Enter Laughter

1) have nothing to do 2) own a sharp knife 3) have a large lime 4) own a patient cat 5) drink too much tequila 6) and it's football season?

I am not Martha Stewart, and I couldn't be happier. Been seein' a lot about her on TV again, I guess she is going to be hosting her own reality show soon. We were both born with the same first name, and double X chromosomes, but the similarities end there. Many women turn to Martha Stewart as the epitome of perfection and stylish living. (This quote is directly from the food network bio) When America wants to learn how to make the perfect pie crust, plant an herb garden or fix a broken windowpane, it turns to Martha Stewart But geez, she always manages to make people feel bad about themselves in comparison. I make them feel better. Women look to me and say, "Oh hallelujah, there is someone here who": *Isn't a size six *Has unruly children *Is licking her fingers to smooth her hair down *Uses Vaseline for lip gloss Ms. Stewart's home was Nutley, N.J. Mine is more like Nuthouse. We lose things, break things, (including bones), get cranky, g

We have a gravel driveway that is a thousand feet long and ten miles deep. It is paved with gravel. That is until the Great Rock Eating Phantom that lives underground wants a midnight snack. We'll get a new load of rock spread on it, and soon, the gravel is disappearing into the ground. Irregularly of course, so that the lovely white, smooth surface becomes lumpy and pitted. We've been feeding the GREP for 20 years now, and there is no indication of his appetite diminishing. The first few years, we thought, "Well, sooner or later the gravel will have been shoved into the earth completely to the bedrock, and THEN we won't have to dump so much on so often." It didn't happen sooner, we're still waiting for later. In between loads of gravel, dips and bumps appear. Husband related this story to me the other day, and it gave me a chuckle so I thought I'd share. Since we are out in the sticks, there is a plethora of wildlife out here. Deer roam fre

This story happened recently in a little town in Louisiana, and while it sounds like an Alfred Hitchcock tale, locals swear it's real. Read to the end. This guy was on the side of the road hitch hiking on a very dark night in the middle of a storm. The night passed slowly and no cars went by. The storm was so strong he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him. Suddenly he saw a car slowly looming, ghostlike, out of the gloom. It slowly crept toward him and stopped. Reflexively, the guy got into the car and closed the door, then realized that there was nobody behind the wheel. The car slowly started moving again. The guy was terrified, too scared to think of jumping out and running. He saw that the car was slowly approaching a sharp curve. He started to pray, begging for his life! He was sure the ghost car would go off the road and he would plunge to his death, when just before the curve, a hand appeared through the window and turned the steering wheel, guiding the c

School starts tomorrow. That means today is Crazy Busy Day. Although I had a "to do" list a mile ling, there were not a lot of the tasks that could be accomplished at 6:30 AM. I had filled my belly with a Monster Energy Drink, wrapped several orders from online sales, written a shopping list, answered some mail and laughed at the local news of a crocodile discovered in the Kansas City metro area. This isn't exactly 'gator country. Post office wasn't open yet, and the girl-who-wants-to-go-shopping was still sleeping. I took some food out to the critters, and noticed how unruly the lawn had become. Cloud cover had dropped the temperature, so I figured I could give it a quick buzz cut. (Just 'cause a lawnmower amputated one of my fingers , they don't scare me.) It is really quite a pleasant task. There are immediate, visible results of the effort. The smell is pure heaven. The delicious thrill I got from executing several hundred grasshoppers in a hid

The carpet in front of my computer is wet. I am forbidden from saying why. So, play along here, the floor is wet. My hillbilly-ness, or my inner child, (or my hillbilly inner child) comes out when I am in my own home, and I go barefoot. Wet carpet and bare feet are an unpleasant combination. To be able to sit here and use the computer, I have placed many layers of towels, paper towels, blankets, and newspapers between my feet and the icky-wet carpet. The carpet has an astonishing capacity to retain water, so all of those soaked through, and soon, the soles of my feet were soaking again. Ewwww. I resorted to other materials in hopes of finding something with a slower absorbency rate, so I could finish a sentence before suffering Soaked Sole. I tried the glossy advertisements from the Sunday newspaper. Hmm, a few minutes went by without serious soak-through. Sweet. Then I tried to leave. My feet were stuck to the glossy ads, and when I peeled them off, I had a nice reverse-tra

