Yield: The odds and ends of Milo Yield
Over time, my messy desk gets messier becuz of all the stuff that kindly readers send me or email me or just seems to fall out of the sky and hit my desk.
So, this week I’ll bill as the odds and ends week. There most likely won’t be any rhyme or reason to it. So, here goes:
From Jay Esse in Colorado: “Milo, I think it’s wrong that only one company has the rights to manufacture the game of Monopoly.”
Also from Jay: “I’m not sure if it’s true, but I have heard that the reason women live longer than men is because, when God comes for women, they are never ready to go.”
Also from Jay: A photo of a wooden paneled ancient 1941 Plymouth station wagon with this comment: “I ‘woodn’t’ want to miss the chance to wish you a happy 54th anniversary.”
More from Jay: “I grew up in Wisconsin. Going to the outhouse in a Wisconsin winter wuzn’t for wimps. I’ve heard that folks learned to yodel sitting down on a freezing, snow-sprinkled outhouse wooden seat.”
Anonymous letter: “It’s always better to surprise a long-lost friend at an airport or shopping mall than to be surprised by them.”
Anonymous email: “A big shot is a little shot tho kept on shooting.”
Aggie headline from the news: “Washington hearing on powdered milk goes sour.”
Story — origin unknown: Back in the old days two Chicago men decided they were fed up with city living and so they bought a little farm in Texas and planned to live off the land. First thing, they went to a neighboring rancher to see if he would sell them a mule.
The rancher quickly deduced that he had some big city neophyte aggies on hand and decided to have some fun with them. “Nope,” he replied, “I ain’t got no mule for sale, but I do have some mule eggs for sale.” Then he pointed to a load of ripe watermelons in the back of his old pickup truck.
“Mule eggs?” one of the city slickers asked. “How does that work?”
The rancher replied, “Just take a mule egg home and wait for it to hatch in the Texas heat. Then you will have a baby mule.”
The Chicago guys were thrilled and bought a “mule egg” for $10 and put it in the back of their pickup and headed to their farm. Enroute, they hit a treacherous chug-hole and their “mule egg” bounced out, landed in the middle of the road and split in two. Seeing what happened in the rear view mirror, the driver found a place to turn around and go back and retrieve his “mule egg.”
But, while he wuz turning around, a big Texas jackrabbit hopped up to the watermelon and began eating it. When the Chicagoans arrived at the scene, the jackrabbit scurried off into the brush and cacti. The pair exclaimed at the same time, “Our mule egg has hatched. And he’s running away. We’ve got to catch him.”
So, off they run into the thicket, but running as fast as possible, they didn’t gain an inch on their “baby mule.” Finally they collapsed in a panting heap, gasping for air, and one guy says to the other, “Well, there goes our high-priced mule.”
The other gulps and replies, “Might be the best thing. I’m not sure I wanted to plow that fast anyway.”
From a Missouri reader: In a Missouri grade school the teacher was teaching her class about wild animals from Africa. The pointed to an elephant and asked little Johnny to identify the animal.
Little Johnny says loudly, “It’s A Frican elephant.”
The shocked teacher says, “And just why do you say that.”
Johnny replied, “Well, under its picture in our school book it’s called ‘African Elephant.’”
Messages out of the blue: “I just finished taking Grecian Formula every day for a month to get rid of my gray hair. Don’t ever try it because the stuff tastes awful.”
Another: “The Brownie Hawkeye cameras back in the 1950s and 60s must have been better quality than the digital cameras today. All the modern cameras make me look like a fat, wrinkled old geezer, not a trim young man.
Unsolicited advice for retired farm folks: If you don’t like the looks of your body, take off your glasses.
I don’t have a problem with short-term memory storage. My problem is with short-term memory retrieval.
Lost your glasses? Look on your forehead.
The most common remark upon entering an antique store: “Gosh, I remember using these.”
From “PP” in Hagerstown, Ind.: I liked the old childhood songs you recently ran in your column. Here’s one I recall from Girl Scout camp back in the 1950s:
(To the tune of “Silver Threads Among The Gold”)
Down at the boarding house where I live
Everything is growing old.
Long, gray hairs are in the butter.
And the cheese is green with mold.
When the dog died, we ate sausage.
When the cat died, t’was catnip tea.
When the landlord died, I left there.
Spareribs were too much for me.
Thanks to all contributors. Wisdom for the week: Things aren’t getting heavier. Gravity is getting stronger. Have a good ‘un. ❖