Blogabillies

This Blog Blows My Dress Up contest

by Belle

It's been busier'n hog-renderin' time around Blogabillies this week, but I stopped long enough tonight to indulge myself in some after-dinner blog reading. We all need our guilty pleasures, you know, and for a writer that often involves reading other people's words.

My friend Lisa over at the Scaffolding for Writers blog mentioned a humor-writing contest going on at Shelly Tucker's blog, This Eclectic Life, so I felt duty-bound to check it out. Turns out Shelly is a storyteller and a Texan, which is a grand-slam combination in my book. (See? My book. I just can't get away from words!)

I chuckled my way through a half-dozen of her stories. In fact, I got so sidetracked scrolling through Shelly's blog that I almost forgot about the contest. Almost. Really, how could you forgot a contest that's called This Blog Blows My Dress Up? There's a story right there in the contest title.

I decided I'd submit an entry from the Blogabillies archives, the one where I describe suffering from a bad bout with allergies and having to rely on My Mama's Recipe for a cure. Click the link and read that one if you missed it before. And be sure and check out Shelly's blog. You've still got time to enter the contest if you hurry.

You know, I feel a cough comin' on. Better go find me an empty vanilla extract bottle . . .

Boost, Graphic Seizures and the Black Widow

by T-Bone

There is quite a bit of medical news going on this week and I am going to attempt to blog the subject delicately.

In one week, there have been two news stories about erections gone wild. Sorry to be so blunt, but these stories are on the national news wires – so I just call them as I read them.

The first story involved the deadly Latrodectus mactans, a black widow spider found in southern Chile. Seems this spider’s venom is not only a contraceptive but is also may cause “prolonged, painful and involuntary erections in men.” (thank you Reuters)

In Chile this is known as a “Supersize Me Combo.”

The research showed that Chilean farmers who were bitten by the spider experienced massive feelings of virility. “The spider’s bite can kill children and the elderly, but among strong young farmers it leads to erections that can last for days and involve involuntary ejaculations.”

On a side note that would make Peter Parker proud, Spiderman action figures sales are on the rise with Chilean women. 

This week’s Boost Plus news is swelling the killer erection story even larger.

Seems a man in New York has sued the makers of Boost Plus after drinking the “oral suppliment” and waking up "with an erection that would not subside." Hopefully, it will subside by the time he gets to court.

Like those Spiderman action figures, Boost Plus sales in stores near retirement homes have gone through the roof.

In an unrelated medical story, if you have seen the new London Olympics logo (drop a glass jar of grape jelly), and haven’t had a seizure, count yourself fortunate.  Commericals using the spasmodic new logo have been yanked from British TV after apparently causing seizures in epilepsy patients. While I don’t have epilepsy, I did have a desperate desire to buy a mop after seeing the commercials on YouTube.

So far, the logo has caused no painfully uncontrollable or unsubsidible erections (that officials know about). But just to be safe, southern Chilean Olympic hopefuls may want to avoid Boost Plus while watching TV.

Chimp Change

by T-Bone

I knew a chimp once. His name was Alfred. He lived at a gas station, and he liked to touch people who came into pay or buy a cold drink. Sometimes he wore a gimme cap, and I also saw him with a cigar once; however, he didn't appear to enjoy it very much. Alfred lived in the midst of people, but he never wanted to be a person.

At least, not that I know of. Maybe I was wrong.

Recently in Austria, a chimp named Hiasl has been in the news because animal-rights advocates are trying to get the 26 year-old male primate declared a "person."  The people involved in this effort say he needs that status to become a legal entity so he can receive donations. And he needs the cash because the sanctuary where he lives went bankrupt.

No wonder. It costs $6,800 a month for his food and vet bills alone. That's $81,600 a year. The average American makes around $24,000 a year and has no health insurance.

So, a monkey needs $57,600 more a year to live than the average American. That's a lot of bananas. And his doctor must be flying over to treat his hairy butt from the Mayo Clinic.

Basically, the average American would be better off moving to Austria and having their legal status changed from "person" to "chimp."

I conducted an informal survey and found more than a few volunteers.

"That chimp can have my status as a person if I can have his yearly income," said Carl as he stood outside the Dairy Queen in Richmond, VA.

