Trooper Bob We Have a 10-49 at 10:20 on 10th Street

It's Thursday which means that it is time for Trooper Bob. Now I'm going to go put on my face and go have lunch with my friend. So enjoy the adventures of Trooper Bob and I'm 10-8.

Back in the days when Trooper Bob was stationed out of the San Antonio he would often have to ride alone. Now the area that he worked in Bexar County (pronounced Bear) was quite large and he would have to cover an enormous amount of territory. This entailed spending a lot of time driving to a call and of course back to his dispatch area.
One evening he received a call on his radio “Trooper Bob we have a 10-49, that’s trooper talk for a drunk, over at 1010 Tenth street we need you to check it out. “ Trooper Bob picks up his mike and said “10-4 I’ll be 10-23” (which means ok I’m on my way.) He turned on the little cherry light on the top of his trooper car and sped down the highway to find a drunk.
He rolled up on a vehicle in a ditch flipped on his spotlight and his flasher. He grabbed his cudgel and his flashlight and exited his vehicle. Let me just take a minute here to point out that the flashlights they carried back then were about 3 feet long and weighed about 40 pounds along with his nightstick which also was about four feet long and weighed about 30 pounds. That is a lot of weight to strap on your belt. Thank goodness it was a completely separate belt than the one that held up his pants otherwise he would have looked like a modern day teenager holding his pants up while he walked.
Back to Trooper Bob with his two ton Sam Brown Belt and his flashlight that shot a beam like a searchlight. He exited his vehicle and followed the searchlight to the driver’s side door of the ditched Ford Fairlane. Draped over the steering wheel was indeed a 10-49 (remember that is a drunk driver). Trooper Bob reached in the open window of the vehicle and shook the man just a little to make sure he was alive. The drunken man moaned and mumbled and Trooper Bob knew this wasn’t going to be pretty. He pulled the car door open and the drunk tumbled out into the soggy grass of the ditch and promptly puked.
Trooper Bob was not to be deterred from doing his duty so he grabbed the drunk, we will call Joe the Drunk, by the back of his pants. The drunk was so far gone that he just kind of folded in half and puked again. Trooper Bob handcuffed and half walked half drug the drunken man to the patrol car. Back in those days cars didn’t have shoulder harnesses in fact most didn’t have seat belts. Well if they did you couldn’t find them because they were stuffed way back in the seat. The backseats had no seat belts at all. Yes friends and neighbors this was before Ralph Nader. Trooper Bob being a seasoned officer of the law knew that if he put the drunk in the backseat he would roll around and either get hurt or puke. Trooper Bob hated cleaning vomit out of his trooper mobile so he decided to put the drunken man in the front seat with him. He wrangled the drunk into the seat and decided he had better put the lap seat belt on tight to hold him in place. He got the drunk situated just so and strapped him in tight then he decided he had better go ahead and tie a rope around his chest and the seat to secure him even more so that he wouldn’t hit his head on the dash. He then stowed his gear and drove the bazillion miles to the Bexar County Jail.
Trooper Bob called back to dispatch and told them “I’ll be 10-87 Bexar County Jail. I have a 10-40 and will need to fumigate the vehicle upon exiting” (this means I will be in route to the Jail. I have a dead animal and will need to clean my vehicle after I drop the prisoner off). He drove the winding roller coaster hill country road all the while Joe the Drunk is strapped and tied to the seat swallowing back vomit with every turn. It wasn’t that Joe the Drunk was trying to be polite it was because Trooper Bob told Joe the Drunk he would make him eat any vomit he left in his car. They arrived at the jail and Trooper Bob parked and went around opening Joe’s door. “Git out of the damn car” Trooper Bob barked. Joe the Drunk struggled for a minute to get out then he started to sob. He bawled and he squawled but he didn’t get out of the car. Trooper Bob had enough of Joe and said “What in the hail is wrong with you boy?” Joe sniffed up a big wad of snot and said “That there moonshine done perrylized me! I caint move! I’m an invalid”
Trooper Bob reached in the car and untied the rope and unbuckled the belt and pulled Joe out of the car. Joe started bawling and sniffing again. Trooper Bob sighed and said “Now what is wrong?” Joe looked up at Trooper Bob with his big red watering eyes and said “I love you Trooper Bob you done cured me! I’ll be good from now on I primise!”
That’s how Trooper Bob became the miracle worker. He then walked on water and fed a multitude, not really but that is what Joe the Drunk thought. Trooper Bob then got in his trooper mobile and drove off into the night keying his mike and saying “Trooper Bob is 10-8. The 10-49 had been safely delivered and is 10-7 for the night.” Which meant that he was ready for the next call and the drunk is out of service for the night.

