The Executioner Can Be Yours, Now!

If you have to hand-deliver your medication prescription to your druggist, you are going to have a wait on your hands, and a weight on your feet, while you stand around and let the druggist do her thing.

If you go to Wal-Mart like I do the wait can be made more interesting if you are subject to wander in wonder through all the new junk that just came in the back door right off a steamship freight container from China.

While waiting on my prescription to be filled I stumbled my way over to the garden section looking for a sprinkler can for my tomatoes. The Swilley Farm this year consists of six tomato plants that are requiring too many trips from the kitchen to the back deck just because they are thirsty. They begin to make choking sounds and turn yellow when I forget to water them. Our thimble-sized water pitcher makes the watering task tiresome.

I made my way to the bright and shiny objects over where they showcase highly polished ceramic planters. I was fascinated by three huge coffee cups and saucers you can plant your petunias in. One was white with red stripes, another had black stripes and a third one was white with green polka dots. I didn’t linger long because I know Katie Mae gets nervous when my fascination with brightly colored objects leaves me in a coma like trance.

I managed to tear myself away from the coffee cup planters but things got worse for me as I walked straight into a big free-standing framed rack that had dozens of brightly colored electronic fly flappers hanging from it. For only seven dollars you could personally own a delightful piece of electrified plastic and metal that you simply hold in the air, mash a button and it virtually sucks an offending insect from the air, tazers him right out of his miserable existence and mercilessly drops his fried, extinct carcass to the floor.

This thing was only seven bucks but I later found you could stretch your budget and go to the $17.99 model that is most appropriately named The Executioner, Fly, Swat, Wasp, Bug, Mosquito Swatter, Zapper. I don’t think they wanted to leave anything to your imagination when they named their invention.

Once again I was entranced. I stood there in a stupor and drooled over all the captivating colors. I decided on a bright pink model. I had a warm loving vision of my little bride smacking a big bad bug out of the air with one swift flick of her wrist. She’s still quick, that girl, and she has always been a great little athlete. Playing tennis with a mosquito, and him with no racket, was a no-brainer. How could she lose?

The smacking sound I heard was reality slapping me horizontally across my forehead with a ham-sized open hand.

Have I lost my mind? Do you get so old your memory dribbles out your ear and blows off in a dusty breeze? Katie Mae is deathly afraid of bugs. I would have to use a whole roll of duct tape to attach that racket to a broom stick for her and no body and no thing in the house would be safe with her swinging it at bugs.

And besides if you took it out on the deck which is ten or twelve feet above the ground, one of these North Georgia mosquitoes would grab it while you’re swinging at him and he would throw you off the deck so fast you would look like a helicopter making its final landing with one rotor missing.

The worst thing that smacking sound conjured up in my head was the terrible thought that Katie Mae could actually just walk up on me while I was trying to sleep-in some morning (most any morning) and catch me face down, pull my drawers down to just-below-cheek level and turn that darned thing on and smack the hell out of my fat tail with an electric fly swatter. Talk about a scorched fanny!

I can hear her saying, “Well I told you to get up!”

I threw the gadget into a planter shaped like a giant coffee cup and ran for the door.

Exacting revenge on the inventor of this terrible tool of torture would be sweet if only we could lash him to a board and smack his forehead about a hundred times with his electric swatter creation until his upper head looks like a French fried waffle.

1950 – 2013, How Math Backslides

This is so true. I did not write it. It came from an old friend. Thanks to the writer. Not only are young students mostly incapable of working math, they read very poorly and know absolutely no history.

We do know George Santayana, Spanish-American writer, poet and philosopher said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

It is another great failure on the part of American educators that our young people have not been taught our history! They don’t forget history. They never knew it.

Years of Math 1950 – 2013

Last week I purchased a burger at Burger King for $2.58. The counter girl

took my $ 3 and I was digging for my change when I pulled 8 cents from my

pocket and gave it to her. She stood there, holding the nickel and 3

pennies, while looking at the screen on her register. I sensed her

discomfort and tried to tell her to just give me two quarters , but she

hailed the manager for help. While he tried to explain the transaction to

her, she stood there and cried. Why do I tell you this?   Because of the

evolution in teaching math since the 1950s:

1. Teaching Math In 1950s

        A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of

production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit ?

