. They behind every great man is a woman, but at times I just hope I'm good enough to be the one standing behind her.

Me a lot - Women fishermen 0

I'm a competitive person. If I'm going to do something I want to do well and beat the crap out of everybody else that does it. Fishing is no different. I've fished all my life and I'm fairly sporty with a rod and reel.
Over the years I've fished in tournaments and done fairly well. Granted, you won't see me on the Bassmasters circuit any time soon, but I can hold my own on most days. While I have no illusions of being the best, no woman has ever out fished me. Ever.
I've been soundly beaten by women in golf, tennis and horseshoes, but never has a female bested me in fishing. And I don't just say this without backing it up, I've gone up against one of the best the female gender has to offer and still came out on top.
I was writing a feature story on a lady that's a professional bass fishermen. She's competed in men's and women's events and done quite well. She's a regular on the women's pro tour and has won events. In the course of doing a story she invited me fishing and I accepted.
I told my wife who I was fishing with and that a woman had never beaten me. She told me my record just might be in jeopardy. It was certainly going to be a challenge, but I knew I had to man-up and bring my A-game.
The deck was stacked against me right from the start. We were fishing out of her boat, meaning she got to run the trolling motor and fish out of the front of the boat. Fishing out of the front is a huge advantage and a big hurdle for me to overcome. I also had to find time to take notes and a few pictures for my story and this too gave her an advantage. All she had to do was fish, while I had to worry about getting good quotes and checking to see if the light was right.
Nevertheless, I adapted. It was tough day on the water. The bites were few and far between. When the water settled and boat docked I knew that my accomplishment was great and once again I staved off the notion that a woman could beat me bass fishing. There were only five fish caught that day. I caught four, including the biggest fish, a five-pound lunker. The pictures that ran in the paper show her holding MY big fish. It was a great day. Oh yes it was a glorious day.
I'm not saying women can't fish. I'm not say that on any given day a woman can't beat me bass fishing. What I am saying a woman hasn't done it yet.
A time may come when the record gets tarnished. The king may get knocked off the hill. But, until that does comes the record still stands with me on top.

Blame it on the baby

When something goes wrong it helps to blame it on somebody else. It's even better when you can blame it on somebody that can't defend themselves. While it may not sound moral or even ethical, it works.
Recently, a friend of mine wanted to buy a hunting rifle as a present for his son's birthday. I'm a member of the NRA and I know a thing or two about hunting rifles so I offered up my services. We went to a local sporting goods store to see what they had behind the gun counter. It was the lunch hour on Friday and the place was packed. Hunters were picked up last minute necessities for the weekend at deer camp.
As we were looking over a few options I felt a deep gurgling in my stomach. I knew right off it would lead to bad things. Fortunately, it wasn't solid nor liquid, but gas. I pooted and it was a true stinker. World class. On the 1-10 scale in was a 17. But, this is a sporting good store and I felt assured I wasn't the only guy that had pooted withing the last few minutes.
Unfortunately, not 45 seconds later a couple walked down our isle. They were an average couple and the man was carrying a baby in some type of carrier. As they got near our area both stopped walking and got strange looks on their faces. I was pretty sure what caused those faces.
The father looked down at the baby saying, "Son, you just couldn't make it until we got out of the store could you?"
My friend was doing all he could do not to pee his pants. He knew I had pooted and that this poor small child was catching the blame. The couple made a B-line for the restroom to check on juniors britches.
"You're wrong for that," my friend said as he laughed. "How can you do that to a poor little baby?"
Easy I said. Since the youngster couldn't talk I knew he wasn't about to rat me out. Plus, no harm, no foul. On second thought, it was pretty foul.

