A Little Day Brightening

Shoot, it’s been a week of serious, deep conversations around here, it seems like.

Which is cool, don’t get me wrong.  But it puts me in the mood for something completely different to wrap my mind around.

I pick Napoleon Strickland.  If this link works, you should be able to hear a very nice fife & drum piece. If not, holler and I’ll try to get it straight.

I remember where I was the first time I heard this type of music.  I was driving over Briley Parkway on Lebanon Road, headed east, when Othar Turner’s "Glory, Glory Hallelujah" came on the radio.  I about had an accident I was so "what the fuck is that?!"  It sounded like nothing I’d ever heard before

Some folks don’t like it.  But I do.  It makes me happy.


It also brightened my day to be called a ‘suspected communist.’  

Just saying.  Don’t think I didn’t see that. 


The Butcher Terrifies His Customer!

I was running late for work this morning and as I was coming down West End, this black Suburban starts honking at me.  I look over and there in the passenger seat is this poor guy just looking terrified.

In the driver’s seat is the Butcher.  I pointed as sternly as I could at him and then smiled.

The look of relief on the poor passenger’s face was hilarious.

I told y’all how the Butcher and I got in a “fight” once (using skills from the amateur professional wrestler I mistakenly dated) at a party and how no one realized it was fake even though I was still on my feet after three seconds?

God, I’m sorry.  I just love that guy.

If anyone needs his own vblog, it’s the Butcher.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you that, not only is Mrs. Wigglebottom surprisingly well-behaved when she is attacked by puppies, she has finally learned to jump up on the Butcher’s bed and lick his face when I say “Go get that boy!”

She still doesn’t know our names, but she does now know the world’s most useful trick.

What a good dog! 


The Problem Now Clear, Mrs. Wigglebottom Calls for a Ban on Puppies

Today, as we were walking along Murphy Road, minding our own business, a puppy came hurtling across the busy street, dragging its leash behind it.

The puppy, of course, got across the street with no problem, but I had to watch in rapt terror as its owner and the other puppy she was walking dodged the sudden onslaught of cars. 

Finally, everyone made it over to our side of the road where there was a tangle of leashes, terrified blond women, puppies, hot tea, me, and Mrs. Wigglebottom, who was the odd calm in the center of a great churning hurricane of mammals and supposedly soothing beverages.

Once everyone was untangled and we were on our way, Mrs. Wigglebottom gave me a look as if to say, “Can you believe that shit?” 

I could not.

And then, after we’d turned to head home, there was another puppy, a scrappy Jack… excuse me, Parson Russell Terrier who was so anxious to get over at us that he was leaning practically parallel to the road.  Luckily, his owner had him more firmly grasped than the earlier owner.

Still, I had a good laugh over how ‘ferocious’ my dog is and how throughout our walk, she seemed to be the one under attack.

Of course, Mrs. Wigglebottom does not really want to ban puppies.  She’s against dog bans of all sort, but especially puppies, because, after a hard day of baby mauling, drug dealing, evil-doing (in her spare time, she’s a gun runner and popular right-wing radio host), there’s nothing she likes better than bathing in the blood of a hundred puppies.  It helps keep her youthful appearance up.