Reason enough?? – Whaddaya think?

The producer of the national television show, A LONG-LONG LIFE, had become concerned about continuously decreasing ratings and was desperately searching for anything that would bring these ratings to a point that would be acceptable to his sponsors. After scouring the entire country, he found what he thought was an advertisers dream. In the back-woods of North Carolina, He heard of a man who claimed to be 124 years old.

Being somewhat skeptical of this claim, he decided to interview the man at length before making the decision to include him in the format of a future show. After driving his rental car through the hills and hollows, on roads that were more paths than anything else, he arrived at a crude, dilapidated shack almost covered with kudzu vines.

He immediately saw a scrawny individual in the throes of splitting wood and adding it to the huge stack behind him. He asked the man if he was Horace Arbuckle. With a great deal of effort the man stuck the axe deep into the chopping block, removed a long cigar from his toothless mouth allowing a plume of smoke to escape and said, “Yep.” The producer then asked if he was indeed 124 years old. Horace took another drag on the cigar before he answered, “Yep.”

Excitedly, the producer asked, “To what do you feel that you owe your longevity?” Horace placed the cigar between his gums and said, “Say what?” The producer explained that he wanted to know how Horace had managed to live so long.

Horace grinned with the cigar still clamped tightly between his gums and replied; “I smoke 5 packs of cigarettes and 4 cigars every day and have done so for the past 67 years.”

‘Exactly what I was looking for,’ the producer thought. “Do you mind if I call on you again next week, ” he asked? “Nope,” was the only answer.

With a contract in hand, the producer again acosted Horace the following week. “If you will come to our studios at 08:30 on Monday, we will tape a show with your testimony and my sponsor, R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, will pay you the grand sum of $10,000.00.” Horace’s answer was simply, “NOPE; can’t.”

“Why in the world can you refuse to show up at out studio at 08:30 on Monday and to make that much money when it’s evident that you need it. Give me a good reason.”

“Don’t quit coughing until 12:45.”

Demijon

SLOBBER

When we hear this term we usually apply it to one who drools or allows saliva and/or food to dribble from the mouth. “Wipe the slobber from that baby’s chin.” However, while conducting research for another article I happened upon a somewhat surprising #2 definition to the word SLOBBER. “To speak, write, etc. in a mawkish or maudlin way.”

This discovery caused me immense concern since much of my spare time is spent attempting to write a Pulitzer prize-winning novel. I have visions of autograph sessions in major bookstores and long lines awaiting the affixing of my signature to the latest best-seller.

Webster defines the word MAWKISH as having a sweet, sickening taste; insipid or nauseating; and MAUDLIN as, #1- Foolish and tearfully or weakly sentimental, and #2.-Tearfully sentimental from too much liquor. Perhaps the lack of these descriptive terms are the reasons for the huge stack of rejection slips that clutter my desk.

Abstinence from anything stronger than coffee or tea while I am in the process of creating is a must since I have difficulty enough with a computer keyboard when my faculties are at their best.

Realization dawned on me as I pondered my inability to become world famous as a writer. My style would have to be changed. Heretofore I have written about things that pleased me, and apparently my public demands a different approach. Contemplating a few of the most popular novels I arrived at a sure-fire technique to appeal to the vast majority of readers. It would contain the most sought-after elements of any publication on the New York best-seller list.

Here goes…

Detective Albano was in the process of investigating the murder when his MAUDLIN (foolish) partner said to him, “This sandwich is MAWKISH (insipid).” Albano became MAUDLIN (tearfully sentimental) as he recalled the beautiful Vicky making the sandwiches, clad only in the top of his pajamas. She was somewhat MAWKISH (nauseating) since she had succumbed to MAUDLIN (too much liquor) last evening.

It is at this point when I am distracted from my creative mode by my lovely roommate who inquires of me, “What the hell are you doing in there?”

Undaunted, I reply….

“Nothing; Just SLOBBERING!”

Demijon

Our thanks; Someone finally invented something we can use.

