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Goodness gracious alive! As if we ain’t already smothered by the dang things, now yet another phenomenon is sweeping across America. Like wildfire raging unchecked thru a dry pine forest…an inferno devouring everything in it’s path. This time a little dandy called FOB…”Friends of Bill.” The reference, of course, is to that fella’ currently occupying the White House. It’s members say the prestige of FOB is second only to esteem showered on the United States Senate. Egads man, another club! Just what the doctor ordered, making a grand total of 15,868,476 organizations operating within our borders ( reportedly, 2 of ‘em are involved with worthwhile projects. The remaining 15,868,474 are creating chaos, havoc and confusion ). Things have really gotten outta’ hand and reached high peaks of absurdity. On my block one finds 5 houses…and 203 clubs! I’m trying to determine who might be exporting those doggone things into my neighborhood. You’d think these organizations, considering the sparse population on my street, would just move on to greener pastures. But no, they just keep hangin’ around, relentless in their efforts to sell 70,000 tons of snow to my besieged neighbors. Unsuccessful to date, they’re now out there on the macadam recruiting each other! These high-pitch salesmen are persistent scamps with a talent to exert great pressures on their selected targets, the gullible and unwary citizens of America. Just yesterday a weird scallowag tried to cajole me into joining his group. Somethin’ called the ABCTSTB ( American Boomawhopper Committee To Save The Boomawhopper ). As I understand it, the Boomawhopper is a recently discovered species of wildlife found only in the Amazonian rainforests. Supposedly it weighs 300,000 pounds, thrice the bulk of a blue whale…more massive than 30 African bull elephants. May the Good Lord be with us if 150 ton beasts are indeed roamin’ our earth! ( One of them thar Latin scientific names has already been pinned on these juggernaughts of the jungle, “Boomawhoppereatuhaha.” I’m not familiar with Latin, but that sho ‘nuff doesn’t sound like the tongue spoken by Brutus and Nero. Maybe Greek, or a word borrowed from the Gypsy language ( I’m not fluent in either of those either ). Just how the Boomawhopper remained undetected thru these endless eons is a mystery that has me completely befuddled. Surely this proves our “scientific methods of detection” are totally unreliable. Makes one wonder how we discovered mountains. Or fruited plains. Or aircraft carriers. Rumor has it that the Boomawhopper has commenced a slow but steady migration to the north! ( Two recent sightings just south of the Panama Canal Zone seems to confirm those reports ). Just 15 minutes ago the regular scheduled TV programming was interrupted with this blast: “A Boomawhopper has been spotted in the southern provinces of Mexico! Stay tuned to this station for all the latest details.” Holy cow! They’re headin’ fer the Rio Grande! Ladies and gentlemen, terrible times are upon us. I strongly advise each and every citizen of this great nation to brace themselves for “rough sledding” just ahead. You see, Boomawhoppers are more than a rumor…they’re a fact! I saw the bloomin’ things down yonder in the dense undergrowth of Brazil while on my recent world tour. And they’re comin’ straight toward us…
6 A prolonged loss of sleep ain’t healthy, indeed can be downright dangerous. It brings on periods of irritability, rascality, grumpiness and complete disorientation from the real world. These facts have not been gathered from medical journals, but rather from first-hand experience. Man, my peepers ain’t been closed fer a week now, put nigh two. The insomnia doesn’t stem from worry about financial difficulties. Having always been poor, I make do with the meager sums of cash available. And, with little or no ambition, I’m not interested in piling up huge amounts of money at this juncture in time. No sir, money woes are not the root cause of my inability to snooze peacefully. Not being a big fan of pills, I’ve swallowed not even one No-Doz. That’s a silly notion anyhow because I have no compelling reason for staying awake night after bnight. Nope, pills ain’t my problem. Senior citizens beyond the age of 65 are not involved in love triangles. Thus I don’t believe a jilted suitor is hounding my every foot step, hunting me down as a sneaky cat stalks the nestling bird. Be assured that my paramour adventures are rapidly fading into a distant background. I know fer a fact that “affairs of the heart” ain’t causing these eyes to remain open. The “health angle” came to mind, prompting a visit to my doctor just yesterday: “Doc, I can’t sleep and am here fer a physical examination.” “Okay,” the medicine man responded with glee. He rolled out the scales, weighed me in, and checked to see how close my head was to the sky. Placing a stethoscope to my chest, I became somewhat alarmed when a high-pitched “hmm” escaped his lips. “What is it Doc?” I looked at the physician for reassurance. And saw none! “Do you really want to know?, he inquired in a most professional manner. “No,” I quickly responded . “Keep it to yerself and let me exit this office thinkin’ I’m in fine shape.” His voice then sounded a triumphant note: “Okay, that’ll be fifty dollars.” The monetary demand made me a tad nauseated, but not enough to keep me awake for two weeks ( doctors really should consider lowering their rates for office calls ). I own a pile of junk that rolls on wheels and has been eligible several years for antique license plates. It’s still rolling along reasonably well, so transportation worries ain’t keepin’ me awake ( lotsa’ folks collect antique vehicles and store ‘em in garage spaces. I drive ‘em ). Neighbor, the real culprit causing these fitful nights is sheer, unmitigated fright. Boomawhoppers, folks…Boomawhoppers! I’ve witnessed their existence. And know they roam the surface of planet earth, free and unchecked. No tellin’ when I’ll be able to doze off and get some much needed shuteye. I don’t like being afraid alone. Misery and terror deserve company…should be mutually shared. I believe a nervous mob can be gathered around by posing one simple question. What if the coming of Boomawhoppers to our shore coincide with the expected arrival of killer bees?…