2. Teaching Math In  1960s

        A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of

production is 4/5 of the price, or $80. What is his profit?

3.  Teaching Math In 1970s

        A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of

production is $80. Did he make a profit?

4. Teaching Math In 1980s

        A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of

production is $80 and his profit is $20. Your assignment: Underline the

number 20.

5. Teaching Math In 1990s

        A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and

inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the

preservation of our woodlands. He does this so he can make a profit of

$20. What do you think  of this way of making a living? Topic for class

participation after answering the question: How did the birds and

squirrels feel as the logger cut down their homes? (There are no wrong 

answers, and if you feel like crying, it’s ok. )

6. Teaching Math In 2009

        Un hachero vende una carretada de maderapara $100. El costo de la

producciones es $80. Cuanto dinero ha hecho?

7.  Teaching Math In 2013

        Who cares, just steal the lumber from your rich neighbor’s property.

He won’t have a gun to stop you, and the President says it’s OK anyway

because it’s redistributing the wealth.

I have commented on history here but what is math if not history?

There is no end to the story. If we do not educate young people we are lost. They don’t have a clue as to how we became the greatest nation in the world.

As a wind up to a beautiful Memorial Day. it’s sad to reflect that many, many young people do not appreciate what our brave and courageous men and women in the US Armed Forces have done for us. They cannot appreciate something of which they are totally ignorant.

Buy a Poppy – Days of Remembrance

Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day are our Days of Remembrance for military service men and women.

Memorial Day honors military personnel who died in the service of our country, particularly in battle. We celebrate Memorial Day on the last Monday in May. Veterans Day is always celebrated on the 11th day of November. Veteran’s Day honors all those who served honorably in the military in peacetime or in wartime.

Katie Mae and I have two favorite people from Statesboro, Georgia in the form of Mrs. Moena Mullis (Miss Moena will be 91 years old this June) and Mrs. Edith Hutchison (who is 89). Miss Moena, Miss Edith and Katie Mae all served as volunteers at East Georgia Medical Center there in Statesboro. Katie Mae calls Miss Moena and Miss Edith her, “Statesboro Mothers.” and these two grand ladies are still faithfully serving at the hospital there.

I once asked Miss Moena the origin of her unusual first name and her story introduced me to a lionhearted lady from Georgia who was key in creating the popular habit of buying poppies on Memorial Day. Miss Moena’s name is pronounced “Mo-wee-na.” She said she was named for a famous Georgian named Moina Michael but her mother spelled it with an “e” instead of an “i.”  Miss Moena did not know much about Moina Michael but I Googled her name and printed Moina Michael’s story for Moena Mullis.

Moina Michael is now one of my favorite and great heroines, right up there just after Katie Mae and my Mother! Every woman and girl should read Moina Michael’s story because she was a strong, caring, enduring example of what women can do.

Miss Moina Michael was instrumental in beginning the national tradition of selling red poppies to raise money for US War Veterans on Memorial Day and Veterans’ Day each year. By the time of her death in 1944 over $2 million had been raised through the sale of red poppies

During World War One, she left her home and job at the State Normal School to go to Washington, DC to help in the war effort. She was too old to go overseas so she remained in Washington where she worked at the National YMCA helping with the war affiliated programs. She read the poem “In Flanders Fields” by Colonel John McCrae and was so moved by the poem that when the occasion arose she took the opportunity to campaign for the selling of red poppies as a fundraiser for helping disabled war veterans. She wrote a poem in reply to Colonel McCrae’s poem. Her poem, “We Shall Keep the Faith” contains the lines:

               We cherish, too, the poppy red/that grows on fields where valor led;                                    It seems to signal to the skies/that blood of heroes never dies.    

Today hundreds of millions of dollars have been raised by the Veterans of Foreign Wars to help veterans in need and Moina Michael is known as the “Poppy Lady.” The only people who are paid in this endeavor are disabled veterans in VA hospitals who make the poppies. They are sold by members of the VFW and American Legion Auxiliary.

Moina Michael is a Georgian. The State Normal School she left when she went to Washington is today known as the University of Georgia. She came back to UGA to continue to teach. She taught a class of disabled veterans at the University of Georgia in 1918 and the obvious need of these men for continuing health services and financial aid inspired her to double her fund raising efforts with the selling of red poppies.