When a person reaches the point that they become ‘a senior citizen’ it’s a known fact that; at any time during the night or day, we can be found ‘either in a bathroom or looking for one.’

In many instances, the need for answering nature’s call is such that we begin to time our activities to coincide with our desperate urges. You know the drill; “If we use the bathroom now, it will take us forty minutes to reach the mall and five more to find the facilities.” If the distance is further, we maintain a mental map of public utilities within reach of our biological time clock, You know; “McDonald’s is halfway,” or “There is a porta-jon at that construction site.”

Our needs are so ingrained within us that we limit our walks or bike rides to the distance that we can easily return within the allotted time. Pre-planning is the answer here. Failure to pre-plan simply means that one will be required to take little- bitty short steps until we reach a comfort station.

I suppose we all should be grateful that we are able to retire from the workforce. Can you imagine only being allowed a break at mid-morning and mid-afternoon? This would be totally intolerable to us seniors. Labor Unions would have a field day with this.

I am reminded of description of his job written by a disenchanted worker. “Working for this Company is like wearing a dark suit and peeing in your pants. It gives you a warm feeling but nobody notices.”

And that’s th’ truth.

Demijon

Th’ Fust Time I Seed Her – by Jay Henry

 
She were a gangl’y gal whot wudn’t dress out more’n a hunnert an’ ten whenst she sole popcorn at that movin’ pitchur show. I allus figur’d that her Pa an’ Ma’d sorta rooted her ta th’ high end uv th’ troff an’ whot vittles she got wus not th’ kind ta put meat on a gal’s bones. She were twelve an’ still single an’ a’comin’ clost ta bein’ a old maid.

Now, this here nite, I didn’t have me no gal ta be wiff, so’s I jus sash-ayed up thare an’ sez hidey ta her. She grinned rale big and I knowed that I had made a m’pression on her wiff my sharkskin britches an’ duck-tail haircut. Atter I leaned up ‘gainst th’ wall an’ rolled me a cigarette, I axed her iffen she’d admire ta set in th’ show wiff me. She took me up on hit, which weren’t no mor’n I’d ‘spected, me bein so debonner an’ all.

Atter that thare nite, hit were near ’bout a year ‘fore I seed her agin. Me an’ Jerry had parked th’ log truck in front uv the dime store one nite whenst this here same gal come outten th’ store. LAW, how she’d COME OUT! She weren’t gangl’y no more. She were a’wearin’ peddle pushers an’ a sweater whot ‘peared ta be ’bout ta bust an’ I ‘cided rat then I’us gonna marry up wiff that perty thang.

Atter us’ens sparked fer a spell, I axed her Pa iffen he wonted ta git shed uv her an’ he sez “Uh-huh.” Well’sr, hit wont long atter us’ens got married up an’ she commenced a’eatin’ all them rich rations like potted meat and wennies ’til she come ta be consarned ’bout a’gittin’ hefty. She sez ta me one day, “Jay Henry, honey, does you reccon I better go on one uv them diets?” I tolt her that hit were either that er she were gonna be ‘quired ta buy her some new peddle pushers.

She got me ta read her all them diets whot comes out in th’ almaneck an’ she picked her one an’ sent off atter hit. Hit were th’ one whare you drink them cans uv stuff ‘stead uv eatin’ an’ hit mus’ of worked ’cause she commenced a’fallin’ off. She were so tickled wiff that thare diet, she ‘cided ta keep a’drinkin that thare stuff, ‘cept this time, she wud drink hit along wiff her potted meat an’ wennies.

She had fell off ’til she cud git them peddle pushers back on an’ then she got tarred uv a’starvin’ an’ taken up th’ ‘spression: “Perty is lak perty does.” She taken them peddle pushers an’ that thare sweater an’ cut ’em up fer dish rags.

Now, whenst us’ens go sommers an’ she sees a young, gangl’y gal, she sez ta me, “Jay Henry, honey, ain’t you glad I quit a’drinkin that thare stuff in them cans an’ don’t look lak I done fell off ’til I ain’t nothin’ but skin an’ bones?”

