Detroit Rock City

Detroit Rock City is a Kiss song,
And now they should kiss
The city,
It’s gone.

The haves, the have-nots

They all had their way.
No sand in the sand box
Now no one can play.

No money.

No fame.
Who is to blame?
It’s always the same
Shame. Shame. Shame.

They better think twice

Nothings for free.
Gomer Pyle would say
Gah-ah-ah-ly.

The Running of the Gay Bulls

It’s morning, the first day of the famed Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain. The city is ecstatic but Norman, the legendary lead bull from America is not in the mood. Miguel, his friend, standing next to the bed is ready for the day’s events.

Miguel: Rise and shine, you big burly bully beast! I made breakfast!

Norman: Good God, give it a rest, Miguel. I’m not ready for this.
Miguel: Now, don’t be a Grumpy Gus. Not today. Today is a big day and you always amaze the crowd on your first day.
Norman: Yea, yea. So, I’ll get to stick a horn up a Spaniards ass.
Miguel: But you love that, Norman. You’re the best. People from all over the world love you. Bulls, young and old, love, admire, and respect the great “Gore-Man Norman.”
Norman: I’m tired Miguel. I don’t want to do it anymore.
Miguel: Are you crazy? Yoo hoo, world! Miguel calling! He goin’ crazy, again! Now, you get up and get that big beautiful hind quarter out of that bed.

Miguel grabs the covers and throws them off Norman.

Miguel: Whoa. Well hello, there. What do we have here? You better hide that thing and save it for the runners. You don’t want to scare them away before they blow the whistle.

Norman: Leave me alone.
Miguel: Oh no, not this again.
Norman: I’m tired of living a lie, Miguel. Look, I know who I am. I’m the biggest, the baddest bull at the premier bull event in the world.  I’ve bucked every cowboy in every rodeo back home. I’ve been a stud for every cow who works for Chick-fil-A. Miguel, I’ve never told you this, but humans once made me do things with that cow who jumped over the moon that no bull should have ever had to do, but still, after all I’ve done for them, I can’t be with the one I want and tell the world who I am.
Miguel: I know Norman. I want people to know us for who we are too. But you’ll get your chance if that’s what you want. Times are changing. You’ll see. Now please, go ahead, eat your breakfast. You’ll need your strength. We can talk later.

(Miguel walks to door, stops, and turns to Norman.)

Miguel: You know Normy. This is the world we live in, for you to not gore the silly humans, who spend good money to be gored by the best there is, would be, how do they say, inhuman. You go and gore today my friend. You are… my exquisite beast.

(Miguel leaves and Norman says to the empty room)

Norman: I am a beast, a beast of burden.

 To be continued…

Francois Ferinand "Fuzzy" Foret- Dead at age 104

Montegut, LA - Fuzzy Foret, the legendary trapper from Montegut, La., known by admirers for his bare hands wrangling of everything from marsh hens to the mystical Nutria-Man, has died at 104.

Survived by his wife, children, illegitimate offspring, grandchildren, great-grand children (with too many baby-daddies to list here) we acknowledge the passing of a man larger than the trapping lifestyle itself.

Fuzzy, also known for his animal trapping radio show on KJIN-AM is said to have laid the ground work for sports shows such as American Sportsman, American Gladiator, and the reality show Swamp People.

Not much of a family man but certainly a lady’s man, Fuzzy often got drunk after a long day at work, or night if he was poaching, spending many hours in Dupree’s Bar. (I met Fuzzy there as a young reporter. He had a wad of hundreds and three women on each arm that had all their teeth. Fuzzy had lost all but two of his in a string of bar fights but the residents loved him. He was very charismatic.)

Local legend has it that Fuzzy once trapped the mystical Nutria-Man, the story brought to life in the acclaimed motion picture Terror in the Swamp.

The story passed down for generations states that Fuzzy was out early or up late, one of the two. But, he does remember while checking his lines seeing the beast walking in a clearing of cypress. Fuzzy was so excited; he gave chase leaving his gun in the pirogue. Nutria-Man, alarmed, got snared in one of the lines. Not wanting the beast to get away Fuzzy jumped on the giant rodent and wrestled him to the murky water but didn’t realize Nutria-Man would over power him, take all his clothes, and leave him for dead. Well, that’s what he said when the game wardens found him naked by his boat.

It’s not to say that Fuzzy didn’t have his problems. His love for the water sparked him to join the navy but his career was cut short when on the way to Houma,  the city close to his home, he stopped to help a sugar cane farmer whose wagon was broken down on the side the road. Unbeknownst to him, Fuzzy had had a liaison with the farmer’s daughter. A fight ensued and Fuzzy was beat almost to death. He recovered, but from then on he didn’t seem to think straight, thus the nickname Fuzzy.