Pooping in the woods

One my truly great pleasures is taking my six-year-old daughter hunting. She likes to hunt just as much as I do and it provides us with another opportunity for quality father/daugther time. The only problem with taking my six-year-old daughter hunting is she's six and she's a girl. Nothing against girls and them hunting, I'm all for it, but things work a little different for them.
Wearing a pair of jeans, her velvet looking zip-up boots, a pink Barbie jacket cover by an orange vest my daughter simple state she was ready to go hunting. I had already packed up enough gear for a 10-day expedition to the Artic, so in some senseI was read to go too. One of her great pleasures is riding the 4-wheeler with me and he makes sure to tell me to hit every mud hole on the way in. I did.
The spot I took her too is an elevated shooting house that has plenty of room and is a likely spot to see a wandering whitetail. I started off by hauling all of our gear up and in the stand. She piled in next as we got ready for the hunt. We'd already discussed the rules: Be safe and Be quiet. We accomplished one of our two goals. We were safe.
We'd been in the stand all of 3 minutes before the first question came, "Are there any bears out here?"
"No bears," I said.
"Do you think these deer like salad, because there sure is a lot of green stuff out there," she quipped.
"They'll love it," I said.
"We should have brought them some ranch dressing," she fired right back.
"I think we're okay without it ... and remember we have to be quiet," I whispered.
We spent the next 10-minutes getting her binoculars adjusted so she could see. That was probably the quietest 10-minutes of the trip.
Just prior to our hunt I made her go to the bathroom ... twice. This isn't the first time I've taken her hunting and she's got the bladder of a six-year-old girl.
"Daddy, I got to use it," she said.
"Adeline I thought I told you to go before we left," I answered back.
"I did, but I didn't have to then," she replied.
"Well ... there's only about an hour of daylight left do you think you can hold it?," I pleaded.
"But daddy, I got to go No. 2," she said with a puzzled look.
Going No. 1 in the woods with my daughter is one thing, but No. 2 is a whole different game. So, we piled out of the stand and I got her ready to do her business. I happened to look back as she was about to do No. 2 right in front of the ladder that leads to the shooting house.
"Adeline, don't go there somebody will step in it," I said frantically.
"But daddy, if i go in the bushes a bear my get me," she said.
"There are no bears, just get behind that bush and hurry up," I said in a loud whisper.
Needless to say we didn't see a deer. In fact, other than us, I don't remember seeing anything else in the woods.
We slowly made our trek back to the 4-wheeler only to find it with a dead battery. It was about dark and she was about to wig out at the prospects of staying out in the woods all night long. I assured her we wouldn't have to and that she'd have to get tough.
She did get tough and made the walk without a whimper as long as I promised snacks when we got back to camp.
Back at camp I loaded her up on snacks and we and retrieved our 4-wheeler. Got it cranked and loaded it on the trailer. With Adeline fat, full and happy we made our way back home. As we pulled into the drive way, I was tired and semi-cranky after the long day. Right before she got out of the truck she said, "Daddy, I sure do like it when we go hunting ... don't you?"
Yes darlin I sure do.

I vote YES to bums and pimps

We just finished with a big election. Got a new president on the way as well as several new members in the house and senate. Spirits are high about new changes and a new boost for our great country.
We're screwing up. The votes have been cast and looking back we've kicked ourselves in the crotch. I'm not saying Obama won't do a fine job, I'm sure he will. He's got some good qualities and appears to be a good man for the job. But, I think we're putting the wrong people in office.
Right now, it's a rich man's game. We elect rich people and expect them to actually care about poor people. Hell, most of the don't even know any poor people.
If you really want to see change, elect some bums and pimps. You give me a bum and I'll show you a man that knows hard times. A man that knows how to rise up out of the sewer and keep going.
A gave a bum $5 the other day. He looked like he needed it more than I did. If an IRS came to my house looking for $5 I would have taken to aspirin and called a lawyer in the morning. A bum knows how to hustle. They pick up a buck or two here and there. Plus, they know how to spend their money. Pint of Thunderbird or dinner? They weight their options and make an informed decision. That's what we need on Capital Hill.
I also want to put pimps in congress. Nobody takes care of business like a pimp. Any man that can get a woman to sell HER body for sex and give HIM the money knows how to get things done. Pimps know how to multi-task, how to deal with intense and sometimes hostile situations.
Yep we need bums and pimps. To hell with voting for rich folks that had rather be swinging a golf club than working for the people. Sure pimps swing golf clubs too. I'm sure they'd use a 1-iron on North Korea's leaders to straighten up and act right.

