.....after such a long silence.

But I cannot think of much to say.  It's been a long chaotic summer.

However,  I still have way cool grands.

    (Editor's Note:  This is a first for me!  Two "religious" entries in a row!)

    And the Ads Nauseum winner is............

    Sweet Jaysus!  I do not care WHUT he is selling, one word from this guy and I am LEAPING for the mute button on my remote.

    The dude is loud.

    TOO loud.

    MUCH too loud.

    Gosh.  Wonder if he talks that way at home?  I mean, is he always that EXUBERANT?  Could it possibly be that is just the normal timbre of his voice?

    Wonder if he's married?

    Can you imagine waking up in the morning to someone screaming

    Call me easily amused.  Because I cannot resist posting this.

    A "top news story" today was all about some woman who found a crucifix in her bag of snackies.  She was so excited that she rented a safe deposit box to store this phenomenon.  She calls it "Cheesus."

    And no, I have no idea why this made the top news list since it is abso-fudking-lutely nothing that any of us needed to know.  But hey!  We're in the US of A, folks.   So everybody say "Amen!"

    I saw a bumper sticker yesterday and immediately honked a long one.........and then opted to adopt it as my own personal slogan. 

•  Sweet (grrrr) 85-year-old Mother-In-Law banged right leg on flower pot and ignored the GAPING, FESTERING, and otherwise ugly black wound for 4 weeks before finally telling/showing me. 

  Just like she did LAST YEAR with the other leg!!  This is not a good thing.  We’re probably talking surgery & rehab here.  Again.  And daily trips to the other edge of the earth where her hospital is located.

•  ”THE KID” got a divorce and his mom -- having a large clue about the emotional roller coaster he's currently riding -- worries, worries, worries about him constantly. 
        -No.  He doesn’t call very often.
          -Yes.  I understand that it’s none of my business.
          -No.  It doesn’t stop me from being concerned while keeping my mouth firmly shut.
          -Yes.  He is a devoted dad and hangs out with his children frequently.  Thank GAWD.
          -No.  I am not angry with his ex.  I love her.

•  The price of gas is forcing me to seek employment.  I believe I might find time to work between the hours of 2 a.m. and 6 a.m. on rainy Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.  Now if only I can find a dealer who sells Meth on one of those "90-days-to-pay" bases.........

•  My insurance company kicked my doctor off their list of “preferred” physicians.  Choices for a new doctor do not include anyone whose name I can pronounce.  (I’m seriously thinking foreign conspiracy here........anybody with me on this?)

• The prices of groceries and kitty litter have risen beyond zebra.  See bullet about price of gas above.  So now I live on peanut butter and my cat is constipated.

•  I looked out the kitchen window and spied approximately 47 Mexicans climbing around in two lovely old Toad Hall Oak Trees and one stinky Toad Hall Ginko Tree.  Somewhut alarmed, I dashed outside to ask “WHY?”  Seems the power company sent them to trim limbs away from the lines.  
   
   After I pointed out that the trees were not even CLOSE to any live power lines, the Mexicans retreated.  Still, I ponder:   Whut if I hadn’t been HOME?  Hay-suse!  I’d have naked trees!

•  That old damnable bastard -- Arthur Itis -- is causing my thumbs to scream with pain this summer.  And not be able to open important things like JIF and Chapstick.

•  My face continues relentlessly to slide off my skull as I age.   But if I paint all my mirrors black, I won't be able to tweeze those silly little eyebrow hairs that keep wandering down to my chin.

    By now you are probably thinking, "Holy Shidt!  Isn't there any GOOD news from Toad Hall?"

    Well, it just so happens that there is!  At the psychological age of 116, I still have all of my very own teeth.

    See?
 

    This is just too fascinating (not to mention incredibly annoying) not to share.  Even if I really hate to fly these days, I still find that driving my car is occasionally a necessity, as I choose to live out here at the edge of the earth. 

    In fact, sharing this informative piece of prose might even be worth getting smacked with a fine.  (As long as it is not so steep that it takes food from the mouths of my critters.)

    Yeah, yeah -- it's kinda' long.  But read it anyway, goddammit!

Posted: 2008-07-10 07:51:51

ATLANTA (July 10) - The chief executive officers of a dozen O.S. airlines, beset by record fuel costs that have caused several to cut jobs, reduce capacity and impose higher fees on customers, are now asking for their customers' help to curb the rise of oil prices.