"Where do I sign up to officially change my status to chimpanzee?" asked Linda in the parking lot of Food Lion.

"I wish I was that monkey's uncle," said Frank, a mechanic at the BP station. "Maybe I could get listed in his will."

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of Austria and to the republic for which it stands," said Jerome, a greasy hand firmly placed over his name patch stitched on his shirt. "So when do I start?" He started doing a chimp sound as two motorists looked at us oddly.

I didn't talk to a single person who wouldn't trade places with the chimp immediately. Not sure that speaks as highly of Hiasl's situation as it speaks about the lives of the average American these days, but it says something.

"So how big will his legal bills be?" asked DeWayne, who works at the car wash. "You know he's got to have more than a few high-paid lawyers working on this."

A woman at least 85 years-old was sitting next to us, waiting for DeWayne to dry her bumper. She leaned over and said, "Are you kidding me? This monkey has lawyers who are fighting to turn him into a person?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"We don't have enough people in the world to kill in wars and abuse in dictatorships and starve and let die of AIDS? Now we have to recruit monkeys?" she asked with a look of total sadness.

"For 80 grand, they need to be recruiting people to be monkeys," laughed DeWayne.

I didn't realize that being a chimp – as a profession – paid so much. As a single "person," Hiasl would be in a pretty rough income tax bracket in a place like New York.

I have a friend who is a doctor, and he didn't make that much last year. Imagine telling students in med school, "Listen, after years in school, and many more as an intern, you'll graduate hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, and one day, you just might make as much as a chimpanzee."

Hiasl, if you're reading this while lounging around the pool, I have some advice: Don't let them turn you into a person. People get treated much worse and make nearly four times less than chimps – at least in America.

Fried Chicken: A Southern Addiction

by T-Bone, certified chickenologist

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to eat fried chicken.

Heroin couldn't be worse. Besides Pop Tarts (Kellogg's, are you reading this?), I am addicted to fried chicken. Those who know me know both addictions well. I am not proud of this reality of my culinary life. But I face my tasty failing with a roll of Bounty in one hand and a chicken wing in the other.

I have gone to great lengths to get my fix of our flowered, featherless friend – strolling the streets of New York at midnight and having to settle for a bastardized Chinese version of my beloved bird, or driving LA's freeways looking for El Pollo at odd hours. I have chickened my way across the South more than once and have the chest pains to prove it.

In case you didn't know, God did not send manna to the Israelites. He sent fried chicken. That's what kept them wandering for forty years in the wilderness.

On film shoots, I look for that little chicken shape on signs. On road trips, I ask about fried chicken establishments - and breaking an enshrined man-law, I will ask for directions. When it comes to the real white meat, I take no chances.

Last week, while driving to UNC, Mr. Gene and I stopped at the Nottoway restaurant on I-85, south of Richmond, to chow down on their particularly famous version, served up and washed down with one of the finest specimens of sweet iced tea I have ever soaked my tongue in (and Southern sweet  tea is an whole 'nother blog).

Mr, Briggs and I flew into a small Louisiana town once at midnight for a week of shooting, and we had the cabbie run by Popeye's on the way to our late check-in. Even with my fixation, it's not a good idea to eat a bucket of fried chicken that late. We paid the colonary price later. But I'd go back. Life is filled with sacrifice.

I come by this fried chicken Jones honestly. In high school, there was a small restaurant in my hometown of Andalusia, Alabama, called "The Little Kitchen." Wednesdays was all-you-can-eat fried chicken day. Some of us from the football team always went there to test that all-you-can-eat promise. Harris won the prize. He ate 48 pieces of fried chicken at lunch one day in the spring of 1975. He went on to be a star linebacker at Auburn.

Fried chicken first. Star linebacker next. Coincidence? I think not.

My mother makes some of the best I have ever eaten. But then again, every mother in the Deep South can claim that prize. I have tested this theory enough to have a PHD in KFC. I can honestly say I have eaten what would pass for fried chicken in every single place on earth I have ever been.

Speaking of KFC . . . When my oldest son, Abe, was about ten years old, we went into a Kentucky Fried Chicken (it was just turning into KFC at the time).