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Walking is by far the preferred exercise of senior citizens, and for good reason: “ I’m walkin’ fer my health.” ( “fer”…not for). Regrettably, however, there is a downside to this line of reasoning. Our collective decisions to walk have been delayed much, much too long. The damage has already been done on our frail, puny bodies. Irreversible damage…irreparable damage! Too late in the game we’ve decided to “pound the pavement.” Muscles have grown soft, flabby, arthritic. Tendons are sore, achy and inflammed. Sinews in this modern age are not the tough fibrous stuff that powered our pioneering forefathers across a sprawling continent on foot ( with Giles as a starting point, we’d never make it to the Pacific on foot. Most of us would be lucky to reach the border of Bland County ). To summarize, we’re a bunch of cream puffs. Pampered, coddled, spoiled “couch taters.” Simply because we didn’t walk in our youth! Let’s face it; the human race is in a state of rapid deterioration ( drugs and other “fast-lane” lifestyles make teenagers look like they’ve already celebrated 85 birthdays ). Better you move over to that lane where snails, slugs, sloths and other slow-moving vehicles are proceeding down the highway at a sensible pace! Humans ride air-conditioned luxury cars 50 years, then belatedly realize the folly… the utter stupidity of that monumental mistake. For instance, we need a quart of milk from the store. That business establishment is located just two doors down the street, about 40 yards. A marathon distance, much too far to walk. With remote-control apparatus in hand we raise the garage door. Next, enter the flivver, get seated comfortably in the sleek sedan, put 'er in reverse and back down to the roadway. Careful though, look to make certain some maniac ain’t careening wildly down the paved surface. More’n likely his crazed mind harbors the malevolent intent of creaming our prized possession. Air-conditioning no matter the cost. These rollin’ piles of junk are also equipped with power-steering, a clever mechanical device that prevents over-exertion of our shoulder muscles, biceps, forearms and wrists while seated behind the wheel. And don’t forget power-brakes. A mere touch of the toe makes the wheels stop rollin.’ This ingenious invention contributes greatly to the complete and utter destruction of the calf and thigh muscles. Arriving home after a day at the office, we then haul out the roloflex, treadmills, stationary bikes, etc. And commence our routine. It would be a vast understatement to say that an irony is at work here…more machinery to undo the damage wrought by machines! A vicious cycle, futile and hopeless. Your auto is not a blessing, but a curse in disguise. A hidden message is contained in the above paragraphs. Any fool should spot it pronto. If’n you can’t walk 40 yards to fetch a quart of milk, think long and hard before having notions about walkin’ around the world…
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Good news for folks who savor the macabre and relish the eerie. You can now encounter a sight on earth which, it can truly be said, is impossible to describe. A classic and terrifying case of “high strangeness.” Simply because there are no previous guidelines, no prior precedent, no “gauges of yesteryear” upon which to base a description. You see, I’m quite certain that a lifeform of unearthly origin, an entity recently arrived here from across the black voids of interstellar space, has taken up residence down yonder under the protective canopy of a matted Amazonian jungle. Boomawhoppers! Listen here people, if’n these creatures had been around for an extended of time, gosh durn it, we would’ve known. The presence of a beast so monstrously huge could not have remained secreted thru the ages from our prying eyes. Gadgetry, apparatus, heat-seeking devices, computers and acres of other hi-tech junk would’ve tipped us off to their existence many moons ago ( just you try hiding somethin that weighs 300,000 pounds, especially if it’s alive, breathing and moving about. Think your neighbor wouldn’t have noticed? ). Actually, I believe Boomawhoppers have been breathing our atmosphere for just a few short months. The reason for this belief will be discussed later in some detail. Fine-toothed, searching…in-depth detail. Leaving no stone unturned, nothing to guesswork. Only the purest, most unadulterated scientific methods will be used in our exhaustive efforts to unlock the mystery of Boomawhoppers. (Uh, wait a minute. It’s not desirable to solve all mysteries. We need to leave several thousand of ‘em unsolved in order to whittle down on our idle time. Too much of that stuff can lead to madness. I strongly recommend that a sizeable portion of our mysteries remain intact. To wonder and muse about…to ponder upon.). But first, a slight veering from our current story. I’m strictly anti-computer, firmly believe these infernal machines are the bane of civilization and the tools that will ultimately lead to our destruction. Doomsday, Armageddon…the end of time! Computers will play a starring role. Man and machines…locked in an eternal mortal struggle for mastery of planet Earth. Pessimism must come into play here… machines will win this battle! Our demise will come as a result of mass suffocation when a 300 foot layer of computer printout covers every nook and cranny of our choking globe. Go to your local trash dump and watch in wide-eyed amazement at what’s being trucked in there for disposal. Useless mountains of paper, junk spat out by computers. Folks, we’re being smothered with it! A word for Al Gore and his “environmental freaks” out there. Hey Al, the poor man chopping down a tree is not the enemy of mankind. You and your crowd are the true culprits, the albatross hanging around our necks.You, and your consarned metal machines! Time someone told ya’…
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