Story behind the brogans

When deciding on a name for this blog, I wanted to settle on something that fit who I am. After careful consideration, I think I picked one reflecting the core of what I'm made of.I'm from Neshoba County. I grew up in the Fork Community, a rural area on the west side of the county. My folks were like most folks from the area, we owned a patch of land and we raised of few cows and grew a big garden each year. It's a front porch type of place where great value is put on a well placed shade tree. Old men there wear Dickie pants, drive pick-up trucks and carry pocket knives. Many of them wear brogan style boots. My grandfather wore brogans. In fact, I only remember him owning three pairs of shoes. He had a black pair of dress shoes for church on Sunday, a pair of rubber boots for working when it was wet and his brogans. He wore his brogans daily. He'd got through a half dozen pairs of laces before the soles would wear out and he'd buy a new pair.I placed my feet in thousands of prints left behind by his brogans. I followed his boot tracks through pastures and fields. My grandfather was as tough as the leather on his brogans. In a sense they symbolized the man who wore them. Strong, durable and practical. The history behind brogans dates back to the Civil War. Southern men wore them to battle. Albeit the style of brogans has changed some since the 1860s, but so has the South. Nevertheless, they were and still are call brogans. There's something comforting about that strength and durability.My father bought me my first pair of brogans. The dark, tanned leather molded to my feet and they made me feel like a man. I'm a brogan type of man. Those who know me best understand they fit who I am. In my closest you'll find everything from wingtips to tennis shoes and you'll most certainly see my brogans. Like my grandfather, I wear them almost daily.I'm on my fourth set of laces on my current pair. They're starting to show some signs of age. Scratches, scuffs and stains have long since embedding themselves. These aren't dress boots, they're boots you can walk a mile in now matter where that mile leads.Now, my daughter puts her little feet in the prints made by my brogans. She's like me a lot of ways. She's comfortable in the outdoors, doesn't mind being dirty and is generally a pretty tough little nut. Most folks are hoping she gets her fashion sense from her mother. Me included. While she may never own a pair of brogans, I do hope she has a little of those brogans in her. Like my grandfather taught me - never forget who you are and where you come from.In 34 years I never have forgotten and me and these brogans have miles to go before we sleep.

Such is life as a man

For centuries men have been getting the raw end of relationships. Since we neither have to endure the rigors of pregnancy or the pain of childbirth we’re forced to pay a long and painful penitence. While pregnancy only lasts nine months, our suffering and mistreatment goes on for a lifetime.
From the time a man gets to the age where the opposite sex matters it’s an uphill battle. When you’re 16 years old you quickly realize that you’d better earn enough money sacking groceries to pay for dinner for two. When you’re taking a pretty girl to the movies you’re expected to pony up for her ticket and yours. On top of that, you have to pick up the tab on the popcorn, Cokes and other such robberies at the snack bar.
For this reason I made sure I dated skinny girls that didn’t want to eat the jumbo tub of popcorn. Skinny girls didn’t get that way by eating $25 worth of junk while watching a romantic comedy.
Paying for your date is just the tip of the cash flow iceberg. When you find a girl you want to keep for a while it gets worse. In order to ensure that girl will show up on your wedding day you’ve got to buy a ring. And not just any ring, you’ve got to buy a certain type of diamond that’s cut to a specific shape. On top of that you’d better get one that is bigger and more expensive than the one her friend just got.
During the engagement people throw these nice parties “for the couple.” Don’t’ be fooled guys; they aren’t doing this for us. They don’t have these gatherings for the groom, they’re all for the bride. They make you dress up in a shirt and tie acting like you’re having a good time. They shower the couple with gifts, although none of them are really for the groom. You get a bunch of fancy dinner plates you’ll never get to eat off of and if you’re lucky you get some nice steak knives.
For some reason the bride does not have to give the groom anything to seal the engagement. It’d be nice if the groom got an engagement 4-wheeler or a set of really nice golf clubs.
When the father gives away his daughters hand they’re usually smiling because they know that she’s out of his pocket. He gets a better grip on his check book while the groom figures out how he’s going to pay for the rest of his life.
My wife really isn’t that big shopping or spending money. Nevertheless, there are still times when I have to come off the cash. Women’s gifts are always more expensive than the stuff men get. Jewelry costs more than a tie.
Women even have a made up holiday so they can get more stuff. It’s called Valentine’s Day. I understand Christmas and I don’t mind too much getting out my wallet for my anniversary. But I just don’t understand Valentine’s Day. Do I love my wife anymore on Feb. 14 than I didn’t on Feb. 13? It’s just another great ploy for us to spend money on those we love.
I’m thinking about starting a new holiday called “Man Day.” It’s for men and by men and only manly gifts should be purchased. And don’t going saying Father’s Day is the same thing. Mother’s Day cancels out Father’s Day and most the time you don’t get something manly on Father’s Day. A leaf rake or a new weed eater is more of a honey-do gift than something manly.
I just need to find a good day to set up Man Day. I’m guessing somewhere around the first of August. That gives you a big enough gap between Christmas and it’s right before the start of hunting season. This gives you plenty of time to practice with your new shotgun before the start of dove season.
Getting a new national holiday isn’t an easy thing, but since most of the decision makers in Washington are men it should catch on fast. Just sit back boys and wait for Man Day to rolling around in August. After all, nothing says love like a 12-gauge pump.