On Orphans, WPA Works Projects of the 1930’s and Welts:
Thought for the Day:
I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much. Mother Teresa
(Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes that old bear gets you.)
My Weekend:
By John Q. Public
Gather around children and I will tell you a tale. On Friday last, I spent the better part of the day driving around asking relative strangers and a few good friends for money, no not for the usual bail money, but money for the orphanage where I volunteer.
You see I was charged with coming up with $10,000.00, to support the little heathens. Normally, I would of written a personal check to cover my obligation, but they would not accept my third-party-post-dated-out-of-state-check again this year.
I being a man of my word (when it is convenient for me; just ask the Republicans, my 1st wife, Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses) I took my task at hand quite seriously. This task was no easy matter here in Heartland, where there is an audible sucking sound of companies closing up shop and moving to China (and why are Chinese Commies ok and Cuban Commies not, the damn Red Chinese shot my Uncle Gill in the nuts during the Inchon landing, Buddy let me tell you there is no love lost between Uncle Gill and them damn Reds, although he has made a tidy sum over the years singing at weddings, more than working his day job at the Feed Mill, so perhaps it’s a mixed blessing) add to that, that this garden like area of Indiana is heavily populated by Lutherans of German decent and you know they can be some tight asses. My task, dear reader was a daunting one.
At personal risk to myself, I hit the bars, a personal risk largely due the extreme amount of alcohol that was consumed during my birthday celebration, coming near to a fatal case of death by Rumplemizt (Mrs. JQP said she was going to kill me), however true to my nature I soldered on.
Thusly charged, I met my challenge head on. Brothers and sisters there is nothing like alcohol to help separate the simple folks of this great land from their money, especially if it’s for a good cause. Needless to say I not only met my goal I went past it, and for that I must give thanks where thanks are due, to you my dear friends who have an innate ability to strong-arm the reticent and to the ladies of “Boob Hill” a country and western themed exotic dancing establishment over by the truck stop, who donated 50% of the g-string receipts, for this noble endeavor. Never doubt the big hearts of those ladies on the stage.
I spent Saturday, walking 5 miles in a river, when I say in a river, I mean really in a river, neck deep in the big muddy. Why? You the reader might ask.
Well, I would love to tell you but let’s just say dump trucks, Pastor Bob, Dam Flow Control and engineering flaws where all factors in my impromptu river expedition.
Now some facts on the St. Joe River. After my brisk 4 hours in the water, reclining on the shore, a friend decided to call the local DNR for a water quality report. It seems at .200 e-coli a body of water is considered un-safe, that particular day the water quality checked in at .846 e-coli. A fact further reinforced by a friend who is in the fire service, who added that the only way they get into that river is in full biohazard dry suits. Not something a man with numerous open cuts from underwater obstacles wants to hear.
Upon my return (I rode home in the back of a pick-up since no one in their right mind would let me inside their vehicle) My Loving Wife made me strip off in the back yard and sprayed me down with the garden hose. This act of which of course brought flashbacks of my time served inside the Indonesian prison system. After being dosed in Clorox Bleach I was allowed to shower, my clothing and foot wear where however burned.
It was soon after that I noticed the rash spreading across my “tader sack” and up toward my chest. It was purple in color, not unlike my award winning irises. Friends let me tell you, it was cause for concern, for old JQP.
After calling around I found an ER with a Indian Doctor on duty (It has been my experience that Indian doctors are most able to treat my illnesses, being familiar with diseases that are common in the 3rd world). The Doctor posed a few questions about my personal hygiene habits, then he asked if I had drunk from any polluted water sources (no doubt surprised in my command of the Hindi language, at least I think it was Hindi I was speaking).
I proceeded to tell him in detail about the dump truck, Pastor Bob, dam building during the government works projects of the 1930’s and our engineering miscalculation which allowed me my walk in the river for miles. He said “My dear man, do you know the Ganges is cleaner than the St. Joseph River and we throw human bodies into it back in India”.
I had a few shots (in both cheeks of my round yet, muscular ass), some cream colored jam like substance spread over the affected areas (which I might add brought instant relief to my wee’ lads) and an extensive regimen of antibiotics that were recommended by the on-call physician at the CDC.