BILL O' REILLY: That friggin' chicken is a *#@&* liar! HOWARD STERN: Let's see your breasts. MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information. DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told. ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain. Alone. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question. GRANDPA: In my day, we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough. BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart-warming story of how it expe

When I die, I want to die like my grandmother who died peacefully in her sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers with her in her car. LOL

Sorry for not responding to recent comments, I apologize. Things have been crazy here in a not-funny-don't-care-to-share kind of way. I appreciate all of the input regarding blog comments. I have decided to maintain a dialog in my own comments section, (but not today, because I have too much else to deal with, she said in a schizophrenic fashion LOL) instead of going to the blog of the person who left me a note, and writing, "Thanks for your comment" at THEIR blog. I will visit the blogs of anyone who leaves a comment, and may comment, but if I do, it will be a response to a topic on YOUR blog, not me dropping in to say, "Thanks for stopping by my blog". I would like to thank Darren Rowse of ProBlogger for bringing his readers into the discussion, and to Gone Away for opening up the debate over there. Hope everyone has a great day. I look forward to having my personal issues resolved, so I can focus on being entertaining (as I hope I was before L

My darling mother-in-law loves jigsaw puzzles. She works big ones, little ones, round ones too. Sorry, starting to sound a little too Dr. Seuss there...... Actually, it is from a series of roadside signs that I made to promote our pumpkin sales. When the pumpkin patch is open, I have a series of small billboards, placed every fifty feet or so along the road in front of the farm, in the manner of the old Burma Shave shaving cream signage. {{All the young whippersnappers out there are scratching their Gen-X heads in confusion LOL}} My pumpkin signs read: Big ones, little ones, White ones too, We have the perfect Pumpkin for you! Pretty lame, huh? LOL! Back to darling mother-in-law and her pile o' puzzles. She regularly gives me a batch of jigsaw puzzles that she has finished, and lets me sell them at online auctions . {subliminal message please go look please go look lol} She said, "Now I GUARANTEE that all of the pieces are here for these, and that they are

I deeply appreciate everyone who has stopped by and left comments (your bribery payments are on the way - LOL!) Just curious, what do you think is the proper ('cause I am always proper ~snort~) way for the blog owner to respond to comments? I don't know how to add a "poll" to a post, and it would probably slow the webpage load time down to a crawl anyway. Plus I'd lose all of you lovely Blog Explosion folks who are watching the countdown until you can go to the next one, and if the page loads slowly, you'll be outta here before this ever shows up, so please respond in a comment. Question: When a blog owner gets a comment, should they...? A) Smile to themselves and be glad someone is taking the time to reply B) Respond via e-mail C) Respond in their own comments D) Respond in the comments section of the commenter's blog? E) All of the above Next, we'll tackle abortion, the government and the possibility of extraterrestrial life.........

I wonder who manufactures those ubiquitous orange barrels that mark hiway construction... and what dirt they have on some highway official somewhere, to have gotten such a massive contract for placement? {{Mutters to self, "Why can't I ever have any good blackmail information?"}} LOL I can barely make it out my driveway (sometimes not even that, when I get stopped before exiting onto the street, by an irritated-looking, lime-green-vest-wearing worker-bee who has to be using some kind of drugs (perhaps lots of them) to stand out there in the blazing sun with nothing but a little reversible STOP/SLOW sign for protection from the over-amphetamined semi-truck drivers who are barreling down our country road to avoid the interstate hiway weigh station two towns down, because they have been driving for 72 hours and haven't updated their log book) before coming across those damnable orange barrels. I gather from the correspondence I have with folks around the country tha

I would like to thank- Genuine One By One Media Shylah for their terrific work!