In later years she was honored as one of Georgia’s most famous women, a U.S. Postage Stamp was printed in her honor. A bust of Moina Michael is in the rotunda of the Georgia state capitol and a Liberty Ship was named for her after her death in 1944 during World War Two. Today a section of US Highway 78 is named “The Moina Michael Highway.”

I would probably would never have known about Moina Michael if Katie Mae and I had not met and become friends with Miss Moena.

And this Memorial Day as we show our gratitude and thankfulness to those who served our country I would also like to extend a special thanks to Moina Michael and the generation of courageous women, like Mrs. Edith Hutchison and Mrs. Moena Mullis,  who so dauntlessly supported American service personnel and kept the home fires burning for them so many years ago.

Wally World Wonders – In Athens

Being under the weather like many older folks can be stressful but if you are a weird older person, you tend to cope better in the local Wal-Mart. The Wal-Mart customers I encounter are not as strange and outlandish as some you see in the whacky e-mails friends send you but some of them are certainly bizarre enough to entertain you and they can keep you alert so you don’t fall asleep while hanging on to a shopping buggy handle. It’s not going to roll away from you and drop you on your face because our Wal-Mart carts seem to always have at least one square wheel.

My first problem at Wally World in Athens is the same problem I had at Wally World in Statesboro, Ga. Both are college towns. You automatically know you are rubbing elbows with the intelligentsia and in Athens exists a much higher percentage of finely oiled and tuned scholars all around.

If this is so, why is it that only about 3% of the folks entering and exiting Wal-Mart walk through the correct doors? Most people leave through doors that are clearly marked “Enter” and they enter through doors with an “Exit” sign facing them. And what about the helpful little signs on the other side of the door that warn you, “Do Not Enter? Old geezers like me get a senior pass on this one because we can’t half see. But what happened to these college folks? College kids cannot read. They never could read.

My second problem in Athens is also the same as it was in Statesboro. My beef is with the Wally World Bentonville, Arkansas super purchasing agent who bought all those shopping carts with wheels that do not roll. I’ll bet you made a killing, saving all that money for Wal-Mart. Well, let me tell you something. Those carts are killing me. You have to fight with the strength of ten gorillas to rip two of the mating carts apart only to find the one you chose does not roll smoothly, if at all.

I’ll bet those carts came from Mexico or China and surely you must know the Mexicans and the Chinese do not view us with a friendly eye. How many man hours would it take to replace the wheels on 500 or 600 shopping carts? Not as many as you think and if all the cart curses from your customers have settled on your poor souls, you are going to have a hot time in the old town tonight…..and tomorrow night…..and the next night and so on and so on.

I think that pretty much says it for Wally World. Sometimes Katie Mae and I love to go to Publix. The prices are higher but the shopping carts actually roll and it’s pretty easy for an old coot to push one around.

There was one other thing. I thought the wise old men (and women) of Wally World had set their sights on being politically correct and one thing that keeps striking me as being more than a little insensitive is merchandise I see on a certain end cap display each time we go.

It is fly swatters! These are not your old normal plastic fly flappers with the orange flap on the end that has fine waffling incorporated into the design which is supposed to contain the splatter when you really whop one. Oh no! These new things are cruelly designed to confuse and intimidate the poor common house fly. This is the same little fly to which we owe our existence. The winged magical midget that can make tons of carrion disappear in no time.

We’re talking about PC here. Let me tell you, a fly swatter made to look like a frog; a fly swatter with leopard skin design; a flyswatter with a zebra skin design; but it gets worse. There is a swatter with a huge fly designed right into the flapper. Imagine the fear and the last thoughts of an unfortunate fly that believes he is being attacked by a giant monster that looks like he does and he knows how he looks. You often see them walking on mirrors. They know.

But next to the worst is the camouflage fly swatter. He never sees it coming. He thinks it’s a lovely leaf drifting down just for his enjoyment. He prided himself on his graceful quick moves. He dies thinking a friendly floating leaf smashed him flat.