They have co-signed a letter being sent to frequent fliers of their respective carriers, asking customers to contact Congress about the problem of market speculation, which they believe is driving up the price of oil.

"This pain can be alleviated, and that is why we are taking the extraordinary step of writing this joint letter to our customers," the letter states. A copy was received by The Associated Press on Wednesday.

Lawmakers have cited the problems high fuel prices cause airlines, trucking companies, farmers and consumers in calling for restrictions on speculative trading.

Northwest Airlines Corp. Chief Executive Douglas Steenland urged lawmakers in June to close loopholes that allow traders to dodge O.S. speculation limits by trading on foreign exchanges or through over-the-counter transactions.

"Our highest priority is to tackle the overall price of fuel which is now 40 percent of our cost pie," Steenland told lawmakers. "Addressing excessive speculation is the most immediate remedy Congress could deliver."

The letter from the airlines acknowledges that oil prices are partly a response to normal market forces, prompting a need for the country to focus on increased energy supplies and conservation.

"However, there is another side to this story because normal market forces are being dangerously amplified by poorly regulated market speculation," the letter says.

The letter says speculators buy up large amounts of oil and then sell it to each other again and again. The price goes up with each trade and consumers pick up the final tab. Some market experts estimate that current prices reflect as much as $30 to $60 per barrel in unnecessary speculative costs, the letter says.*

    *(The AP didn't bold & underline this part -- *I* did that.)

It adds that regulations established decades ago by Congress to control excessive market speculation have been weakened or removed over the years.

"We need your help," the letter to customers says. "Get more information and contact Congress."

It is signed by the CEOs of Northwest Airlines, AirTran Airways, Alaska Airlines, American Airlines, Continental Airlines, Delta Air Lines, Hawaiian Airlines, JetBlue Airways, Midwest Airlines, Southwest Airlines , United Airlines  and US Airways.

Copyright 2008 The Associated Press. The information contained in the AP news report may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or otherwise distributed without the prior written authority of The Associated Press.

Other earth shaking news just in:

    In Belmar, New Jersey, it is no longer illegal to flip the bird at people on the beach.

    Hmmm.  At least free speech isn’t being speculated..........

    The biggest mistake I ever made in my youth was not aspiring to be a television weatherman.  Uh....weatherwoman.  Weatherperson?  Oh hell with it.  Whutever.

    The thing is....these people get paid even when they're WRONG. 

    I'd planned to attend a service this afternoon -- a celebration of Russ's life -- but it didn't rain.

    Last night, the weatherman SWORE that it would rain today.  This morning, he didn't exactly admit he lied, but he predicted rain for tomorrow, instead.

    (Well, DRAT.  You know whut just occured to me?  I always swore that I wasn't gonna sit around and bitch about the weather in my old age.  Apparently, you can color me officially old.  Sigh.)

    Anyway, instead of celebrating the life of a friend in the cool indoors with rain on the roof, I am here.  Taking a short break from mowing out there in the sunshine -- where it feels like it might be 97.5 degrees. 

    Because it didn't rain.

    I love ya, Russ -- but I know you understand.  There's nearly four, tall, green acres out there that require tending in the sunshine.

    And the weatherman still swears it's gonna rain tomorrow.  I dasn't delay further!

    I'll be thinking about you,*  okay? 

    *In between (1) being disgruntled with the weather dude, and (2) wondering if all the farmers since time began haven't spent the majority of their days wishing, as I do, that they'd become weatherpersons instead.

    But I won't be singing.

    Because disgruntlement rocks, but doesn't rain.  At least not today.

    This entry dedicated to an excellent graphic artist, friend, co-worker, and all-round unbelievably nice guy.

    Can you imagine yourself fighting a rare type of cancer for 14 years, undergoing uncountable surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments, losing your right arm, and still managing to keep your wits about you.....as well as never hesitating to share a divinely wry sense of humor with everyone around you?

    Neither can I.  But I know it can be done because that's precisely what Russ did.   Until a couple days ago... when he was finally allowed to rest in peace.

    Here's to you, Russell Grimes -- and to your wife Pattie (whom I call Wonder Woman for a hundred good reasons) -- and to all the rest of us who were lucky enough to have known you.  A tip of the O'Toole hat....today and always.  Enjoy your new universe, free of pain and exhaustion at last.

   
    Peculiar, isn't it, how some stuff just gets in your head and sticks there forever?  Until something else comes along and dislodges or rearranges it?

    That's pretty much how I am about July.