We walked in the door and Abe noticed a huge poster of Colonel Sanders in the entryway. The old white-whiskered, Southern gentleman was sitting in a yard chair under a big magnolia in front of a plantation with a subtle smile that said, "Fried chicken made me rich." Under the framed picture was a small gold plaque that read: Colonel Harland Sanders.

Abe stopped and looked at the image and blurted out, "Hey look dad! It's Deion Sanders' grandpaw!"

I looked at his face in shock. He looked totally serious, as if he'd just discovered some deep truth of the universe. And then I saw the people in the restaurant. It was packed. Not one Caucasian in the place. They all turned to look at the two white people who looked totally out of place at the moment.

An old African American woman near the door smiled at Abe as she ate her fried chicken and said gently to no one in particular, "Lord, honey, I sure hope that's not true."

Britney Shaved Again

by T-Bone

First she's marrying guys for a week at a stretch, then having babies, then running around LA with no undies but his time, it's her head that's shaved. I know it's hard to keep up with the sad demise of Anna Nicole Smith, but now we've got Britney to keep track of too.

Is Britney Spears having just a little bit of an identity crisis, or is she just imitating crazy for the PR?

Maybe she's just working a new publicity angle that is as old as the nine commandments (the one about lusting after your neighbor's farm animal got Pluto'd, I hear): It doesn't matter what they say about you as long as they spell your name right. That's Britney with one 't'. Got it?

Is it just me ,or does Britney have a fixation on Sinead O'Connor and Demi Moore? Both shaved, one posed preggers on a mag cover. But neither hang with Paris Hilton and both wear underwear (last time I checked). Britney 12, SineadDemi 7.

If girls just want to have fun, Britney is having more than her share. She is a human billboard for having too much time and money in your pants.

Did I mention that Britney is Southern? Never would have guessed, would you?

Maybe she's got a new CD coming out. Let me guess the title: "I Made Too Much Too Fast And Since The Talent Thing Is Iffy At Best, I Need To Crank Up The Face Time Harder Than Prince In A Bad Doo-Rag And A Penis-Shaped Guitar Because I'm Feeling A Little Like Karl Rove Trying To Get Into A Hillary Clinton Fundraiser  These Days So I'm Yanking Off My Panties And My Hair And Hoping People Keep Looking At Me Like A Celebrity Wreck On The Freeway – Oh And I Hate You Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood And Girl, You Know I Hate You, Christina Aguilera."

I am afraid what will happen next. But one thing's for sure -- we can't look away.

Astronuts: Why I Miss John Glenn

by T-Bone

It was all caused, in my opinion, by the untimely death of the famous two-headed calf in Wythe County, Virginia, this weekend. Something happened somewhere in the universe to front-load this chain of events. 

It had to be that doubly-cute little cow heading toward the light that tipped the nutbag over and spilled everything on the floor. Such a tragic shaking of the cosmic marbles dislodged a neuron in the brain of Griffin O'Neal, son of actor, Ryan O'Neal, all the way out in Malibu, CA. 

I'm not sure whether he'd heard the news of the two-headed bovine's departure down the one-way exit, but something urged the younger O'Neal to attack his old man with a fireplace poker (my weapon of choice in all family disputes), causing the former star of Love Story (Ryan) to fetch his gun and show some fatherly love by squeezing off a shot at his son. Ryan O'Neal was arrested and charged with, among other things, continuing to hang out with Farrah Fawcett, who, in case you haven't noticed lately, doesn't look a lot like she did in that poster we all hung on our dorm walls back in the 1970s. 

If this seems normal to you, let's continue this two-headed cow death-induced drama further. And let me warn you, this is stranger than a Cohen Brothers movie after a bad night in high school with a bunch of Boone's Farm. Nancy Grace, you got trumped on this one, ma'am.

You've probably heard this already, unless you rode the two-headed cow into the netherworld yourself over the weekend  or got head-butted by Chewbacca on Hollywood Blvd.

The astronaut story. Or astronut.

Amazing, out-of-this-world stuff. According to police, Astronaut Lisa Nowak and Air Force Captain Colleen Shipman were in a “relationship” with another astronaut, Cmdr. Bill Oefelein. Need a program yet? 