Yes my friend, gone is a legend, François Ferdinand “Fuzzy” Foret. On his passing, Troy Landry from the hit television show Swamp People said, “It’s a sad day. The marsh will never smell the same.”

Fish and Cows

I love surf and turf.

I think it’s so cool,
The Ying Yang,
Swim, walk.
The agility of the fish,
Yet the sloth of bovine.
And oh, those omega 3 fatty acids.
But it’s not in the cows
That supposedly can kill you.  

They're there.
Side by side on my plate.
My anticipation great.
Yet, they don't know one is the other.
Does one?
As they slather both with butter.

 

60 Seconds Inside a Blonde's Head

I’m so excited. Independence Day is coming and it’s on the 4^th of July, again. I love it when that happens…I’m sure glad I’m independent… and young… and pretty… I don’t answer to anybody but my sugar daddy…Gosh, I remember having to answer those pageant questions. They were tough.  I mean, come on. ”What do you think about global warming?” Well duh, in the winter it’s OK …I am so glad July’s not in winter, I wouldn’t be able to wear red, white, and blue and it’s not very slimming… unless you wear it in a bathing suit competition… and you rock it out…yeah! Rock it out, for all the people, oh come all ye faithful!…Wait a minute, that’s Christmas…Well then rock it out with fireworks and Katy Perry, Woo hoo...Humm, I wonder what my sugar daddy’s gonna bring me for Christmas…

Dad 2013

Dear ole’ dad I’ll never forget

The day you taught me how to drive.
And the way you put your foot
Right through the passenger side.

I’ll never forget the talk we had

About the birds and bees.
And that a girl can’t be with child
If she stays on her knees.

In high school you said I can go

From here to eternity.
And you didn’t get mad, when at college
I majored in fraternity.

The day I wed you gave advice,

"Love through thick and thin.
It won’t be easy, even queasy
But in the end you’ll win.”

The morning that my child was born

We cried and hugged so tight.
Eyes of blue now sparkle and
Look back with your bright light.

I’m middle aged now dad, I’m scared.

I don’t know what to do.
My life has changed so much
And I’m only half way through.
Please send a message, let me know
Help me find my way.
Wait…that cloud…it smiled at me,
Thanks dad, I’ll be okay.

Weekend Dad

           With Father’s Day approaching I wanted to tell you a story of a nine year old boy who loved his weekend dad very much and missed him dreadfully when he was gone. Interestingly though, his father wasn’t a weekend dad because of divorce, he was a weekend dad because of his quest for more.
            His father would leave each week, work hard, and come home with all the things he thought made his family complete. His wife was long satisfied with the new things she received and enjoyed the status quo. His teenage daughter didn’t care if he was gone anymore, and hung out with her high school friends. Even his older son had long ago quit wondering about what his dad was up to and was now looking to get out on his own.
             So, to keep himself busy during the week, and out from under his mother’s feet, the young boy would do odd jobs around the neighborhood. He’d cut grass or go to the golf course and help out there, collecting golf balls that were hit out of bounds, even give a few to his father and sell the rest. He even made cupcakes with his mother and would sell them to kids in the neighborhood who wanted them as an afternoon snack. He learned by example and worked hard just like his dad.
             Father’s Day was weeks away and instead of giving his father the usual gift such as a tie or pen set, he started listening to his father more intently on weekends; in case he mentioned something that he might want, so he could surprise him with something extra special, something he would really enjoy. The weekend before Father’s Day he got the idea for the perfect gift.
             It was Father’s Day morning and he waited for his dad to awake for he would never wake his dad on “sleep” day.  A hot cup of coffee, fixed the way his dad enjoyed it, was sitting on the table.
             His dad, groggy eyed, smiled when he saw the coffee and a present haphazardly wrapped in paper that had a golf design. “That’s my hard working boy,” he thought.
              “Good morning dad. Happy Father’s Day.”
              “Good morning to you, too son. Is that for me?” He asked, playing along with the morning’s event.”
              “Yeah, dad, I got it special.”
               “Well, let me see inside.”
              His father ripped the paper off the box, opened it, and saw an envelope. Reaching into the box he heard his son say, “Go ahead dad. Open it. Hurry, dad. I know it’s what you want.”
              His father opened the envelope and inside was money.
                “Do you like it dad? Do you like it?” he asked, happy at what he did.
               “Well, sure I do son,” he replied, but confused he asked,” Why did you decide to give me your money

              The little boy looked in his father’s eyes and said, “It’s what you always say you never have enough of.”