#river dancer

Trouble right here in River City Aug 21, '09 11:48 PM by Calhoon ☼☼☼ for group crackeredquackers Apr 14, '08 12:27 AMby •riverdancer• MSN for group quackered Tattoo just insulted the entire family....well, their pets (typed in bold) anyway. He also insulted my sister-in-law, Betty and her dog Bubbie, her daughter, Norma (nicnamed "Skeeter") He sent an e-mail, locked himself in the closet and turned off the light. As I type my mailbox is dinging with incoming messages from my daughters. Here's his e-mail. National Weather News Service The outskirts of Booger Bay, Florida were badly damaged today when a twister came roaring in, devestating homes and damaging property. One resident, Tattoo Goodboy, managed to get the family below ground just before the tornado ripped through their house. "I was on my porch, whiddlin'," said Goodboy. "My torn-up rotating shoulders started achein’so I knowed we wuz in foah a storm. Not more than 30 minutes later, I heard the dogs awhinin' and uh-yelpin' (butt it wuz mostly Angel) like theys got some place to go and no way to git there. And Bentley, I seen him come a runnin' in TellyTubbie shorts and trippin' ovah hiz Tiger Woods golf clubs. He was all yellin' somethin' about a tornader…. and Aint betty wuz u-yellin' for Skeeter to lock up Bubbie. Next thang ah know debris starts a flyin' this away. We all head for the storm shelter and Skeeter nearly got her britches torn off by the wind. An thet wudda’ been a mightly B-I-G job, too! All 9 of us managed to get inside without no harm to us. I thank the good Lord for that." Tattoo was very lucky, indeed. The tornado left 27 birds homeless, 43 squirrels ran away, Don Levorno Rabbitt, Gracie the cat and a hole flock uv chickens is missing. They were last seen running north on Gerbersville 101. The national guard. the state of Obama and George have been called in to help those in need. The damage is estimated to be nearly $50. Clean up is already underway and businesses should be open again by early next week. Y’all can send money to the Tattoo Goodboy recovery fund. ©Gene Goodson

Good Ship Tootsie Pop Aug 22, '09 8:53 AM by Calhoon ☼☼☼ for group crackeredquackers Sunday, 2008 The Good Ship TootsiePop The Good Ship Tootsie Pop was drifting along az well az could be spected until Sunday when we got our plow hung under another %@%$!!** root! Thu Good Ship Lollipop had COOTIES!!!!! Poppy shouted awl day l-o-o-ng....back his usual heek, "SET ALL SAILS AND THROW ME A BRASS MONKEY". Befoah ah could throw him any monkeys ah had tuh first destroy thet ill wind's ability to maneuver and splice the Main Brace. Under my expert guidance the GSLP quickly churned up some baggywrinkle but finding brass monkeys in a ship full of yo-yos wuz next to impossible. Sidebar:Ah want chall to remember, long, long ago sailing ships ruled the waves and the Good Ship Tootsie Pop is no exception. It's much lak playing golf on water. Speakin' uvTall Ships ah saw won a few years ago with her FSU sails at full mast. "Now dammit, ah sed start yo ovens!!!! Sweep down all lower decks, ladders, and set thu mess tables. Empty all sh*t cans outside cawse yew gotta' bunch moah comin' yo way!", Poppy yelled. A very pregnant pause, "Hold thet woid 'sh*t cans', ah MINT empty all sh*t cans butt not on thu driveway, AH MEAN ON THU PIER!' Another pause: Poppy's lissenin' to Moppy, the OOD (Officer of the Deck). "Delay dat werk on sh*t cans â€�til ah toin on thu fan." Wood yawl bleeve thu world stood still last Thursday an dint start bak up agin until Sunday nite -----an yew-no-who threw away her ceptance speech??? To be continued...... Tattoo ©Gene Goodson

