Monday, September 20, 2004
Erudite redneck nightmare
By The Erudite Redneck
Recall the intro to "Bonanza."
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-dum-da, dum-dum-da, dum-dum-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Got it? As the rich, melodic very Western tune plays, there’s the map of southern Nevada Territory, showing Lake Tahoe at bottom, Carson City, Virginia City and the Ponderosa. See it?
Then there’s the tiny flame that grows fast and burns through the map — and then up ride the Cartwrights a-horseback, dust a-flyin’ — Hoss, Little Joe, the dad. Was Adam in there? Candy? Anyway, there they are. See it?
OK. Now. Let the music play in yer head.
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-dum-da, dum-dum-da, dum-dum-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Imagine a map of central Europe, circa 1559.
There’s Switzerland! Bern! Geneva! Zurich! As your mind pans out, there’s a tiny flame at Geneva! Before long it engulfs the whole region, from Vienna to Paris — and before long it burns up the whole dang map from Constantinople west to and including what’s now the UK. Gone!
Up ride four German knights! They’re Lutherans! Fightin’ the Catholics! Or maybe they’re takin’ a break from fightin’ the Catholics to join them in fightin’ the Anabaptists! They ride up, lumberingly, chain mail a-clanking, the dust flying!
Or are they the horseman of the Apocalypse? Like a 3-D movie, a lance pokes me in the chest and I wake up -- in a sweat.
Holy Roman crap! I gotta quit eatin’ jalapeno peppers and studyin’ with the Western Channel on just before I go to bed!
END
Recall the intro to "Bonanza."
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-dum-da, dum-dum-da, dum-dum-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Got it? As the rich, melodic very Western tune plays, there’s the map of southern Nevada Territory, showing Lake Tahoe at bottom, Carson City, Virginia City and the Ponderosa. See it?
Then there’s the tiny flame that grows fast and burns through the map — and then up ride the Cartwrights a-horseback, dust a-flyin’ — Hoss, Little Joe, the dad. Was Adam in there? Candy? Anyway, there they are. See it?
OK. Now. Let the music play in yer head.
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Dum-dum-da, dum-dum-da, dum-dum-dum-dum-da!
Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da! Dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-da, dum-da-da-dum-dum-da!
Imagine a map of central Europe, circa 1559.
There’s Switzerland! Bern! Geneva! Zurich! As your mind pans out, there’s a tiny flame at Geneva! Before long it engulfs the whole region, from Vienna to Paris — and before long it burns up the whole dang map from Constantinople west to and including what’s now the UK. Gone!
Up ride four German knights! They’re Lutherans! Fightin’ the Catholics! Or maybe they’re takin’ a break from fightin’ the Catholics to join them in fightin’ the Anabaptists! They ride up, lumberingly, chain mail a-clanking, the dust flying!
Or are they the horseman of the Apocalypse? Like a 3-D movie, a lance pokes me in the chest and I wake up -- in a sweat.
Holy Roman crap! I gotta quit eatin’ jalapeno peppers and studyin’ with the Western Channel on just before I go to bed!
END
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:::Gasp!::: Can't forget Adam! =:o
A good friend of mine has been a buddy of Pernell Roberts' (Adam) for years now. Guess that makes me two degrees from Pernell Roberts, which, if I'm not mistaken, is the same number of degrees I am from Kevin Bacon since I was an extra in a movie once...
Oh, wait, I was gonna say something about watching what you watch before bed--absolutely it's a good idea to be more discriminating right before slumber.
When the original "Jurassic Park" hit the screen, DS was just a baby. My DSis and her kids were here visiting from Chicago and wanted to go to a movie. DH was happy to skip the movie and stayed home with DS. When I got home, the house was mostly dark and they were in bed sound asleep. DSis and kids were staying at my parents' house so, without anyone to talk to, I just went straight to bed.
BIG mistake.
I saw T-Rex after T-Rex leaning down to eat me all night, just like the scene where the T-Rex snags the guy in the outhouse. I would just fall off to sleep and JUMP awake after seeing Rex's face just inches from my own.
All this from someone who rarely dreams, or rarely remembers when she does.
:::shudder:::
A good friend of mine has been a buddy of Pernell Roberts' (Adam) for years now. Guess that makes me two degrees from Pernell Roberts, which, if I'm not mistaken, is the same number of degrees I am from Kevin Bacon since I was an extra in a movie once...
Oh, wait, I was gonna say something about watching what you watch before bed--absolutely it's a good idea to be more discriminating right before slumber.
When the original "Jurassic Park" hit the screen, DS was just a baby. My DSis and her kids were here visiting from Chicago and wanted to go to a movie. DH was happy to skip the movie and stayed home with DS. When I got home, the house was mostly dark and they were in bed sound asleep. DSis and kids were staying at my parents' house so, without anyone to talk to, I just went straight to bed.
BIG mistake.
I saw T-Rex after T-Rex leaning down to eat me all night, just like the scene where the T-Rex snags the guy in the outhouse. I would just fall off to sleep and JUMP awake after seeing Rex's face just inches from my own.