And the worst, least politically and humanely correct, is the fly swatter that has the word “SPLAT” crudely emblazoned in big black letters on the fly-killing business end of the flapper. Callous and cold-blooded, heartless and merciless is this swatter. No dignity left in death for the poor fly. It’s all like a big laugh to Corporate. PC has gone out the door and when our old hero, the common house fly, shamefully and ignominiously perishes with no respect left for him in this cruel world, the only certainty we can grasp, is the last thing on his mind…..was his ass!


Coming Soon – Glow-In-The-Dark Pets

I recently saw an article about scientists in Uruguay who have genetically modified sheep to make them glow in the dark. I wanted to say something about how happy this will make all the lonely shepherds still left in the world but at the risk of being a bit too racy or suggestive I went ahead and said it anyhow! There are probably not many shepherds left and I feel sure when it gets dark, they tend to keep their favorite ewe close at hand so who needs one that puts off light that would attract unwanted attention? So There is really no need for a glow-in-the-dark sheep.

I’ll bet you didn’t know scientists have also created glow-in-the-dark monkeys, zebrafish, cats, dogs, pigs, scorpions, worms, mice and more.

Think about it! Glow-in-the-dark worms would make excellent bait when night fishing for bream. Mice would be an easier catch for the cats. I’ve already mentioned in a Tweet that this is going to make it tough for a monkey to slip up on his girlfriend at night. It is going to be especially tough if the monkey is monkeying with another monkey’s monkey.

I like the potential advantages of glow-in-the-dark pets. Cats and dogs glowing in the dark might have great possibilities. You can see the dog when you get up to go to the bathroom. You will not fall over the cat when you go to the kitchen for a drink of water. You can see them if they are up to no good and you might possibly save money on chewed slippers. You’ll see them gnawing on your old bedroom shoes and your kicking target will be much more visible.

They say the genetically modified creatures will further the study of diseases like HIV and AIDS. Glow-in-the-dark cats have already been used in HIV and AIDS research. This is the good part but therein lies a problem.

My problem with all this is one of the lead researchers of the glow-in-the-dark sheep team made the following statement: The modification was done not out of medical research but the desire to, “fine-tune the technique.” Did they really produce a glow-in-the-dark sheep just for the hell of it?

I don’t know about you but that scares the hell out of me. How close is this old boy in Uruguay to “fine-tuning the technique” on poor unwitting fat boys like me. I can see all this girth glowing in the dark as I move around at night. I’m telling you it’s scary.

Think about waking up in the middle of the night and finding the love of your life glowing-in-the-dark! How will you turn the lights out? What will you do? Where will you sleep? I’m seriously thinking about the carport and the back seat of the car!


No Pay-O…Just a Zero Day-O From Mr.Tally Man

You know how they say we aren’t too bright down here in God’s Great Southland but let me tell you about this old boy from New Hampshire who spent all the money he had in the world trying to win an Xbox game system at a carnival.

That’s right. This fellow spent $2,600.00 playing a carnival game called “Tubs of Fun.” Apparently you had to throw some balls into little tubs and this guy thought he had figured out how to beat the game. Unfortunately he lost $300.00 in just a few minutes but, not to be denied victory, he went back to the house and returned with $2300.00 more so he could show those people his gaming expertise.

After they took that $2300.00 from him in little or no time he went home in defeat. The next day he went back with no money but a huge complaint. The Tubs of Fun folks felt little chagrin for his penniless plight but they must have had some small sense of shame because they gave him back $600.00 and, to further salve his wounds, they gave him a very large stuffed banana with dreadlocks and a big smile.

The poor dupe was heard to say, “It’s not possible that it wasn’t rigged” and, “For once in my life, I happened to become that sucker.” My only thought is, if he knew, “It’s not possible that it wasn’t rigged” then why was he suckered? I’ll bet he’s been suckered before and more than once.

Tubs of Fun is now being investigated by the police. The big loser, who was never a top banana,  was told that he had been given the biggest consolation prize owned by Tubs of Fun and they had given him the last big banana they had on the premises. The game manager confirmed to police, “Yes, we have no bananas!”

Ladies, Beware of Toe Ticklers. Stay Afoot of Current Events.

“Current events” is a misnomer because the article I read describing this episode is almost three years old. It occurred in our old home town of Albany, Georgia and some of it was featured in the Albany Herald on Thursday May 27, 2010. It was written by Pete Skibba.

