Once Upon a Time, many years ago.., in a galaxy far, far, away... It was around three o'clock in the morning, and the party was winding down. I excused myself and promptly left. Thirty miles later the interstate hardly any traffic at all.  Suddenly I felt like I was being watched - an unearthly feeling. I looked in the rear view mirror casually and back to the road ahead.

 

That creepy sensation hit me again.., this time it was as if something or someone had breathed on my neck.., the hairs standing on end.., I was REALLY creeped out.  Again my eyes drifted to the rear view mirror... EYES!  Eyes from the darkness.., large eyes and heavy breath accompanied by a deep groan - it was in my back seat!

 

I locked the breaks up tight, tires squalling - the car sent sliding sideways of the pavement. The door flung open and I was gone outta my precious ride in a heartbeat. The scene was so surreal as I stood some fifteen or twenty feet away watching my car expecting something horrible to come tearing through metal, its fangs and claws ready to rip me to shreds - or perhaps leave me alive and wounded to turn into a nocturnal creature of the night.

 

Nothing. I waited a minute more and slowly approached the car reassuring myself it was all my imagination, perhaps exhaustion from the late night extravaganza.  Closer I edged.  The interior dome light was on.., closer, I could see nothing... next to the car now and... its head popped up ..., "Woof! Woof!"

 

That ding dang party host's dog had hijacked my car at the party!!!! A beautiful black Labrador.  That misadventure taught me - keep the windows rolled up when visiting other people for any reason.  I took the dog back the next afternoon - and the dude laughed his Heiney off upon my recap of earlier events. And yes, before leaving, the back seats were examined.

Hello, I'm the Daveman.  You might not remember me from such films as,  Star Wars; episode 2,  Spiderman,  Hocus Pocus  and oh so much more. But not to worry. You probably don't remember me from them because I was never in them.  I watched them - was there in the theater - but not in them.

 

My acclaim to fame here is - I'm that guy who never even co-starred in a hit movie.  I do autographs and will also pose for pictures, but I'm not cheap.  Easy, yes. Cheap, no!  Just imagine the pride swelling in your chest as you proudly tell friends, neighbors and relatives that YOU personally know, that guy who never even co-starred in a major hit movie; the Daveman!  People will envy you to no end. Actually it really depends on how stupid they are, but then  you should know there are lots of stupid people out there.

 

You have your assignment.  Carry it out or I will summon a plague of locusts and flies to infest your nether regions! I can do that ya know. Need I point out that I also didn't star in the Ten Commandments as Charlton Heston!  Go! Now! Salley forth! She must go with you too.

 

Be sure to read my autobiography...,

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?