All this from someone who rarely dreams, or rarely remembers when she does.
:::shudder:::
# posted by 
: 4:24 PM
: 4:24 PM
Wouldn't it be COOL to have a T-REX of your own! A pet that you could ride around the neighborhood! Awesome! I want one.
Went to K.C. yesterday for the Chefs game. It was downright a crappy experience.
The Chiefs started off OK but proved all those skeptics right in saying one man does not a defense make. So as fans, my three cohorts and I sat in our seats with closed fists -- though there were a couple o' beers between them from time to time.
The stinkiest thing in our section of heaven, though, was some stranger with bad bowels. Downwind. Through the first half, I figured one of my pals was battling intestinal problems because of lack of sleep and downing the first beer at 10 a.m.
Second half comes around, and two of the three leave for the potty. I look to the party's fourth person and ask, "I wonder if it's either of them two causing such a stink." She didn't know either, then we got another whiff, realizing that it wasn't the rest of our foursome -- they were done gone, but the horendous stench was back.
Come to find out all four of us were questioning each other at some point.
When we realize it wasn't us or the two fellas sitting to our left, we scoured the section downwind trying to figure out who might've had something die inside them or, at least, figure out who might've drunk half of St. Louis the night before. Geez.
Finally the fourth quarter is slowly putting us out of our misery. Chiefs look really, really bad. The person with the stinky ass has to be feeling worse, because the bowel odor is beyond comfort. Tim, a quiet, unassuming type until he's had a dozen or so brews, or in this case had nis nasal passages fouled, shouts loud enough for 50 or so folks to hear, "QUIT FARTING!"
We giggle. He glares. We thank him. A minute passes, then so does this ill person's gas, and we're all consumed in this fog. So Tim speaks again, this time a tad louder, "Whoever is farting, please quit it. This is horrible," to which the fella from Lee's Summitt, Mo., sitting on the aisle responds, "Or at least go wipe."
Arrowhead Stadium is a glorious place for football lovers and those who love a good time filled with beer, brats, burgers, ribs, steaks, etc. The aroma before the game is a tailgaters delight. Inside the beautiful arena is a cathedral for Chiefs fans, rooting their team to what's typically a victory.
But the experience Sunday was excruciating to watch and overpowering to smell.
The Chiefs started off OK but proved all those skeptics right in saying one man does not a defense make. So as fans, my three cohorts and I sat in our seats with closed fists -- though there were a couple o' beers between them from time to time.
The stinkiest thing in our section of heaven, though, was some stranger with bad bowels. Downwind. Through the first half, I figured one of my pals was battling intestinal problems because of lack of sleep and downing the first beer at 10 a.m.
Second half comes around, and two of the three leave for the potty. I look to the party's fourth person and ask, "I wonder if it's either of them two causing such a stink." She didn't know either, then we got another whiff, realizing that it wasn't the rest of our foursome -- they were done gone, but the horendous stench was back.
Come to find out all four of us were questioning each other at some point.
When we realize it wasn't us or the two fellas sitting to our left, we scoured the section downwind trying to figure out who might've had something die inside them or, at least, figure out who might've drunk half of St. Louis the night before. Geez.
Finally the fourth quarter is slowly putting us out of our misery. Chiefs look really, really bad. The person with the stinky ass has to be feeling worse, because the bowel odor is beyond comfort. Tim, a quiet, unassuming type until he's had a dozen or so brews, or in this case had nis nasal passages fouled, shouts loud enough for 50 or so folks to hear, "QUIT FARTING!"
We giggle. He glares. We thank him. A minute passes, then so does this ill person's gas, and we're all consumed in this fog. So Tim speaks again, this time a tad louder, "Whoever is farting, please quit it. This is horrible," to which the fella from Lee's Summitt, Mo., sitting on the aisle responds, "Or at least go wipe."
Arrowhead Stadium is a glorious place for football lovers and those who love a good time filled with beer, brats, burgers, ribs, steaks, etc. The aroma before the game is a tailgaters delight. Inside the beautiful arena is a cathedral for Chiefs fans, rooting their team to what's typically a victory.
But the experience Sunday was excruciating to watch and overpowering to smell.
Thanks(?) for, um, sharing. Reminds me of the first and only pro football game I've ever been to. In 2000, I think, first game of the season, Philly vs. the Cowboys, in Dallas. It was well over 100 degrees. The B.O. in the end zone was almost unbearable -- and my smeller is not the best. I can smell cows--t (which I was raised to b'lieve smelled like money). And I can pick up on a new mowed field of hay pretty quick. Most synthetics go right past me. And I do have a purdy high tolerance for others' bodies' odors. But not that day in Dallas.
I have been reading Tech's Harbour street blogger and thought I would visit some of his friends sites as well, I never laughed so hard! You guys are hilarious and I can't wait to show my husband, he'll get a kick out of it too! susan2
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# posted by : 11:09 PM
: 11:09 PM << Home