Bright Lights Big City Gonna Save My Soul

I decided since I was here in the big city (teehee) I would do all the big city things I don’t get to do up in Big Sky Country. I drug my ass out of bed at the butt crack of noon. I wandered (I told you I’m from Texas, I wander) around the house in my jammies and my fuzzy slippers and drank an eggnog latte from my big Christmas mug. Then I got cleaned up and put on my face. Did you mother used to say that? Mine did. We would be getting ready to go somewhere and my Daddy would say “Doobie are you ready to go? “ and she would be standing in the bathroom in her bra with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth ratting her hair as high as she could possibly get it. She would be spraying Aqua-net and smoking lord knows how she didn’t blow herself up and she would say “Not yet. I still have to put my face on.” Now think about it if you are four years old and you heard your mother say “I have to put my face on” what are you going to do? You are going to run into the bathroom and expect to see your mom standing there with no face. You would immediately look on the counter to see if there was indeed a face lying there waiting to be put on.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I put my face on and did my hairs. I got dressed in my big city clothes complete with high heels. I kissed Kahuna good bye and headed out to the city. What was I going to do in the Big City? Why go to the mall of course. You see it’s been about six months since I have stepped foot in a mall.

I was actually looking forward to my trip to the mall. You see I haven’t been in much of a Holiday mood. Nope I have not celebrating the Festivus Season like I should. I thought maybe wandering (shut-up I told you I’m from Texas) the mall would help. Seeing the decorations and the North Pole with Santa Clause getting peed on by little children seemed to be the medicine I needed to cure my Bahumbugitis. I climbed into the car tuned the radio to the all holiday all the time station and started out towards the mall singing “Rockin Around The Christmas Tree”. I made it to the first red light when I noticed that the people in the cars around me weren’t in the Festivus mood either. They all seemed angry and downright mean. When I looked in the car next to me the man looked at me like he had just spied an escaped inmate from the Looney bin. I mean doesn’t everyone sing in their cars at the top of their lungs while bobbing their head? I know I do. Then I got on the freeway. Now remember I have not been on a real freeway as in bumper to bumper horn honking finger gesturing freeway in about three months so I am out of practice. First I broke all the rules by actually going the speed limit then I didn’t tailgate one single person nor did I break check. I did however manage to irritate and anger all the other drivers just by my mere presence on the road. Finally I was at my exit and I bid a fond adios to my fellow autoist.

Since I have been absent from the sport that is known as mall shopping our mall has grown. It has blossomed and in its growth the configuration of the mall parking lot has changed. I was unaware so I drove to the spot I usually park. I always park in the same place so I can find my car. Do you have any idea how horrible it is to come out of the Diarrhea Mall and be on the wrong level in the wrong parking garage? I mean someone who would do that would also call the police and report their car stolen. Then when the police showed up and they realized that someone was in the wrong parking structure those mean policemen might laugh themselves into a stupor. Those same cruel policemen would not even offer someone a ride to her car in the other parking structure on the other side of the Mall. Not that this has ever happened to me. I drove to my usual parking spot only there was a huge building where I used to park. I drove on trying to find a new spot to not forget where I parked my car. I drove seven thousand miles to the other side of the mall and found a new place not to forget. I was really tired by this time because honestly I haven’t had this much excitement since I lost, um, I mean someone lost their car in the Diarrhea mall parking garage.