Astronaut Nowak told authorities that it was “more than a working relationship and less than a romantic relationship” that she was having with Astronaut Bill. So what, exactly, exists in that infinitesimally small space between work and romance? Jealousy. And a nasty case of it too.

Seems that Mrs. Nowak used her astronaut training to diaper up, print off more accurate Mapquest directions than I ever got, and drive all the way from Houston to Orlando in disguise so she could cross flight paths with her female competition, Ms. Captain Shipman. In the parking lot of the airport, Nowak did just that, firing her thrusters and spraying Shipman with pepper spray and maybe even attempting to kidnap her or something worse, considering the equipment found by police.

Dear God, when does the Spray 'n Wash commerical come on?

Police found that Nowak was packing a carbon dioxide-powered BB pistol (luckily astronauts aren't trained very well in how to kill someone), an unused steel mallet, a tan trench coat, a wig, some diapers (so she wouldn't have to stop so often on her 900-mile trek), rubber gloves, a new folding 4-inch knife, several feet of rubber tubing, some large plastic garbage bags, and $600 in cash. She had clearly seen all three of those “Saw” movies and was taking notes.

         

It's a long, sad space flight from The Right Stuff to The Wrong Way (1972, look it up). Astronaut Nowak is married and has 3 children. I'm thinking she is now a prime candidate for the TV show Wife Swap. Okay, Fear Factor.

CNN said Nowak “had earlier posted a $15,500 bond on charges of attempted kidnapping, battery and attempted burglary of a car with battery.”

Did I just read that sentence right? Attempted burglary of a car with battery? Never mind. 

Director of NASA's Johnson Space Center in Houston, Michael Coates, issued a statement saying Nowak “is officially on 30-day leave and has been removed from flight status and all mission-related activities.”

Dang, I hope so. Don't think I'd want to spend several months stuck in the space station with food in a tube and a woman who'd drive 900 miles in diapers to get even.

Again, from CNN: Her supervisor said NASA would support Nowak “like we would any employee at NASA if they were to get into this situation.” 

Excuse me. How many people at NASA get into this situation? That statement makes it sound like this happens a lot. As a taxpayer, I'm starting to wonder just what is going on aboard the Space Shuttle. Are they using the Hubble to spy on their boyfriend's other girlfriends? Are they conducting experiments to discover the effects of bumping uglies in zero gravity? Has somebody been snorting Scotty's stash of dilithium crystals?

“Captain, we weren't built to take this kind of punishment!”

“Houston, we have a problem.”

Yeah, yeah, this will crank up more jokes than Brokeback Mountain.

Space might be the final frontier, but it ain't one small step for man or mankind anymore. It's one giant leap for Jerry Springer.

I miss John Glenn.

Watch "Fool" - Tonight at 8 PM

by T-Bone

Okay, because I am from a certain part of the country where eccentric behavior is not only desired and rewarded but taught in college, I have done my share of stupid stuff. I have jackassed some stunts worthy of Johnny Knoxville, Jimmy Nashville and Bubba Hooterville in my time, but these days, it seems entire networks willing to program around your stupidity.

And now and then, the results are not the entertainment that was intended.

Googlenecks and Y'allTube

by Belle

Google has taken up farmin' - a noble pursuit here in the South - and I recently learned they're gonna spend $600 million to build a high-faultin' farm in the foothills of Lenoir, North Carolina. Google's crop, however, will not be the regional staple - tobacco - but data servers.

Google's proposed server farm is great news for the locals, who are a bit removed from the high-tech corridor known as the Triangle - Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill.

Lenoir is in a much smaller, rural area, and the area's economy has been hard-hit by the loss of manufacturing jobs, including layoffs by furniture makers like Broyhill. (Whenever I hear that brand name, I immediately think of Rod Roddy announcing a Price Is Right showcase that includes a complete dining room full of furniture by Broyhill. "Come on down!")

Here at Blogabillies we are excited about Google's move to the South. It does raise some interesting questions, though, and I'd like to open a few of them for discussion here.

