I stepped out on the back porch last night and was startled by "the lawyer"!  There he was, looking me in the eye and introduced his self with the typical hiss.  He wore a sleek long black suit, and you could tell he exuded with confidence by the look in his beady little eyes.

 

The conversation was short, and ordered him off the property. The lawyer failed to comply and held his ground in defiance, as if he owned the place.  I'm sorry to say I lost my cool and tried to show Mr. Lawyer my new variation of the Mexican Hat Dance..., I call it.., "The Lawyer Carpet Dance".., only because "the river dance" had already been taken.

 

My feet went to work, he was down, I tried to stomp a mud hole in his head but the slithery baskard was quick, darting in and out with his retreat and strike tactics.  What felt like an eternity must have actually been mere seconds..., and even though I ejected the lawyer from my porch.., my back was now in supreme pain.., while Mr Lawyer slithered away UNDER the porch otherwise unscathed. I hope at least I injured his pride. Ack!

 

The moral to this story, ladies and gentlemen.., when a black snake all of three feet long decides to perch his self on your porch - get garden variety hoe (no street slang intended) or shovel..., and smack that sucker. Unless of course you are a Steve Irwin snake lover.., in which case I guess you'd just walk up and give the darn clammy thing a big wet kiss.  If you have a bad back and do battle with a snake - cheat.

 

I have no idea if this snake was poisonous or not.  I really don't need anyone getting bit by the snake be he is or be he isn't toxic if you know what I mean.   There was almost a dejavu about it as last year (or was it the year before last?) a Cotton Mouth snake - very poisonous and highly aggressive startled me as I walked in the yard - the darn thing smacked my leg, and drew back for another strike.., of course by then I was racing for the garden hoe - and he ended up daid!   While the snake did make contact - I suppose that his teeth didn't sink in my skin perhaps by his striking angle.  In other words - I was darn well, lucky!

 

Okay - I'm done.  Meeting dismissed.  Go back home and keep your eyes open for them slithery sneaky snakes.  And lawyers too I might add.

Uhg - which means "Crap!" in Tonto speak, Kemotherapy.  My phone line has been dead since late Friday.  But the phone reaperman, fixed it this morning - which is not so Uhg.  Needless to say the fangs have retracted, the DTs and baggy eyes have nearly disappeared within 10 minutes of being online once again!

 

Since my absence I am sure you are wondering what I have done during my down time.  Okay, since you pried it out of me; I got married, had 5.2 kids, they graduated with honors except for child .2 of whom we had to boot out - the lazy bum. Then I was divorced before I knew what was happening.  After that I proceeded online with the specific intent of pulling your legs.  Well..., all except for the dead phone line.  I just thought I'd let you know since my story was seemingly totally believable and all.

 

My Father's Day was more like Fodders Day.  I did get a phone call from daughter however, which works in a pinch.  No complaints here.  I suppose the "Fodders Day" angle comes in since my Friday was botched up with the dead phone line and a completely uneventful weekend - but then really - I'm not much for making big deal out of those kinds of would-be holiday days for myself anyway.

 

The "Happy Father's Day" wishes from those FEW was / is appreciated.  And I wish a happy "after" Father's Day you all! I gotta go and Ketchup on some email and stuff....,

 

Spreadin Da Nub,

- Daveman

Back in the days of my kid to teen change over - I never got an allowance.  [cue pity moans now, be quick!]  But then I discovered, "the system", and the system was kind to me.  Coke bottles!  All I had to do was arm myself with a couple of bags and trudge up and down the ditches collecting castaway cola bottles, turn then in for the deposit funds and I was filthy stinking dog rich!  Cans were ignored completely, because in those days, aluminum cans were not heard of, and you just didn't get money for those things.  The big money was in the bottles.

 

I would often grab my two bags, head off on foot for the 30 minute walk to, Wes's Food-liner, and by the time I reached my destination, accumulated enough booty to buy a couple of candy bars, a coke, and have moolah to go to Skate Land, our local skating rink, which sat next door to the Razorback Drive-in Theater.

 

Of course, my Dad never bothered teaching me the value of the dollar and I never saved a cent.  If I had of started a savings plan, your dear friend Daveman would have been Donald Trump's nemesis at this point in life. "YOU'RE SO FIRED, DONALD!" Okay on the reality check, I wouldnt have been a billionare.., but I could have had money in a savings account for hard times early on in my life to drain later.