A bright and enterprising young man set up shop at Darton College where he commandeered an unused library study room. He talked a young Darton female student into joining him in the study room to partake in an orthopedic therapy survey.

Now ladies, please do not let your eager desire to participate in a survey drown you in a flood of raging naivety, guilelessness and pure simple mindedness. Be suspicious of anybody showing more than a passing interest in your feet.

This boy was only 19 but he had his scheme perfected, that is, until he reached a certain point. He asked pertinent questions, such as shoe size, and he continued talking as he dutifully wrote down the lady’s answers. All the while he was taking off her shoes and touching her feet.

Then he began to smell and kiss her feet. The story doesn’t say but I think she really became suspicious when one of her toes got hung up in his ear. She became agitated and accidentally jabbed a big toe up his left nostril which left him momentarily stunned and gave her time to walk…..and then run from the room.

He was desperately calling to her as she fled. He was yelling, “Wait, wait, I have a foot fetish (do you think?)” Then he hollered, “Can I touch your feet one last time?”

You’ve got to admire his persistence. He unfortunately tried to put tootsy tickling on the fast track and it cost him time in jail and a bail amount of $1,000.00. He never learned that he could probably indulge in playing with a woman’s feet if he had properly participated in the age old dating game. You’ve got to feed her first, fool! Don’t you know how to act? Court her as you should and once you get her behind closed doors you can slowly and tactfully ease into massaging her feet to your heart’s desire. You have to do this the right way. If you try to immediately jump her bones and stick her number ten all the way into your big mouth, you could scare the pure hell out of her. A scared big-footed woman like that will use that same sweet foot to kick your dumb ass through a wall.

So he has a lot to learn but so does she. She had no idea what he was up to and that makes me think her sexual education was sadly lacking. Now that she knows about the loving and kissing and licking and sucking of toes, I’ll bet she’s tried it for real…..with her true love.

And every time she thinks about the creep in the library at Darton, she does not give him a single thought of appreciation for teaching her one of life’s important lessons. I’ll bet when she thinks of him she shivers in disgust and goes outside to practice kicking 50 yard field goals with those big old feet of hers.


A Facebook Headache Remedy. Does It Work?

I rarely have headaches. I’ve had a few lately. Moving from South Georgia to Athens, Georgia has not been kind to my sinuses but I’m saved by Facebook. Everybody knows if it is on Facebook, it has got to be true and it has got to work.

That’s I why spend part of my precious mornings drinking a honey/cinnamon concoction that is supposed to cure everything from arthritis to cancer to sniffles. It tastes pretty good but it looks like the stuff in the tin can my Grandma used for spitting her snuff in after she got through dipping and savoring it for an hour or so. Sorry girls, but that’s exactly what it looks like.

Having said that you will know I am brave, fearless and pretty stupid about things I will do to stop the pain and I have absolutely got to tell you about the great Facebook migraine headache cure.

I’m sure Facebook is not to blame. Some good friend (and I emphasize good) posted this headache cure on Facebook. You mix your own, naturally, and there are some places here where a misstep is fairly easy. The ingredients are simple and few. You take a half pineapple, one stalk of celery, a half cucumber, one fourth lemon and three to four Kale leaves.

I think the misstep part might have something to do with the size of the kale leaves. Katie Mae cut this all up and put it in the blender for me. During moments like this, I often catch her giving me casually critical glances and I sometimes believe that I am the only person who thinks of those looks as being casual.

I don’t know anything about kale but I thought the leaves we used were too big. Thank the Lord we didn’t use leaves from one of the varieties that gets to be seven feet tall!

Anyhow, after she popped all that stuff in a blender and juiced it up I can tell you it was a frightful sight to behold. It looked exactly like that bright green algae slime at the edges of the old fish pond in late July. It was a beautiful emerald green but it made me think of the moss dripping from “The Creature From the Black Lagoon.”

I’m not sure Katie Mae tried it but I guess she forced down a tiny sip. I drank about three or four ounces. Man what a taste bud delight! If you can imagine taking a mixture of fully matured lawn grasses like Bermudagrass, Ryegrass and Tall Fescue and add a little Bahiagrass for purely forage purposes, I think you would just about have the same taste of the junk I choked down.