Big Hair - A True Story Aug 23, '09 11:12 AM by River Dancer for group crackeredquackers Mind you my husband is a genuine Florida Panhandle cracker born and raised in a western hammock at the head of Mule Creek named Booger Bay. What saved him from a lifetime at the wrong end of a mule was flaming red hair, piercing brown eyes, a magnetic personality and three older half-crazy sisters whose sole aim in life was to torment him. Trusting no one and allied only with himself he steadily climbed his career ladder. Newly promoted to an executive position he was the lone volunteer from his company participating in a popular "Dale Carnegie" course. Other companies in the area were well represented mostly by females. His logic was he'd climb past this rung on the corporate ladder with ease. The seminar which he compared to digging fish bait dragged on in a bog day after day and night after night. At the end of the week each student made a ten-minute presentation on exchanging ideas and effective ways to cope with problems. My husband made no special preparations for his ten minutes of fame saying he'd just be "happy when the damm thing is over". The week following the seminar he strutted around with a satisfied look on his face and I assumed it was mostly because the intrusion in his workday had been put to bed. I was wrong. The grapevine was in high gear and his presentation was the topic of water cooler discussions and the morning coffee tables at Luten's restaurant. I learned he painstakingly and in great detail demonstrated, with the able assistance of a female classmate, how his wife used a comb, brush and hairspray to achieve her magnificent, foot-high hairdo. I was told he said sleep was out of the question after she spent half a day in the beauty shop having her hair frosted, shampooed, reverse frosted, shampooed and held in place with gigantic curlers while she sat under a dryer eating lunch. The brushing, combing, teasing, hairspray and invisible hairpin anchors were the coup de gras. Today he denies everything. ©Gene Goodson

COOKING ~THE NEXT GENERATION~ I can’t say that I love to cook because something always goes wrong when I do. It has to be done once in a while though. Unfortunately, part of my soul leaves the my body once I consume a meal I've cooked. Ditto for new recipes. My mind knows that my soul is jealous. My soul gives me occasional zaps of conscience when I steal bread from Poppy's plate but it hasn't kept me from stealing candy from his hidden stash. So it isn't always on duty. To give credit where credit is due my mind deserves a lot of credit. It was my mind who decided to lie about the candy. But eating my own cooking is something I can't lie out of. Poppy says nothing equals his punishment for stealing his candy like eating my own cooking.That includes a cherished recipe for potato chip sandwiches. Our 54 years together have not altered his opinion of my cooking in the slightest: however, he lies about that. He claims the damage I do to our state of the art Kitchen Aid smooth top range doesn't hold a candle to him injesting some of the food I prepare. I really don't don’t see why he compares the two. Just because the egg I was boiling exploded all over the walls does not automatically equate to me not knowing how to cook. I simply got distracted by my computer. Our grandchildren do not fear my cooking but our children do. Our sons-in-law compensate with potato chips, chocolate cake and Little Debbies. The mere threat of me cooking hog jowl instantly alters their attitudes from hopeful resignation to friendly invitations to eat out. Poppy uses this fact to his advantage in keeping me under control. The last occasion that I was required to cook on a grand scale was Christmas 2007. That was when Santa Claus fell down the chimney using my bra as a parachute. He was only moderately successful which added fuel to the fire of my rage. It was the only bra that fit me. While I knew discretion was the better part of valor and that Santa deserved some kind of reward I was not amused that my dog, Tattoo latched onto this event with his Super-Glue mentality. So I set about cooking a cheese omlet - payback always works! I knew Poppy bought some exotic cheese - it's called Limberger. I mixed it with Texarcana peppers and twelve setting hen eggs. I found one Vidalia onion in the refrigerator and a can of chicken broth in the cupboard. I grated all of this together with a dash each of Cajun seasoning, Tabasco sauce, vanilla flavoring, Soy Sauce and garlic powder. To avoid having a lot of pans to wash I peeled some potatoes and apples and cooked them inside the omelet. Soon after I started cooking Poppy thumped into the kitchen flinging open doors and windows. Over the years I have learned the hard way it is the better part of wisdom not to comment on his behavior, especially at Christmas time. Just as I was taste-testing the omelet our son-in-law emerged from his restful Christmas Eve sleep fully dressed on his way to Lowes to buy a picnic table. (Now we know Lowes is not open on Christmas Day.) Apparently his wife was overcome by kitchen fumes. The prospect of Christmas Dinner outside was appealing to them even in 22 degrees weather. And Poppy dared everybody to burp and waste the omelet that Santa left untouched. I've always wanted a picnic table. RiverDancer, copyright Protected 2007