Me, I jus tell her: “Perty is lak perty does,” an’ let hit go at that thare. ‘Cides, flour sack frocks be’s a whole heap cheaper than them thare peddle pushers.

Myself, I purely b’leve that iffen I cud break her uv her ‘fatuation wiff cheese crackers ‘n belly washers, she cud fall off anytime. I ‘speck th’ only way ta do that thare wud be ta break boff her arms an’ then she cudn’t hold on to th’ plow handles an’ I’d be in a mess, shore ’nuff.

So I sez ta myself: “Self, jus leave hit alone.”

At home with Demijon – the self-proclaimed authority on everything

 

“SENIOR CITIZEN” IS SIMPLY A STATE OF MIND.

God willing, I will celebrate my 76th birthday in January; and yet, I do not consider myself old. Granted, there are limitations in my ability to perform many of the tasks that heretofore, I could accomplish with ease. I have been blessed with relatively good health; therefore, my constant complaining is more from habit than actual infirmities.

Today there is simply too much to do that I was denied as a child, because if it was available, it was cost prohibitive. If there had been a Disney World, computer games, movies in every shopping mall, amusement parks and television, perhaps my attitude would be different and I would be content to act my age.

Imagine, if you will, a long line of children waiting for a ride on the merry-go-round at Disney World or a group clamoring for a picture with Donald Duck or Goofy, and right in the middle stands a 6′ 2″ 240 lb., gray-haired, individual with his shirttail hanging outside of a pair of ragged shorts, awaiting his turn with no less enthusiasm. Thankfully there are no age restrictions for enjoyment here, and because of this I become just an overgrown kid upon entry into the park.

Although I appreciate the courtesy most businesses extend to those of us who evidently meet the requirements of “Senior,” nevertheless, I become ecstatic on those occasions when I have to ask for the discount.

As for my limitations, I will admit that the necessities for rest breaks are more frequent than in years past. Also, it is fairly obvious that my looks have deteriorated; however, my mind will not accept this as fact. I still hold onto the principle that one is “as young as you feel.”

I suppose that some day I will undergo a dramatic change and begin to think of myself in terms of “Elderly,” but until that time arrives, I intend to continue being young at heart. Someone once said that life begins at 40. I must take exception to this. In my case, life began at 60 and has gotten better with each passing year.

In closing, please allow me to offer advice to all the young folks. We will accept your referring to us as “seniors,” or even “mature individuals,” but whatever you do…

DON’T CALL US OLD!

Demijon

Gloom, Despair and Agony on Me

 
The title is an excerpt from the popular television show “Hee-Haw” in which four pathetic looking individuals were singing about the sorry state of their lives. Included in the song are the words, “if I had no bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.” There have been times when we all have felt much the same way as these mournful songsters. These are the times when everything that we attempt seems to take a turn for the worse.

We all tend to place the blame on luck; however, in most instances the fact that we failed to follow proper procedures when we sought a solution to a particular problem, was responsible for most of our inability to correctly reach our goal.

Luck is defined as “the seemingly chance happening of events which affect one.” When we rely on a “seemingly chance happening” instead of proven techniques, we are surely inviting a series of “bad luck.”

How many times have we not taken the time and effort to determine that the power was turned off BEFORE repairing the switch? Only upon receiving the sting of the electricity did we realize our mistake, and then we blame it on bad luck or else we think that we were lucky to have not been killed.

We think of some people who are lucky at games of cards when it is nothing more than a “chance happening” that the shuffling of the cards was such that they were dealt a winning hand. Luck in the casinos simply means that the preset time had arrived for the machine to pay off, and it was a “chance happening” that you were the one playing the machine at the appropriate moment. Luck had nothing to do with it.

“He’s lucky to have a new house, boat, or car.” We have not thought about all the hard work, the scrimping and saving that produced those purchases. Just plain luck is what we think. With this line of reasoning, is it any wonder that the others of us consider ourselves unlucky if we cannot do likewise?