I didn’t let Katie Mae see my face turn the same color as the Great Migraine Smoothie. It nearly floored me. I almost lost it. I had a vision of making a break for  the bathroom so I could crawl to the commode, wrap my loving hands around it and call on Ralph and Hewitt to set me free.

Fortunately I regained control. I put a solid full twelve ounce glass of that fantastic creation in the refrigerator and later tried to convince Katie Mae that we could improve on the taste with a couple of ounces of Gray Goose vodka. I can’t tell all the things she said to me but I  do remember the subject was about not wasting liquor and something else about pouring that crap out before it killed us. I got the impression she was angry.

This was four or five days ago and I swear to you I have not had the first headache. I still have a sensation in the pit of my stomach that reminds me of several tiny Flamenco dancers doing one of those foot stomping routines but I’m sure I’ll be better by July the fourth.

I took Katie Mae’s advice and poured it out before it killed us. It looked like it could do us harm sitting right there in the refrigerator. Maybe this is the way “The Blob” was born. I had this great idea. I took it outside and poured a little bit on each of a half a dozen fire ant beds.

It worked! I checked on the fire ant beds about an hour later and I could tell something bad was going on for them. My eyesight is not that good so I got a magnifying glass and went back out and sure enough each bed had a long line of ants streaming away from home. The larger ants were carrying little tiny suitcases.



Wanted: A cult that finds me effortlessly competent.

The AP put out a story the first of May that sounds as if it came from a Mel Brooks movie. Unfortunately it is true, but how do you really know?

Most of us are not aware of a Central Asian country named Turkmenistan. It is across the Caspian Sea from Azerbaijan and on the southern border of Uzbekistan. It also borders two countries you will recognize. They are Iran and Afghanistan.

Turkmenistan is an authoritarian country. All domestic broadcasting is state run. Newspapers are state run. If they aren’t, they are still heavily supervised by the government.

The part I like is their president has an all-powerful personality cult that portrays him as effortlessly competent. This is something I have been striving for over the past 50 years. It is hard to develop an all powerful personality cult on a shoe string budget and especially if you have no big weapons of war, to speak of. My quest seems hopeless.

The way this personality cult thing works was just demonstrated in Turkmenistan. They had a huge horse race near the capital that celebrates their renowned desert horse racing breed (The Akhal-Teke).

Naturally the president was in the race because, remember, he has an all-powerful personality cult that portrays him as effortlessly competent. The other riders were straining like all hell to hold their horses back because no one wants to go up against the perfect man who is effortlessly competent. Alas, the president fell off his horse just after crossing the finish line and super confidently smacked the ground with his face.

All hell broke loose. Thousands of spectators witnessed the impossible but the state run TV agencies, with the help of all those security agencies, cut the filming of the last part of the race. That’s the part where their fearless leader made an instant dismount.

It got even worse. People departing the capital after witnessing the horse race were checked and double checked to be sure no one got out of town with pictures of our main man taking a plunge from his horse. They were checking mobile phones, computers, tablets and cameras. This is a classic one-party state sort of like the one we have here in America.

The president recovered about 30 minutes later because he had to prove he is invincible and of course he had to claim the prize money he won for finishing first. The prize was eleven million dollars. I’m not positive that was real money.

This is a great man. He won last year’s maiden automobile race in Turkimenistan even though he wasn’t entered in the race. He asked to join at the last minute. I think that was about the time they needed to announce a winner and present another wheelbarrow full of money to him.

His predecessor who was the first president of Turkimenistan was a cool guy too. He renamed the months of the year after his family members. You’ve gotta love their style.

The state run media reporting on the horse race gushed…”The audience greeted President Gurbanguli Berdymukhamedov, who finished first – demonstrating great skills of horse riding, the will to win, firmness and courage – with a storm of applause.”

You’ve gotta love that name too. Let’s not waste any letters of the alphabet when naming someone with an all-powerfull personality cult. Let’s use all the letters, scramble them and use them again.

I don’t know what more I can add to such a charming story. Do you think the Turkmenistan press is much like the American press?

This is a true story, but how do you really know?




Meth Madness – This is Not Your Father’s Buzz!