I entered the wonderland that is Macy’s and I was immediately blasted by the fresh smell of fake pine trees. I rode escalators and sampled pretzels, cinnamon buns and even little pieces of chocolate chip cookies. I was sprayed with perfume, blasted with bad Christmas Muzak and touched and felt every sparklie bead and bauble. I meandered through the kiosk that sells nothing but calendars and I lingered over the massaging pillow kiosk. I sat on the bench and watched the little children wait in line wailing and lamenting because they wanted to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him their deepest darkest wishes. Those same children only moments later were screaming and hollering wrestling Santa’s elf trying to get away from the smelly old man in the red suit.

I had a full day at the mall. I made my way the twenty seven miles back to Macy’s. I went to the exit that I thought would lead me to my awaiting vehicle. I stopped short, nothing looked familiar. I distinctly remembered that the door I came in entered into the men’s department. I walked and walked through the store but could not find the men’s department. I went upstairs thinking that maybe I had come in the upper level. There were more women’s clothes but no men’s. I walked in circles and then went back out into the mall. I found a map of the mall and right there on the map in two completely separate big boxes were two completely separate Macy’s. I was in the wrong Macy’s. I schlep (ok you got me I’m not Jewish but it sounded good) to the other Macy’s and find the exit in which I entered. I found my car and started home.
As I drove the freeway back to La Hacienda de Kahuna I realized something. I do not miss “Big City” life at all. I enjoy the lack of traffic unless there is a combine on the road. I enjoy the slower pace and the friendliness of my fellow motorist. I enjoy seeing traffic stopped because of an errant horse strolling down the middle of the road. I enjoy seeing smiling faces and if I am stopped at one of the few stop lights in town I am usually staring at a panting dog in the seat next to the driver. Yes I have to admit that I enjoy the country life.

Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go and put my jammies on but first I have to take my face off.

Take Two Henny Youngmans and Call Me In The Morning

I am a strong believer in humor. I believe it heals us with the positive energy it exudes. I mean think about it when you laugh is there any negative energy flowing through you at that moment? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they found that the true cure for cancer, AIDS, Parkinson’s disease and a plethora of other diseases was pure unadulterated laughter? Then as much as I despise clowns I would sing “Send In the Clowns”.

My daddy recently sent me a wonderful book by a psychologist and motivational speaker about how humor played a role in his coping with his father’s cancer. The name of the book is “Don’t Let The Gerosofers Bite” by Bob Basso. It is a wonderful story of a man who has a very close relationship with his father. His father is a retired New York City firefighter has Parkinson’s disease and then finds out he has colon-rectal cancer. Mr. Basso chronicled the progression and finally the culmination of his father’s illness. Oh don’t think this is a sad book that makes you cry more than “Love Story” with that poor pitiful Ali McGraw looking all hang dog and saying stupid things like “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” What a bunch of crap that is. Love means always saying you’re sorry even when you don’t know for what you’re being sorry. It isn’t even a guy type sad book like “Brian’s Song” where every male member of my family instantly came down with allergies when Gayle Sayers is telling about Brian Piccolo at the awards dinner. His book is instead full of fart tapes and men dressed in drag imitating Milton Burl.



Read more about it here:http://www.wordwiz72.com/grsfrs.html

Mr. Basso reminded me that we should drag our humor out of the closet and dust it off and put it on so everyone can see it. We need to lighten up and laugh more. We need to be unafraid to get silly whether it’s in the office or in the home but most importantly when we see those Gerosofers out there on the wing waiting to drag us into depression, self doubt or despair.
That brings me to this question. What comedic style would you say you are most like? Are you a Robin Williams, who bounces here and there? Are you a Steven Wright with complete and total dead pan humor? Maybe you’re a Tracy Morgan or God help us all a Carrot Top. Are you Monty Python funny or Saturday Night Life? Are you Chevy Chase or Carol Burnette? I’ve decided my daddy is more of a Bob Newhart type comic and me well I would be more of a Gilda Radnor type. I even have the hair.

