Horray for Tax Returns

I just got my tax return.  I ventured onto the internets and got some essentials for the home.  

Here's what UPS will be bringing soon.

A Red Swingline Stapler

Neon Ant Farm

Cattle Abduction Bed Lamp

New Shower Curtain and Matt

Tetris Ice Cube Tray

Do It Yourself Easter Island Kit

Emergency Bacon

Cowbell!!!!

New Beer Glasses

Pizza Cutter

Marsmallows

Star Trek Phaser

Faucet Lights

Bacon Scented Candle

Inflatable Brain

R2D2 Pepper Grinder

How Jimmy Buffett Can Save the World

Twenty years ago, when I lived in Atlanta, I never missed a Jimmy Buffett concert.  His shows as much about the fans and his stories as they were about the music.  Before I moved away, I caught his show at the Fabulous Fox Theatre.  Before he sang "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw," he postulated on a way to end communism in Russia.  

I've been thinking about our troubles in the Middle East and the current recession and have concluded that what Jimmy said twenty years ago, might work today.  So, with all credit going to Bubba, here's how we get out of the mess we're in:


We've been in this Afghanistan mess longer than the Beatles were together.  Also, our economy is in the dumper.  So, here's an idea to solve both problems at once.


First of all we withdraw our troops.  We take the money is costs us to keep our troops there and change them into crisp new five dollar bills.  Right after the last soldier leaves, we fly over with formations of B1s and carpet bomb all Al Qaeda strongholds with the money.


We let them keep that money for a couple weeks.  They can walk around with those Lincolns in their pockets. It will get soft and warm.  


Next, we fly over again and drop catalogs.  We'll drop them the likes of:

Cabella's

L.L. Bean

Victoria's Secret

The terrorists will get the catalogs and feel the money warming their pockets.  After they browse the back section of Victoria's Secret, they'll get the idea.

They'll order the stuff.  We'll get full employment.  The economy will recover.  And the Al Qaeda will have there hip waders and push up bras.  

What I love about New Mexico

Abiquiu

Michael's Bar, Bibo, NM  

Chama

Outside Taos

Brunos, Cuba

ENMU, Harvard of the Southwest

Isotopes Park

Jemez Springs

Madrid

North of Gallup

Albuquerque Old Town

Pinon Hills Golf Course, Farmington

Roswell

Route 66 by Gallup

Farmington

Taos Pueblo

Shiprock

The Epic Battle of the West Mesa

A few nights ago, my daughter Ruby Sue was baby sitting the evil spawn of her aunt.  I took the opportunity to sneak over to the suburbs and indulge in some of the greatest wings on earth.  I went over to the Wing Stop on the west side to have my fix of lemon pepper and hot wings.  They are manna from heaven.  If you eat enough, they will cure you ills and possible, just possibly, raise the dead.

As a bonus, Kentucky was playing Louisville on the big screen.  Life couldn't get better.


As I began devouring my dinner, I noticed a mini van pull up.  


Oh, no!  That's the danger of eating at family restaurant.  Families!  This is the reason I hesitate to go to the suburbs.  


I cringed as they entered.  The doors opened and a tsunami of runts ran in a proceeded to dismantle the condiment bar.  The parents came in behind them, herded them to the table.  I looked at the ketchup stains on the wall.  It looked like a mob hit.


There were five children and three parents.  I could tell they were a husband and his wife.  They were followed by the wife's sad divorced sister.  I could tell she was divorced by her bedraggled hair and dead look in her eyes.  


There was one little boy named Justin.  He sat down at the table next to me, took out a bag and dumped the contents across the surface.  He had two dozen hot wheels ready to recreate scenes from Fast and Furious.

The little girls were named Stefani, Courteni, Angi, and Taylor.  Typical suburban larva designations.  I don't know if the three had names ending in I.  But, I'd bet good money they did.  And Taylor.  Taylor.  I can't wait until the habit of giving children first names that are last names ends.


The children had no volume control.  Each one was yelling over the other.  I had gone from annoyed to irritated.


The parents ignored their children's abuse decibel abuse of the other patrons.  The sisters were playing a game of "my kid is SO smart."  The father was busy trying to be cool while wearing a fanny pack.


The food arrives.  Justin begins crying when they tell him to put his car away.  The girls are complaining that they don't want chicken.  They want McNuggets.  Negotiations continue for what felt like an eternity.  Finally they settled down.

But, the achieved peace didn't last long.  Fights and arguments break out among the girls.  The sound has risen to a level that causes coyotes on the mesa to being howling.  


Married sister is trying to settle things down.  Divorced sister ignored the chaos and checks messages on her phone.  I can't see the father.  The children have swarmed him like a Africanized honey bees.


I have had enough.  I remember my soldier of fortune training.  It is time to act before this place turned into the Chuck E Cheese Beirut franchise.  I begin to reach for my boot knife but decide otherwise.  I growl and "skunk" eye them.  No reaction.  


"Don't show fear."  I tell myself.


I could use the conventional rules of war.  But, such measures would take years and cost millions of lives. It is decided I will use guerrilla tactics.


Taylor has left the table and is running laps around the dining room.  Stefani had begun spinning like a propeller. 

I noticed Taylor's shoe was untied.  I knew what to do.  I waited until she approached, moved my foot out suddenly.  As she swerved, she tripped and went down hard.


Stefani's spinning was solved by tossing  a lemon wedge at her feet.  She hit it and slipped.  She spun out of orbit and hit the wall.  '


Crying, the two girls ran back to their mothers.  Stunned, the other children looked at me.  I mouthed, "You're next."


The table went silent and harmony instantly returned to my beloved Wing Stop.


The invaders finished dinner in silence, except for the occasional whimper. The evening ends with the parents limping off to the mini van with their offspring in tow.


So, what have we learned?  Delivery or take out until your children are house broken. 

Happy Valentine's Day, Ass Holes

Here's a compilation of Valentine's Day Cards guaranteed NOT to get you laid.

Enjoy your damned chocolates and flowers.  I'm going bowling.