We would all be wise to refrain from relying on a chance happening, and instead, try to utilize the vast amount of knowledge that we all possess in the performance of our day-to-day activities. Trusting in our God-given intelligence to make the correct evaluation of any problems before concurring that the outcome was nothing more than luck, we may possibly eliminate other words from the above-mentioned song; those being…

“Deep, dark depression – excessive misery.”

Demijon

It seems like only yesterday – when

We lusted for a loaf of store-bought bread rather than enjoying home-made biscuits.

The latest trend in home decor was to install wall-to-wall carpet over hardwood floors.

We made our coffee in an aluminum percolater and had never heard of a programmable Coffee-maker.

All 12 year old boys had memorized the page numbers for the brassiere ads in the Sears, Spiegal AND the Montgomery-Ward catalogs. This was before they invented the word Bra.

Most grown-ups could not participate in a rousing game of football because of a dreaded disease known as lumbago.

Instead of breathlessly awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus, a young boy’s desire was to grow big enough to reach the foot-feed and the dimmer switch on the family vehicle.

A teen-ager’s first pay check from a part-time job was spent for fender skirts, twin spotlights, curb feelers, lowering blocks and steering knobs, (also known as curve slingers), to make the family vehicle look its coolest.

We waited at the mailbox for Daddy to come home for a ride on the running board to the house.

DynaFlow drive was the ultimate in an automatic transmission, and was available only in a Buick.

If any of this brings back memories, you are well qualified to avail yourself of the SENIOR discount at McDonalds.

However, while there, if you encounter a beautiful, sexy, babe and your thoughts run wild, there is a distinct possibility that your pacemaker will open four garage doors.

Jusr remember that, at your age, getting a little action, simply means that the Ex-Lax is working.

Demijon

Have you heard this one?

When the oldest survivor of the Johnstown, Pa. flood died, he was met at the pearly gates by St. Peter who inquired if there was anything in particular he would like to do.
“Yes,” replied the man, “I would love to explain to all the angels that it was because of sheer fortitude that I managed to survive one of the greatest disasters known to mankind.”
St. Peter assured him that a gathering of thousands would be assembled to hear his rendition of the escape from this tragedy.
After his initial briefing he was led onto a golden stage, before which sat the inhabitants of Heaven. Although nervous before this large a throng, he was determined to speak of his daring evasion of the raging waters that destroyed so many.
An angel clipped a lapel microphone onto his robe but before he could begin speaking, St. Peter tapped him on the shoulder and whispered. “I would be extremely careful with my choice of words if I were you. Noah’s in the audience, you know.”
————
It was during her lunch hour that Mrs. Peabody, the head nurse at Memorial Hospital, left to pick up her laundry from the downtown location of the Miracle Laundry, some three miles from the hospital. She was traveling well above the speed limit when a policeman turned on his red light to signal her to stop. She only reacted when he let loose with a blast of the siren.
The officer approached the car and asked, “Lady, do you know what a red light means?”
“Yes officer, it means that someone needs to use the bed pan,” answered the unruffled lady.
————
A minister who was known for preaching well over one hour began one particular sermon with the following; “I dictated my sermon to my secretary and asked her to delete anything that was dull or uninteresting.” “And so, in conclusion, a-men.”
————
Every senior citizen should be required to carry the following sign; “I feel good today, but every time I feel good I feel bad because I know that tomorrow, I’m going to feel worse.”

Get even time; We should all grow old enough to become a problem to our children.
Demijon

SECRET RECIPE – Revealed for the first time

DEMIJON’S WORLD FAMOUS BLACKEYED PEAS
1 small package blackeyed peas
Salt
Corn Oil
Margarine
Paprika
Wash peas thoroughly and place in a slow cooker or crock pot. Cover with water to approx. 2 inches above peas to allow for swelling. Add salt to taste (2 teaspoons). Pour in approx. 5 tablespoons Corn Oil. (Give or take a little) Add a few dashes of Paprika. Note: To any dried beans or peas – always add at least 1/4 teaspoon each of baking soda and sugar.
Start this conglomeration at 1:30 p.m. with cooker on high. Will be ready to serve by 5:30.
Serve over WORLD FAMOUS RICE. See below.