Techman playing with our friendly neighborhood Rat Snake. You notice I'm no where around. I was hiding under my bed.

I am going to start this with just one simple statement. I HATE SNAKES. No really I hate them. I don’t care if they “good” snakes or “bad” snakes (ha ha I said “good” snake, as if.) Okay honestly to me there are no non-deadly snakes. They are all deadly. I mean if I see a snake someone is likely to die. I will either have a heart attack and die or I will trample the nearest person to me trying to get away and they will die or I will grab the nearest shovel and well the snake will be dead. So you see I just don’t believe there are any non-deadly snakes.
Back in April of this year I spent a lot of my slack-ass time sitting on the front patio of our abode and reading books, drinking iced tea and generally enjoying the bright sunshine. Only it seems that I’m not the only creature who enjoyed lounging on my patio. One sunny afternoon after I had gone in the house to prepare lunch for Kahuna and I there arose a terrible ruckus from the dogs. The little hairy wiener was about to have a stroke he was barking so much. Then Kahuna ran in the back door and told me to go watch a snake. “WHAT?” I screamed “You want me to what? Watch a snake? Surely you have me confused with a crazy person.” Kahuna sighed really big and then grabbed my arm and drug me outside and said “Stand here and watch where that snake goes.” I looked across the yard and there was the biggest ugliest diamond back rattlesnake I never wanted to see. Kahuna left me there shaking in my flip flops trying not to have a heart attack or an apoplexy. I pull out my trusty point and shoot camera and start taking pictures with the extreme zoom feature. Then it started slithering through the dust toward my patio. Yes the patio where I sat and read just mere minutes before. I started hollering (I don’t yell, I’m from Texas I holler) for Kahuna to come quick. He yells (he’s from California so he yells) back at me “Just watch it I’ll be right there. It is slithering onto the concrete slab of the patio as Kahuna came around the corner with a home-made snake killing machine a machete strapped to an extension pole. Then he got the water hose and started shooting water at the snake to get it out from behind a chair. I was very close to having a nuclear meltdown. I mean think about it he was pissing off an already pissed off poisonous snake in the very near vicinity of the biggest snake-a-phobe on the planet. The only explanation would be that Kahuna had a death wish that particular day. Then when Mr. Poisonous Snake curled up and started rattling his tale and striking at the air and water Kahuna makes his move and slices at his head with the machete pole. Mr. Snake made a run for it and got past the doorway before the mighty Kahuna struck again. This time his strike was true and he was able to cut into the snake who decided to curl up around the machete pole. The deed was done; Kahuna was victorious over both the snake and his snake-a-phobic wife.

Get off my Patio Mr. Snake!

The Great Kahuna, snake killer extroidinaire and his snake killing machete pole.

I told you that story to tell you that I left the house today and at the end of our dirt road just where it meets the pavement I ran over a rattlesnake only I didn’t realize it was a snake. I really wasn’t paying attention. It’s December from criminey sakes, the snakes are suppose to be sleeping. I drove over it like an idiot, then realized “SNAKE”. I watched in my rear view mirror as it slithered away. I just hope it remembers that I let it get away when I’m lolling on my patio next spring and it decides it likes my herb pot.
Oh but that isn’t all. No the snakes don’t seem to be done with us this year. I had to run to town to pick up a few odds and ends at the Squalmart and Nature Boy killed one on the sidewalk to the front door. Yes the very same front door that I had just minutes before I had walked out of and down the very same snaky sidewalk.

I am thinking someone needs to give these snakes some Tylenol PM or some Lunesta or something. It’s DECEMBER, they should be asleep! So I am not sitting on my snaky patio reading and lolling about anymore. I am not walking out my front door down my snaky sidewalk anymore. I am not driving down my snaky dirt road anymore. I am going to be a hermit and sit inside and never go into the snaky outdoors ever again! I did tell you I hate snakes didn’t I?