It’s happening all around us. Fools are cooking this methamphetamine junk in their cars and pickup trucks as they ride around. They’re high on meth and extremely low on brains as they navigate public streets and roads using a fried brain as a navigational tool. They even sometimes have members of the family in the car with them. They will have small, precious newborn and young children in the vehicle with them. They cook this mess in their houses with those same family members right there beside them watching so-called reality shows.

They are not only endangering their families but our first responders and their families. All over America first responders are having to contend with whatever these meth heads cooked up just before the house exploded or burst into flames. Police and firemen are constantly exposed to some of the most dangerous chemical mixtures a seriously demented mind can mix.

All I know about the stupid things they do in that baffled state of mindlessness I read about it in the papers. Here, for your contemplation, is only a few of the things these nutcases have done in just the past week or two in the Athens area:

These guys drive around with expired license plates on their vehicles. That is a no-brainer for a cop. The police have fender mounted cameras that snap a photo of your license plate and a computer gives them your life history in a nano-second. The dopeheads don’t dim their bright lights for an oncoming patrol car. They play loud music in their apartments and houses without being able to understand they are attracting unwanted attention.

My favorites include a case where deputies showed up to arrest a guy on a probation violation warrant. He ran in the house and locked the door. The cops could see two more people trying to hide their illegal drugs. Deputies called a woman who owned the house so she could come unlock it and let them get their main man. Once they got inside they found a child so they called in The Department of Family and Children Services. The lady had a beef with DFACS because they were called in but, after all, what do you expect when you have a child in a house where meth is being passed back and forth and probably cooked there too?

The result was three men and a woman all getting locked up because they were all stupid. Charges included obstruction of the police and the DFACS people who were called in.  There were two counts of probation violation, possession of meth with intent to distribute, possession of a sawed-off shotgun, possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, and giving officers a false name.

Another good one is the three men traveling on a county road who rolled their eyes when a deputy passes them. Deputies know your dumb fanny is up to something if you give them furtive glances and looks when you get around them. The deputy turns around and pulls the car over. He questions them. None of them knew where they were going but they all knew where they had been. That’s one good sign in their favor but it didn’t help them when he found all that meth under the car seat. Two of them went to jail. They’re probably sitting around in jail practicing subtle eye rolls at one another.

I also like the report of the gal who went to her rehab center with a cache of methamphetamine and was generous and kind enough to give the meth and 34 grams of various pills she had with her to several other women in the rehab center. They all later tested positive for meth. She had 53 pills concealed in an Orbit gum container. I’m telling you, there is no brain left in their sculls. I wonder how many years she is going to have to stay in rehab.

It’s getting better or worse depending on how many sordid unbelievable stories you can stomach. Two guys just south of us took it upon themselves to free the dead. They went into a cemetery that dates back to 1758 and excavated at least two graves. They scattered the bones of a child and a military uniform was discovered near their dirty work at one gravesite. The Sheriff’s Department thought they might have been looking for old and valuable artifacts they could sell. They both were charged with meth possession.

Punishment in my mind would be to sentence them to manual grave digging (with old fashioned picks and shovels) for twenty years or so. Digging graves will give them fewer objectives on which to concentrate. Maybe one day a regretful thought about the gruesome crime of grave robbing they committed will be conjured up in a befuddled mind.

My favorite but certainly the most unsavory and tasteless story was about the lad who had a wreck. He broke his car. It wouldn’t work so he and a friend accepted a ride into town with a patrolman. Riding in a patrol car requires frisking the riders to be sure they are clean and unarmed. Our boy was not clean. He had drugs in his pockets. The patrolman arrested him and took him to jail. When the jailers strip-searched this kid, they discovered a glass pipe in his rectum. This was the pipe he used for smoking his meth. They had to take him to an Athens hospital to get the pipe removed.

I’m sure you have thought of several questions involving the hiding place of the pipe but I’ve got to be honest. I never smoked a pipe and I’m not sure exactly where you should store it when it is not in use. I am beginning to suspect why they call it a “crack pipe.”

In closing, I will say Katy Mae asked me a question just brimming over with a woman’s logic. She wanted to know why he had not hidden his pills where he hid his pipe. The only answer I could come up with was he probably hid his pipe first and at that point, the available places for stashing his illegal booty had “bottomed out.”