Needless to say after that I was unable to attend the birthday celebration of Johnny B. Good, who I understand was performing with his band the Flextones, at his palatial estate on the city’s fashionable Westside. My apologies, I owe the man a drink or two. However, I doubt if he wanted to enjoy the company of a man, covered in purple welts with a cream colored jelly smeared across his hairy body wrapped in see through gauze. I know My Flower was not amused.
Sunday, I woke feeling much better. My rash had faded to a dull red with orange rings. I took it upon myself to go to the early Mass and give thinks both for my success in raising funds for the orphanage but also for living through I minor ecological disaster and not being charged. I am Catholic and we are into self-punishment.
After itching my way through Mass, I returned home to find that My Bride had awoken and made me a fortifying morning time meal of Maple Sausages (home made by her Grandfather, don’t ask), poached eggs, rye toast, fresh tomato and musk melon. After which she helped me change my dressings and smear jam on my body which was oddly erotic. Sometimes folks, she is an angel.
I spent the rest of the day catching up on my reading, due largely to some major gastro-intestinal issues. I felt good enough by the end of the day to join Mrs. JQP, M. Chamberlain, Miss Nay-Nay, and Tiny at the Macedonian Road House, while the kids played the jukebox and had a sock hop to the hits of yesterday and today, I enjoyed a light supper of hot pickled eggs, sliced onion, pickled bologna, sliced tomato, hot peppers, pita and Feta cheese washed down with a few Pabst Blue Ribbons.
This given my recent bout of GI issues it was not the wisest decision of the day. I would however like to note that the Macedonian Road House does in fact have the cleanest rest rooms in the Tri-State area, due in large part to the owner suffering from an obsessive compulsive disorder. On a more positive note upon my return home, I was able to finish several more books, since I stayed up late into the night, sleeping in the master bath.
Today, I am sure you the reader will be glad to know that I am as fit as a fiddle, and ready to take on whatever life throws me this fine day. However, I am told I cant give blood for 18 months.
Today’s Bill:
SONNET 96
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Quote of the Day:
We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.
Tom Stoppard, “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead”
I remain the one feathered Injun, in the teepee of your soul, hear my tom-tom:
JQP esq.
I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much. Mother Teresa
(Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes that old bear gets you.)
My Weekend:
By John Q. Public
Gather around children and I will tell you a tale. On Friday last, I spent the better part of the day driving around asking relative strangers and a few good friends for money, no not for the usual bail money, but money for the orphanage where I volunteer.
You see I was charged with coming up with $10,000.00, to support the little heathens. Normally, I would of written a personal check to cover my obligation, but they would not accept my third-party-post-dated-out-of-state-check again this year.
I being a man of my word (when it is convenient for me; just ask the Republicans, my 1st wife, Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses) I took my task at hand quite seriously. This task was no easy matter here in Heartland, where there is an audible sucking sound of companies closing up shop and moving to China (and why are Chinese Commies ok and Cuban Commies not, the damn Red Chinese shot my Uncle Gill in the nuts during the Inchon landing, Buddy let me tell you there is no love lost between Uncle Gill and them damn Reds, although he has made a tidy sum over the years singing at weddings, more than working his day job at the Feed Mill, so perhaps it’s a mixed blessing) add to that, that this garden like area of Indiana is heavily populated by Lutherans of German decent and you know they can be some tight asses. My task, dear reader was a daunting one.
At personal risk to myself, I hit the bars, a personal risk largely due the extreme amount of alcohol that was consumed during my birthday celebration, coming near to a fatal case of death by Rumplemizt (Mrs. JQP said she was going to kill me), however true to my nature I soldered on.
Thusly charged, I met my challenge head on. Brothers and sisters there is nothing like alcohol to help separate the simple folks of this great land from their money, especially if it’s for a good cause. Needless to say I not only met my goal I went past it, and for that I must give thanks where thanks are due, to you my dear friends who have an innate ability to strong-arm the reticent and to the ladies of “Boob Hill” a country and western themed exotic dancing establishment over by the truck stop, who donated 50% of the g-string receipts, for this noble endeavor. Never doubt the big hearts of those ladies on the stage.
I spent Saturday, walking 5 miles in a river, when I say in a river, I mean really in a river, neck deep in the big muddy. Why? You the reader might ask.