Hell - er, Texas - Has Frozen Over

by Belle

This is the view from our deck this morning. Over 48 hours of below-freezing temperatures here in Austin, with plenty of ice, sleet and even some snow. And Winter Storm 2007 is not over yet!

We lost power about 10:30 last night, so I went to bed early (I usually turn in around midnight). I stayed warm snuggled under the covers, only to be startled out of semi-wakefulness when the security system alarm whoooooped briefly, signaling that power had been restored - after an eight-hour outage. The cat, who had draped herself across my neck and was purring as loud as a NASCAR engine, leapt straight in the air and bolted under the bed.

It was a brisk 56 degrees inside our house. Brrrrrr!

My mom, who is 82 years old, had also lost power, so I tried calling her as soon as I got up. No answer. We made coffee, tried calling Mom again. No answer.

My sister and I discussed whether we should be worried, and I finally decided I would dress as warmly as I could and try to skate/slide over the ice and get next door to check on the old coot. She probably just had the volume turned down on her cell phone and didn't hear it - but hey, she's old and although she's in pretty good health, she does have ashthma. And we're "good girls," so we felt obligated to perform a parental check.

Fortunately, before I braved the weather I thought to check e-mail. Sure enough, there was a current message from my mother, addressed to our extended family, who are prolific e-mailers. For your enjoyment I have copied the first part of Mother's e-mail below:

Subject: Be prepared to laugh

Tho it wasn't a laughing matter last night. At  10:30 I was in bed reading and the electricity went off. That means the light out in the tree went off too. Usually I can find my way in the dark but this was PITCH dark so I was going to find my way to the living room and get my cell phone and call the kids. [note: that's me and my sister; we're middle-aged but still known as "the kids" or "the girls"]

But--I found myself in the closet and the phone was ringing. I could see the little light on the phone but by the time I got to it I accidentally unplugged it. So I finally got out of the room and thought I was in the bathroom but I was in the closet in the front bedroom. By this time I was praying and finally I found the door and the next thing I knew I found the chair in the living room and since Tom and Sharon [neighbors across the street; they're on a different transformer and usually have power when we don't] had left their porch light on I saw a tiny glimmer and made my way to the breakfast table where my cell phone and flashlight were.

I called the kids and they had no electricity and had already called the city. By this time it was so cold in here that I put on my jeans over my clothes. I also put on my sweater and I found my crocheted cap and put that on. Got back in bed and finally went to sleep. Woke up at 3:30 and got more blankets on the bed. Never did go back to sleep but finally at 6:30 the elec. is on and I have my furnace going But---it is 56 degrees in the house.

Well, now you know that I come by my craziness, as well as my love of writing, naturally. When things thaw enough that I can trudge next door through the slush, I think I'm gonna have to help my mother start her own blog.

Escape: People and Animals Think Alike

by T-Bone

These two recent news stories seem connected at the verb; so I put them together because the man and beast in both plots seem to share some brain cells, albeit the beast displayed higher intelligence.

Seems a 20-pound tabby cat went astray in Portland, Oregon after his owner went to Seattle for a medical procedure. In my escaped animal knowledge, most stray cats are wiry little scrappers who look like Christopher Walken after a bad night on the town. Hercules, however, turned his six months on the lam into a carbo-loading binge and probably a few adventures worthy of Charlie the Cougar in a Disney flick. A 20-pound house cat sounds like the third cousin of that 1,100-pound hog from Atlanta.

The fat cat was apprehended only after getting stuck in a pet door while trying to sneak into a home to chow down on some dog food. After six months on his culinary catwalk, Hercules must have contributed to the near-starvation of several dogs along his lumbering escape route. Seventeen dogs were reported to have made up a canine posse looking for the Alpo-snarfing cat.

Of course, as is the case with seemingly every single thing that happens on earth now, Catzilla (nicknamed Goliath by his rescuers from the animal shelter) showed up  on YouTube.

In an unrelated story (that should have been related in some way), an escaped convict in New York jumped out of a police car after kicking out the back window and ran, still cuffed, into a building and hid behind a door – the door to the headquarters of the county sheriff's office.

If we're choosing sides, I'll take the fat feline for $500, Alex.

Expect them both to be on The View soon calling Rosie O'Donnell names.