Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 7-2-12
I’ve told you readers before that I’m a highly educated man. I attended two different universities funded by and named after a very wealthy lady named Bea Wilder. The universities were named Bea Wilder U-1 and Bea Wilder U-2.
I ended my stint at U-1 with special studies in Liberal Arts and Conservative Political Science and backed it all up with an Agricultural B.S. degree. During my time at U-2, I stuck to two areas of study – more agriculture, with an emphasis on motivation – and I ended up earning a special certificate as a Certified Aggravator from there.
The ag B.S. has served me especially well in my career as a syndicated columnist and public speaker. And, anyone who has read me very much or listened to me speak will verify that I can certainly aggravate folks.
Now, what I really started this treatise on my education for is that here in my old age I’ve become very disenchanted with both of my universities. No, it’s not becuz of any educational shortcomings. It’s becuz my alma maters – both renowned institutions of higher learnin’ – have snubbed me.
And, here’s the proof. I’ve visited both universities within the past month, and just for old time’s sake, I decided to drive by the rental properties I lived in during my days as a rowdy, carefree student.
I’d envisioned that in light of my fame and renown that both universities would have recognized my career achievements by preserving both of those humble rental properties as State Historic Sites. I figgered I’d see a sign in front of both buildings saying that “Milo Yield Lived Here,” and inside visitors could see perhaps a collection of the beer cans I collected as a student and an interpretive center where they could read some of my most famous columns and hear me deliver some of my wittiest speeches.
But, NO! Not in any way, shape or form is there anything at either building site recognizing that I lived there. In fact, at both universities, neither of the homes I should have made famous are even standing. They’ve both been BULLDOZED to make room for parking lots! Talk about degradation.
And, to think that both universities still have the nerve to pepper me with various kinds of communications urging me to give them money. I bet if I’d have achieved both fame and FORTUNE in my career, they’d have preserved my student-day homes. I know they’d name a building after me if I had enuf of a fortune to donate.
In recent weeks I’ve mentioned frequently how advancing years have affected the mental faculties of me and my old friends. I’ve got another example this week.
My good friend, ol’ D. Spence Feuel, from Gridley, Kan., recently noticed that his pickup truck was low on gasoline.
So, Spence absentmindedly drove out to his farm’s gas and diesel tanks and parked beside them. As he prepared to fuel up, his cell phone rang and as he talked, distracted from his task, he errantly poured a goodly amount of diesel into his gasoline-fueled truck before he realized his error.
Being a mechanical sort, Spence thought, “No problem. I’ll siphon the diesel out.” But he quickly discovered that the spout on the gas tank was engineered to prevent siphoning.
Still no problem. He’d simply disconnect the fuel line and drain the tank. But, that tactic didn’t work either becuz the fuel pump has an automatic shutoff to prevent unwanted gas leaks.
What to do? Spence took a chance and filled his truck’s tank the rest of the way with gasoline and drove off.
He told me the truck ran a little fuel-rich until that tank was emptied, but no harm wuz done. He confided to me, “Could have been a lot worse. I could have put gasoline in the diesel tractor.”
We had a welcome inch of rain last week at Damphewmore Acres. It wasn’t enuf to put a dent in the drought, but it did revive the garden; it should be enough to get my wildlife food plots to germinate, and it woke up the confounded chiggers. Those irritating little pests have feasted on me the last couple of days in spite of my efforts to thwart them with insect repellant. Thank goodness, I still have the energy to scratch their red-welt bites.
Well, since I’m ending this column by talking about a pesky insect, I’d best end it up with a quote about insects from philosopher Honore De Balzac. He said, “… the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.”
All I can say is that I wish chiggers found their way into flowers instead of my underwear.
Have a good ‘un.
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