Well, I would love to tell you but let’s just say dump trucks, Pastor Bob, Dam Flow Control and engineering flaws where all factors in my impromptu river expedition.
Now some facts on the St. Joe River. After my brisk 4 hours in the water, reclining on the shore, a friend decided to call the local DNR for a water quality report. It seems at .200 e-coli a body of water is considered un-safe, that particular day the water quality checked in at .846 e-coli. A fact further reinforced by a friend who is in the fire service, who added that the only way they get into that river is in full biohazard dry suits. Not something a man with numerous open cuts from underwater obstacles wants to hear.
Upon my return (I rode home in the back of a pick-up since no one in their right mind would let me inside their vehicle) My Loving Wife made me strip off in the back yard and sprayed me down with the garden hose. This act of which of course brought flashbacks of my time served inside the Indonesian prison system. After being dosed in Clorox Bleach I was allowed to shower, my clothing and foot wear where however burned.
It was soon after that I noticed the rash spreading across my “tader sack” and up toward my chest. It was purple in color, not unlike my award winning irises. Friends let me tell you, it was cause for concern, for old JQP.
After calling around I found an ER with a Indian Doctor on duty (It has been my experience that Indian doctors are most able to treat my illnesses, being familiar with diseases that are common in the 3rd world). The Doctor posed a few questions about my personal hygiene habits, then he asked if I had drunk from any polluted water sources (no doubt surprised in my command of the Hindi language, at least I think it was Hindi I was speaking).
I proceeded to tell him in detail about the dump truck, Pastor Bob, dam building during the government works projects of the 1930’s and our engineering miscalculation which allowed me my walk in the river for miles. He said “My dear man, do you know the Ganges is cleaner than the St. Joseph River and we throw human bodies into it back in India”.
I had a few shots (in both cheeks of my round yet, muscular ass), some cream colored jam like substance spread over the affected areas (which I might add brought instant relief to my wee’ lads) and an extensive regimen of antibiotics that were recommended by the on-call physician at the CDC.
Needless to say after that I was unable to attend the birthday celebration of Johnny B. Good, who I understand was performing with his band the Flextones, at his palatial estate on the city’s fashionable Westside. My apologies, I owe the man a drink or two. However, I doubt if he wanted to enjoy the company of a man, covered in purple welts with a cream colored jelly smeared across his hairy body wrapped in see through gauze. I know My Flower was not amused.
Sunday, I woke feeling much better. My rash had faded to a dull red with orange rings. I took it upon myself to go to the early Mass and give thinks both for my success in raising funds for the orphanage but also for living through I minor ecological disaster and not being charged. I am Catholic and we are into self-punishment.
After itching my way through Mass, I returned home to find that My Bride had awoken and made me a fortifying morning time meal of Maple Sausages (home made by her Grandfather, don’t ask), poached eggs, rye toast, fresh tomato and musk melon. After which she helped me change my dressings and smear jam on my body which was oddly erotic. Sometimes folks, she is an angel.
I spent the rest of the day catching up on my reading, due largely to some major gastro-intestinal issues. I felt good enough by the end of the day to join Mrs. JQP, M. Chamberlain, Miss Nay-Nay, and Tiny at the Macedonian Road House, while the kids played the jukebox and had a sock hop to the hits of yesterday and today, I enjoyed a light supper of hot pickled eggs, sliced onion, pickled bologna, sliced tomato, hot peppers, pita and Feta cheese washed down with a few Pabst Blue Ribbons.
This given my recent bout of GI issues it was not the wisest decision of the day. I would however like to note that the Macedonian Road House does in fact have the cleanest rest rooms in the Tri-State area, due in large part to the owner suffering from an obsessive compulsive disorder. On a more positive note upon my return home, I was able to finish several more books, since I stayed up late into the night, sleeping in the master bath.
Today, I am sure you the reader will be glad to know that I am as fit as a fiddle, and ready to take on whatever life throws me this fine day. However, I am told I cant give blood for 18 months.
Today’s Bill:
SONNET 96
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Quote of the Day:
We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.
Tom Stoppard, “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead”
I remain the one feathered Injun, in the teepee of your soul, hear my tom-tom:
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 2:20 AM
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