Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 9-19-11
Well, the temperatures around Damphewmore Acres dropped 30 to 40 degrees this week and that’s welcome. But, some of that excess rainfall that inundated the East Coast would sure be welcome around here.
It’s dry enuf that several of the farmers in these parts have baled their soybean crop, figgering a few bales of high-protein soybean hay beats four to five bushels of soybeans (maybe?).
Some wise Native American sent me the following as an e-mail. I thought it wuz good enuf to share.
The tribal wisdom of the Native Americans, passed on from generation to generation, says that, “When you discover that you are riding a dead horse, the best strategy is to dismount.”
However, in government, education and in corporate America, more advanced strategies are often employed, such as: Buying a stronger whip, changing riders, appointing a committee to study the horse, arranging to visit other countries to see how other cultures ride dead horses, lowering the standards so that dead horses can be included as acceptable transportation, reclassifying the dead horse as living-impaired.
Also, hiring outside contractors to ride the dead horse, harnessing several dead horses together to increase speed, providing additional funding and/or training to increase a dead horse’s performance, doing a productivity study to see if lighter riders would improve the dead horse’s performance.
Also, declaring that as the dead horse does not have to be fed, it is less costly, carries lower overhead and therefore contributes substantially more to the bottom line of economy than do live horses, rewriting the expected performance requirements for all horses. And of course, promoting the dead horse to a supervisory position.
It sad to say, but that’s the way most problems seem to be solved these days.
Few social occasions are more exciting than a cowboy’s wedding. I heard about a cowboy, ol’ Novell Hitchin, who got married a-horseback with his bride.
The wedding ceremony wuz followed by a huge cowboy reception party in the nearby hay barn. All of Novell’s cowboy buddies, most of whom were already married, were eagerly awaiting for the bar to open.
But, that’s when a near-tragedy happened. One of the thoughtful cowgirls at the reception thought she would do something cute.
She took the microphone and announced, “Before we start the drinking and dancing, I’d like for all the married men to please stand next to the one person who has made your life worth living.”
That’s when the bartender was nearly crushed to death.
Some thoughtful reader, knowing full well that I’m an avid fisherman, sent me the following letter to the Fisherman’s Help Hotline.
The letter read:
I really need your advice on a serious problem. I have suspected for some time now that my wife has been cheating on me. I see all the usual signs.
If the phone rings and I answer, the caller hangs up. My wife goes out with the girls a lot. I try to stay awake to look out for her when she comes home, but I usually fall asleep.
Anyway last night about midnight I hid in the shed behind the boat. When she came home she got out of someone’s car. Her clothing was disheveled and she tried to push out the wrinkles as she headed towards the house.
It was at that moment, crouched behind the boat, that I noticed a hairline crack in the outboard engine mounting bracket. Is that something I can weld or do I need to replace it?
Thanks, Signed: True Fisherman
Now, that ol’ boy really does have a serious problem.
While I’m telling fishing stories, I might as well include this one about a Texas farmer/fisherman who lives on the Red River right across from the Mexico border. He writes:
Milo, I was checking my fishing holes along the border river early this morning when I saw someone who must have been a drug smuggler or a terrorist fall into the river. He was struggling to stay afloat because of all the guns, ammo and packages he was carrying on his back.
I knew if that feller didn’t get help, he’d surely drown. Being a responsible, law-abiding citizen, I knew I had to summon someone to help that man in distress.
So, I informed the local sheriff, the Border Patrol and Homeland Security.
I waited for two hours. None of the authorities responded. I saw the man in need go under water and never come up. I think he drowned. I’m starting to think I wasted two stamps.
Well, I’ve wasted enuf of your time, so I’m gonna call it a day with these words of wisdom about e-mail from somebody named June Kronholz. She said: “Diamonds are forever. E-mails are a close second.”
Have a good ‘un.
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