DEMIJON’S WORLD FAMOUS RICE
2-1/2 Cups water or there about.
1 Cup long grain rice or there about.
Margarine, about 3 pats
A dash and a half or two dashes of Corn Oil.
Start water on high. Add salt, Corn Oil and Margarine. Bring to a rolling boil and pour in rice. Turn to low heat and cover. Allow to simmer for 25 minutes. Rice will be flaky and G-o-o-o-d-d-d!
NOW: Cook a pone of cornbread and chop 1 onion.

Fill plate one half full with rice and cover with peas. Sprinkle with chopped onion and grab a handful of cornbread and a glass of buttermilk. You don’t need anything better than this.
SERVES A BUNCH OF FOLKS;                                                                                                          ENJOY

WAY TO GO!

Interstate travel is the fast and sure method of going from one place to another; however, it is not necessarily the most scenic route. To view all of the wonders in this great land, one must avoid at all costs, these boring stretches of concrete ribbon. There are no “Bubba’s Reptile Farm” or roadside stands selling “Sourwood Honey and Boiled Peanuts” situated beside the interstate highways.

I am convinced that the interstate system was responsible for the idiom, “You’ve seen one; you’ve seen ’em all.” Mile after mile of nothing more exciting than huge signs with neon letters that read, “SEE ROCK CITY” or “STUCKEYS”-EXIT 10. In addition, extensive travel on these expressways do much to increase animosity among family members. With conversation limited to: “Are you sure that you turned the coffee pot off?” and “If you young’uns don’t sit still and shut up, we’ll go back home,” is there any wonder that family break-ups are on the rise?

Enjoyable vacations are the ones that traverse the country by way of the back roads. You know, the ones where you circle the courthouse five times before you can exit, and chances are you still get on the wrong road and end up in the parking lot of the fertilizer plant. This in itself is not bad, simply because you can educate the children in the proper methods of fertilization while attempting to find your way to “Joe’s Flea Market: Things, Stuff and Junque.”

The sleepy towns with a few cars angle-parked on main street and an array of straight chairs leaning against the store fronts on a wooden sidewalk are as much a part of Americana as “The World’s Largest Mall.” The towns that have yet to sport even a McDonald’s or Wendy’s are nevertheless more exhilarating than the high-speed lanes of the interstate highways. It is here that you find the historical markers that announce the birthplace of the colonial governor of Arkansas or where General Jason P. Snodgrass was slain during the “Conflict of Northen Aggression.”

Attractions of educational appeal are in abundance when “back-roading.” Where else can you find plots of land where “Funk’s Hybrid” corn seed is tested? Abandoned buildings with huge weed infested parking lots that once housed a thriving cotton mill. “The Pig & Whistle Drive Inn” with the now silent speaker posts anchored in rows that was the gathering place for countless teenagers consuming the famous “Burgers and Fries with large Coke – .69 cents.” Individual one-room cottages with a broken neon sign that reads “Stella’s Tourist Cabins, No Vacancy.” “Arthur’s Used Auto Parts, if we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”

“B and G’s Filling Station” is another must on your trip through America’s heartland. It is here where your gasoline is pumped for you, your oil is checked, your windshield cleaned, your car is vacuumed of all the candy wrappers and spilled popcorn and the proper amount of air is put into your tires, all while you enjoy a soft drink from the ice box and a package of cheese crackers from the wire rack just above. A trip to the outside “privy” in back and you are on your way to another adventure.

A vacation of this type can and does offer enough “Show and Tell” material for an entire school year. Here one experiences firsthand the fabric that made this country great. The metal that forged a uniqueness found only far from the endless stretches of highway called the Interstate.

And be sure to have your picture taken alongside “Chief Redjaw” of the Mango Indian tribe and the stuffed bear at “Reds Burger Barn.” It will be an unforgettable experience, to say the least.

Demijon