This is funny cos:

  • This woman was a member of the writing group I started in 2006 that ran til I bailed in 2012
  • This woman was raised in a HYPER religious family who later came out as lesbian and had to bail on their church
  • I ‘misunderstood’ her proverb to be as if she’s writing Ptoverbs

See how funny I am?

It’s also hilarious because the person to comment above me is her hyper-religious mum.

Makes N’s declaration of love for me all the more understandable.

Plus, I’m super-lovable. OBVI

‘Can I borrow your pocketknife?’…

Said every female in the Ozarks.

I am a female and we get them, too, but rarely carry on a daily basis.

My first pocketknife had a red handle, 2 blades and was my 8th bday present.

I had it for years and carved initials in terrapins’ backs, tree trunks, whittled and used it to cut baling twine (something you had to do daily on a working ranch).  

I think somebody swiped it.

Certainly a student swiped my larger ‘grownup’ pocketknife when I was teaching at-risk secondary school.

I know! What? You had a knife in a school with at-risk students?!?

It’s the Ozarks. NOBODY would think twice in the early 90s.

At work, a regular ‘joke’ everybody makes is, ‘OH, let me take a photo with my phone and send it to you’ or ‘oh, let me text you the directions’ or ‘oh, let me use my pocketknife.’ The variation on this, ‘let me borrow your phone / pocketknife.’

The answer is always, ‘sure, here you go’ then nothing as those are felonies, I believe class C just to have.

Long story to say, yes, I have a pocketknife. In fact I keep one in my car because I no longer carry my ‘real’ one in my pocketbook.

So, it was 100% natural to say, lemme see your pocketknife, I need tto cut the ropes off the tomato plants’ and for Spike to hand ‘er over. 

This pocketknife has cut bazillions of splinters and who-knows-its from my feet throughout childhoodbsince I ran barefoot through forests, pastures and rocks and creeks!

‘Ol’ girl’

The short story on this (longer version is funny but without divulging too much info about the inner goings at the gulag…) is some of the offenders refer to me as:

As well they should. I run that muthafucka.

One morning this week. I was greeted by close-ups of a lady’s ‘front bottom.’ She had come to visit and brought illicit pics to show her boyfriend…sitting next to families with small children. They were confiscated and scanned as evidence. The offender was locked down (‘the hole’) pending investigation and the lady in question is suspended from visiting for 6 months. That was the start of Monday. It’s always something hilarious. Dude was grinning as they escorted him out in shackles, so don’t feel too bad for him.

Ladies: if you think your nasty-assed photos EVER get to the offenders, they don’t. We always catch you and part of procedure is a minimum of 11 people see you. 

Let’s just say your photos did get in…every freak and I mean sexual predators are beating off to you. Your man cannot hide them from them. These rapists know who you are.

You’re welcome.

Oh, and you are an idiot to send pics of your kids unless they’re in burkas and named the wrong names. 

My house does have child molesters but only those guilty of a lot more (not to say molestaion is a ‘lesser crime;’ everybody knows it’s the worst). The chi-mos are mostly kept to themselves as they fee constant fear of maiming and death by other inmates. Point is, if it’s a house of any kind of predator, don’t let them at your kids or you.

I hear things. 

But normally, shite’s crazy-silly. I laugh my arse off daily, several times.

It’s something I’d love to share more but ethically can’t.

teaching an old man to live, part 004

This happened a couple of weeks ago. Spike said, ‘Oh. I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.’

This scared me quite a bit; I don’t actually have conversation with him. Never did.


‘I have cleaned the toilet with a brush and that powder you showed me. I even tried the special spray.

There’s…there are stains.’

I stood looking at him, hoping I could get out of sorting his toilet stains since I’d dealt with them the 1st month after Dutch dropped dead.

Then, I rethought the situation. He didn’t ask me to sort it out. He presented what he had been doing and that a predicament existed yet.

He doesn’t know shit.

‘You know your beer can bucket? Take that and fill it half fill of water and force-flush the commode. It will leave only a very small amount of water in the bowl–‘

‘OH!!!!! I can scrub it better that way!!! Thank YOU! See? You know these things.’

Yes. Yes, I do. I was cleaning his shit stains from aged 3 in bathroom and laundry, like a good little soldier.