 

My bottle hunting excursions were almost always educational.  In fact I didn't even need sex education classes! Why you ask?  I'm betting one of you at least have guessed the answer to that one. Those sheep in Mr. Stately's field hate me to this day - I'M KIDDING!  The fact of the matter is,  there were interesting magazines to be found in the ditches. With lots of black and white photos, center spreads and fascinating articles (which were rarely read).  We neighborhood boys cleaned up the environment regularly for that payoff alone.  No sooner than the ditches were cleaned of those vile, nasty, evil magazines.., newer issues were discovered.  Sometimes I wondered if it was a porn dealer looking to get us hooked so he could start charging us our pop bottle money for our next copy.  The evil scum-biscuit!  If there is a moral here, Parents! never let your kids go bottle.., er.., well.., to update it a bit.., can hunting, unsupervised..

 

Who'd of guessed that picking up coke bottles could have led to dirty minded adolescency? But really, we were just boys and curious about the mysteries of life.  Our bottle hunts often led to adventures beyond dirty little books and sometimes into the arms of trouble.  But those are tales best left for another time.  A sneak peek would involve running into the feared, sinister.., Old Lady Shotgun.., use your imagination. Lets just say, she earned her moniker.

 

Okay - this wasn't quite the Norman Rockwell painting, now was it?

Yes its true! You can earn your BS degree in anything your hearts desires at Daveman University! And you can earn your BS in less than a year for far less than you would imagine.

 

Would you like a BS in Engineering? Science? Rithmatick? Thinkology? Noooo problem!!  I am FULLY qualified to teach you all you need to know to obtain your BS.   In fact I am a MASTER BS-er!  Ask anyone.  Well.., actually a few people have said that I'm full of BS..., which is just as good as.  Know what I mean?

 

Just calculate half the price of what you'd pay some lowly college to obtain your BS, and I'll be glad to take that money for your tuition.  Its just over burdening your purse, wallet and bank account anyway.  Trust me, it is.  You too can be a Master BSer of engineering, science, rithmatick , reeding, riting and or even thinkology in less than one year!

 

Anyway.., I wanted to inform the world that I have invented the world's first TIME MACHINE!!  Madness you say?  Oh ye of little believability! Read the irrefutable evidence and weep.

 

I have transformed an ordinary house variety toilet into a valid time machine.  Its only limitation is that it can only take you into the future not the past.  Although I do have a theory about that - but lets address my current topic of thought, shall we? We shall! Forth with!

 

Obviously I can not divulge the specifics of electronics and various components used in the creation of this marvelous Time Travel Toilet, but I can tell you how it works.  As you know or rather as we typically think of time, time moves foreward.., unless of course you have a busted watch or live south of the equator.

 

The victim - errrr - I mean, volunteer has to be nekkit before he seats his or herself on the Time Machine (which I had dubbed, "Transport Bucket 1". The reason for this is clear. Only biological mass can be transported using this device.  Haven't you ever seen any of the Terminator trilogies?  I rest my case, toilet face.  Hahahaa - I made a punny!  You see.., the toilet face and the toilet time transp... eh.., skip it.  Tough crowd.

 

Okay - after the volunteer has seated his or her self, said volunteer has to put on this specially wired cap (the prototype uses a stainless steel straining colander with electrodes attached). And says a prayer - he or she may need it if something goes horribly wrong.

 

While the volunteer is seated and capped (yes there is a seat belt) the Transport Bucket 1, is then hoisted onto the back of a specially designed flat bed truck and bolted down.  I predetermine how far into the future I want  the subject to go and yell the time to the driver of the truck.  The volunteer is warned to brace up and hang on.

 

In this case - I yell something safe, something verifiable.. "TWENTY MINUTES, BUBBA!".  Bubba (our driver) then drives the Transport Bucket 1 and Time Traveler down the road until 20 minutes have expired.  Bubba then radios back to me the verified time.  From my perspective, the time traveler has left. But true enough, twenty minutes later I get verification that the subject has been indeed, transported to the future BY EXACTLY TWENTY MINUTES!

 

Think of the implications! Okay, there is one slight drawback.  By this means of time travel, one can only go as far as his or her lifetime.  SO I got a few bugs to work out, but as you see - it does work. Never doubt my genius! or me either.