    Even though my mother was born & partially raised a Tennessee Belle, she always was extremely particular about grammar and pronunciation.  She did not speak "suthuhn" with only two exceptions that I can recall.  She said "Sayer-dy" for "Saturday" and "Sundy" for Sunday.

    In any case, as kids tend to do, I spoke the way I heard my parents speak.  Thus, I grew up pronouncing the name of this particular month as Ju-LY.

    And, for the better part of my life I never gave July any credit at all -- it was a heathen and indecent summer month that generally turned out to be hotter than the hinges of hell, regardless of where we lived at the time.  Since I am chock full of fair-skinned genes from Ireland, Scotland, Wales & England -- possessing a complexion similar to the "chicken under plastic" that you see in the grocery -- I truly despise hot weather and hot sun.  It is most unkind to me in that it (1) burns me to a crisp and (2) sudks all the energy and gumption from my very soul.

    But then 1989 came along and the original six-night TV series "Lonesome Dove," from the novel by Larry McMurtry, aired on television.  You know -- the one with Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones -- not that other series that came out later.  (Never watched the latter version, because hey!  Who could possibly improve upon perfection?)

    Gawd!  I liked that movie so dammed much that I bought the Video the day it came out, and later purchased the DVD. 

    I liked that movie so dammed much that I developed an ENORMOUS crush on Robert Duvall. 

    I liked that movie so dammed much that I bought it for "my-brother-the-cowboy" who rarely watches anything at all and foisted it upon him mercilessly, thereby converting him to a "Lonesome Dove" fanatic as well.

    And I liked that moved so dammed much that every July I wake up thinking about it, and end up watching it again before the month is over.

    I never say "Ju-LY" anymore.  I always say "JOO-ly."

    Because, after seeing Chris Cooper play the role of Sheriff JOO-ly Johnson, nothing else sounds right anymore.

    Thanks, Larry McMurtry. 

    Thanks, Chris Cooper.

    In my estimation, y'all did a fine, fine thing for the month of July.

Update:  Yessiree, Bob!  (Or Yessirree, Doahsdeer, as the case may be.)  Larry McMurtry's novel "Lonesome Dove" was even BETTER than the miniseries.  But in this unusual instance I saw the movie first and THEN devoured the book.  Which is good......because generally I prefer to read and never bother to watch/listen.  Had I not strayed from my norm in this case, I might never have learned how to pronounce Sheriff Johnson's first name!

    Whut the fudk is UP with that, anyway?  How can ANYONE honestly believe that raping a child is an offense that deserves a second chance? 

    And sorry, but Louisiana’s Conservative Gov. Bobby Jindal’s solution of castrating these offenders instead of killing them isn’t any better.

    The fact that this whole issue even exists has pissed me off royally -- not to mention causing me to ponder the possibilities/probabilities of some mighty peculiar sexual predilections among those esteemed folks in Washington who wander around in their robes all the time.  

        Disclaimer:  But wait!  Lest I impart any inaccuracy, I firmly, wholly, and happily believe that
        other folks’ sexual predilections -- however strange they might seem to me -- are their own
        business and none of mine, with two exceptions:  I draw a big fat line with a giant Sharpie
        Permanent Marker when it comes to (1) messing around with an underage child, or (2) forcing
        pain on any human being for the sole purpose of any sort of self-gratification, real or imagined.
        Period. End of disclaimer.

    So anyway, after fuming around here for awhile, steam was rolling out my ears.  In an effort to cool off, I wrote this letter:

          
    Your Supreme Honors,

            Your collective thinking is clearly less than supreme this time.  In fact, it's on a
    dead run for the the ass-end of civilized society.  Get a grip, for Chrissakes.

    -Fact:  Pedophiles, like serial killers, cannot be "cured" or "fixed."  No how, no way.
    (Well, perhaps with a Total Lobotomy.  But then we taxpayers would have to cough up
    the dough to pay someone to change lifetimes of diapers.  Face it, that's a really crappy idea.)
      
    -Fact:  Chemical Castration does NOT alter an adult human's sexual desires. Why?  Because
    sexual arousal starts in the brain, you dorks!  Even physical castration does not necessarily
    change adult sexual desires.  Either option merely means that his or her private equipment is
    jammed up for any sexual activity.  But the brain still works and the "want" lingers on.

