Nov 1, 2019
I’m a man of
extremes, apparently. My wife has mentioned more than one time, in
the midst of an argument, that it’s either all or nothing with me
and that makes her want to crawl up the wall. Of course, then I
tell her if she’s gonna go up the wall, I think she might as well
go ALL THE WAY up it because I’m a man of extremes and it’s all or
nothing with me.
When it comes to this podcast, it’s more of the same. I pounded out
the text of the last episode and then promptly waited maybe six
weeks to record it. In my defense, I had a lot of stuff that
happened and slowed down the process, like studio woes, equipment
woes, procrastination woes, and a cat that got into a cabinet full
of catnip. If you’d have seen that, you’d have said, “Whoa!”
Now, I want to get the show out in a reasonable amount of time, but
I had nothing written or planned, so I’m picking out some pretty
random thoughts and stories to tell.
I think I’ll start in Satan’s anus because that's what it feels
like outside and it's OCTOBER, people! (By the way, in this
episode, I’ll be using terms like Anus and Butt crack, so … just
letting you know ahead of time. Possibly Rectum if it goes that
far, but anyway.)
It’s a crude term, but desperate times call for desperate measures
and right now, times are desperate. I’m not sure whether or not the
rest of the country is going through anything similar to what we
are here in the Deep South, but let me tell you - that hospitality
people love so much is in short supply. Why? Because it’s as hot as
the devil’s butt crack, that’s why.
But we’re in the south and that’s what happens in the south. It
gets hot. It gets sticky. It’s miserable to be outside for ten
seconds. But it not supposed to be that way in October! The last
report I heard was that the heat was breaking records last set in
1911. Let me tell you a little bit about 1911.
In 1911, Indiana Jones had not yet found and redid the Ark of the
Covenent. I’m not talking about the movie. I’m talking about the
real Indiana Jones the historical documentary with the cool music
was made about.
America was still so new in 1911 that whenever you said anything to
anybody, you still had to end the phrase with, GOVNAH!
In 1911, Democrats were conservative and Republicans were liberals.
Now it’s all turned around, thanks to this heatwave. (Insert
In 1911, people still got outside for entertainment. That was way
back before science brought us the brain strengthening blessing of
television and the internet.
A lot of other stuff that seems ancient happened since the last
time we had heat this bad in October:
The Hindenburg disaster - you remember … “Oh, the Humanity!”
The sinking of the Titanic - you remember … “Jack, there’s just not
enough room on this door.”
What I’m asking is what did we do wrong? Why do we deserve this?
Who royally ticked off the weather and gave it this insane vendetta
against the south land? There’s got to be somebody toward whom I
can point my finger and say, “Dang you! Dang you to HECK!”
You’ll tell me it’s global warming and I’ll say to you, “PSHAW!” I
might even go as far as using one of the scientific phrases I like
to turn and say, “Global Warming - Shmobal Warming.”
Maybe you’ll counter with Climate Change. Well, duh! It’s a change
that Santa might be coming down the chimney wearing a speedo this
year, ain’t it? Of course, if you want my more scientific reply, I
still might go with “Climate Change - Shmimate Change!”
I know something’s going on and it’s got everybody around here
acting weird. My church’s youth pastor and the children’s ministry
leader each came to church recently dressed in Florida Gator and
Alabama Crimson Tide getup. In my town. At MY church! (Alright,
it’s the Lord’s house and I doubt He has a particular allegiance,
but still, and I hollered that at them as they stepped up onto the
pulpit for an announcement. “What are y’all wearing?! This is the
Lord’s house!) Because where I live is Bulldawg country and it
seemed like standing up in front of the congregation, a decent
human person ought to wear something pleasing to the Lord. Or
something with UGA embroidered on it, but I digress.
That’s what I’m talking about, though. This heat’s got everybody
messed up in the head. I think Bill Murray described our situation
best in the Columbia Pictures epic, GHOSTBUSTERS.
“Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies, rivers and seas
boiling ... human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass
I guess you probably think I’m overreacting and maybe you’re right.
I’m sure it’ll get better. I’m writing this while it’s still hot. I
just saw a butterfly land on the hood of my van and immediately
shrivel up into ash. By the time I actually record the audio
version, I’m sure it will have broken and the glorious chill of
fall will have soothed the burning like a great big dollop of
hemorrhoid creme. So let me jump ahead in real time to me recording
this episode ...
Ah, that’s better. It actually feels like fall outside. The fair’s
in town and we’re taking our little girl tonight. My son is taking
his girlfriend and his best friend, too, and Kayla and I both have
warned him he should pay the most attention to the girl so she
doesn’t feel left out. He’s fifteen - what can ya do? All he says
in reply is, “DAAAAAD, I KNOW!”
I went for a walk this morning because I diabetes specialist told
me it’d help me not to die and you know what? Half way through, I
started to wish I’d brought a coat. Or at least maybe a light
jacket or a nice fleece sweater.
My point is that it happened exactly the way I thought it would and
so far, it seems like the community around me has gotten back some
of their sanity.
Of course that may change by tomorrow. There’s a football game. We
play the Gamecocks of South Carolina and if we were to lose, there
might be fire and brimstone yet.
Gamecocks - Smamecocks.
And of course, GO DAWGS - SIC ‘EM! WOOF! WOOF!