woodworker

Yeah, hop to it Nancy, and don't forget that long iron of yours.

In Celebration of Women's, "Herstory Month", I give you..

My last song for a while.

Thanks StdCld. The song always hit home with me. Glad you liked it.

I've always liked this song. Hopefully some of you will too.

I thought I'd drop another quarter in the old juke box. It used to be just a dime, then quickly went to two bits, and now in todays money would probably be around six dollars or so, with a convenient slot to slip your fucking credit card in. Anyway, this one goes out to a great guy around here. StdCld A Stone Cold killer if ever there waz one.

A CAUTIONARY TALE WEST OF THE PECOS Imagine wearing the dust, and the stench, after eight days in the saddle and finally stumbling onto Roy Beans water hole. What kind of foul luck or predicament is that! There you are just needing a bath and a drink and standing there now staring at that insidious picture of Lilly Crabtree, or whatever the fuck her name was, hanging there cock-eyed on the wall just behind the bar. A picture that has no doubt been knock off it's axis by a wad of the old man's cum, while he star gazed at her voluptuous lines periodically. Then comes the question. Bean: "I see you bin staring pretty hard at dat picture." "So what do you think of her?" Now you better think quick. You know he wouldn't be asking if he didn't have some sort of personal attachment to it, aside from that blurry splotch left there on the bottom left corner. So what do you say? Something like: "She's alright I guess, but I've had better back in Cheyenne." That kind of response, along with maybe calling Bean's mother a whore could get you a burial plot behind the adjoining shed outback. Life was tough in those days with unbridle psychopaths at every turn, and you had to be quick both in mind and in hand, or else your just another short conversation from the local lurkers there. "Hey, remember when dat guy had the temerity to say dat he had better than our own precious Lilly Crabtree?" "Yeah, we shore did fill him up with holes." "And I waz the one that had to drag his stinking body all the way out to the back and burry him proper, wit no thanks to anyone else around here." "But at least he did leave me a pretty nice horse though."

Almost brings a tear to my eye.

I love my mother dearly. But along with quite a few gold coins, and hundreds of old Indian pennies, and many, many old 1800's silver dollars, the Elvis autograph is missing too. When I was in my teens I use to look at the dates on some of those old silver dollars and imagined them being tossed up on the bar counter. Who knows, maybe it was for a procurement of one of those soiled doves I've heard about back then. "Bar tender give me a whisky, and a gold headed whore, if you don't mind."

PS. I suppose, if he didn't sign it, I would have kicked him in the shins.