    -Fact:  You can lead a pedophile to water, but you can't make him swallow his goddamm
    chemical castration pills.  Hell, you can't even make him PAY for his goddamm chemical
    castration pills.  Furthermore, after he/she has been out of jail for awhile and learned that
    living as a “registered sexual offender” is a risky and miserable way to live, there’s a 99.5
    percent chance that the dude/dudette has acquired a new name and headed for parts unknown.  
    How you gonna make him take a pill if you can’t find him?

    -Fact:  Sexual desires/preferences in the human adult are some seriously powerful sons-of-
    bitches.  More powerful than a locomotive, or the waters of Hoover Dam, etc. etc.  So even
    if you find a way to successfully and permanently jam up a dude's physical equipment, sexual
    crimes ain't gonna stop.

    (Good GAWD, y’all!  Ever watch any Cable TV up there in DC?  Ain't y'all never heard
    of assaults with dildos, broom handles, tree branches, glass bottles, baseball bats, table legs and
    various other objects too imaginatively numerous &  painful to contemplate?  If it hurts to think
    about it, that's because it oughta', you morons!  And it just ain’t right, no matter how long you
    think on it!)

    -Obvious Conclusion:  Some humans -- pedophiles, repeat offender rapists, and serial killers --
    are broken and should not be allowed to live around around other humans.  Perhaps they are
    broken through no fault of their own, which is an indescribably sad and regretful thing for any
    human being.  Nevertheless, I repeat, they are permanently and irrevocably broken.
  
    So until and unless we find an infallible cure, either lock these people up & throw away the
    key, or else fry 'em already and put a permanent end to this absurd debate.  Sheesh.  All you
    cowardly codksudker politicians and self-annointed scholars have annoyed me beyond Zebra
    this time, goddammit. 

                                                                            Signed,

                                                                            Fifi O'Toole
                                                                            Generally liberal as heck and proud OF it,
                                                                            but hopefully NEVER liberally stoopid.

    But then after I wrote it, because I generally AM self-professed bleeding-heart liberal, I had to stop for a second and consider:  People lie all the time, even kids.  Whut if the accused really isn't guilty?  Or whut if some brainless adult told a kid to lie?  Or whut if a kid identified the wrong dude?  Or lots of other things?

    Some time after I had considered all of the above, the following realization hit me: "Well, yeah -- guess we might make an occasional mistake.  But hey!  Great strides in forensics have helped eliminate a lot of errors.  And I just don't feel willing to take a chance with anyone's kid, you know?  Besides, whut the hell could any person’s life be worth with that kind of accusation hanging overhead?"

    So here's a proposition for you, dear readers:  If anyone ever accuses me of molesting a kid, or of intentionally causing pain and suffering to any innocent person regardless of age, load and unlock your trusty pistol (or your trusty rifle -- I ain't picky) and get yourself to Toad Hall to put me OUT of the stinking misery and disgrace that has become my life.  IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner!

    And I, in turn, shall promise to do the same for y’all.

    Okay, I’m all done with it now.  End of rant.

    Later! 

   "MyBrotherTheCowboy" forwarded something to me that I feel compelled to share. 

   Why?  Because my muse has left for Keokuk and there's nothing much to report. 

   (Unless you count the certified letters from Jenna Formerly-Bush and Barbara Walters telling me that they didn't give a rat's ass that my granddaughter won the "Spirit Award.")

   But seriously. This is a great story.  If you don't laugh out loud after reading it, you are in a fudking coma!

   (No, I do not know the guy in the story.  Cowboy Dave knows his sister.)

   Doesn't matter.  It's even funnier when you realize it is a TRUE story. Next time you have a bad day at work, think of this guy. He is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister.

   (Incidentally, she then sent it to radio station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest. Needless to say, she won.)

        Hi Sue, just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day
        at the office I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share
        my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all.

        Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities
        of my job.  As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office.
        It's a wet suit.

        This time of year the water is quite cool, so what we do to keep warm is this: we have a
        diesel-powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water
        out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver
        through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good
        plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints.

        What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down
        the back of my wet suit. This floods my whole suit with warm water.  It's like working in
        a Jacuzzi.

        Everything was going well, until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course I
        scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds, my butt started to burn. 
        I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony, I realized what
        had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit.

        Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the
        crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch I was
        actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt.

        I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were
        unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.

        Needless to say, I aborted the dive.

        I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five
        minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

        When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out
        of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of
        cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber The cream put the fire
        out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

        So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if
        you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.   Repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job,
        I love my job."

        And whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself:  “Is this a jellyfish bad day?”

  

   YEEEE-OUCHIE!