Fat Willie's Garbage Patrol

[bearridge]

I dont know if this iz true, tall 'er boat science, but I like it any way. I figger Ole Newt lives purty close ta some of ya'll.
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Honest Lies and Other Misguided Thoughts---05-21-09
By Newt Harlan

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings."

==*==*==*==

Howdy, y'all from my back porch perch in beautiful downtown Humble, Texas . I'm still more or less shut out of the house by the ongoing remodeling projects. My canine companion, BJ and I have both already been in trouble this morning for getting into the wet paint in the kitchen so we're steering clear of there until it’s good and dry.

==*==*==*==

My swine flu preventatives seem to be working...at least I haven't caught the flu. Truthfully, after the first few days I gave up on eating or wearing the garlic and used only the bourbon and pecans method. As much as I love garlic, I soon found my friends were tending to avoid me when I was using it and I like friends more than garlic. The bourbon and pecans have worked well and will be my preventative of choice from now. Besides it is good for several maladies in addition to the swine flu.

==*==*==*==

I hope y’all like serialized stories because that’s what you’re going to be getting in this space for the next several issues. Today’s post marks the first episode of a short story I've been working on for quite some time now and have only recently finished. It's too long to do in a single column...something over 4200 words, so I've broken it into different episodes. Enjoy...

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(Part I) An Innocent Victim?

Some of y’all may have seen me in a group of men doing such things as building and grounds maintenance, cleaning trash from public areas, and other maintenance and custodial duties around the Basura Blanca Estates neighborhood during the past week.

In case you might be wondering if perhaps I've lost my mind and decided to un-retire and do some "honest work" for a change or perchance had the urge to volunteer for some civic improvement projects? The answer to both those questions is a definite no.

To tell the truth, my service on "Fat Willie's Garbage Patrol" is the result of me being an innocent victim of a group of our local do-gooders intoxicated with power. It's a long story.

###

"The neighborhood where I live, "Basura Blanca Estates" like many other subdivisions, has the nasty combination of deed restrictions and an active civic association, and, through no fault of my own, I managed to get crossways with both of them.

It all started out innocently enough one Thursday night at the local beer joint. Dooley Wilson, Bubba Reeves and I decided to go over to Village Mills Creek the next day and do a little camping, beer drinking, and bank fishing for white perch and catfish.

Bubba had talked to some of the boys over at Saratoga and heard the fish were biting so good they were almost jumping out onto the creek bank and begging to go in the icebox, so we decided this would be a weekend well spent fishing. As it turned out, Dooley just happened to have two large iceboxes already in his truck, so we went ahead and bought 12 cases of beer and got it all iced down and ready to go for the next day.

Nobody wanted to leave their truck sitting at the beer joint for the weekend and Bubba and Dooley weren't exactly sure where each other's houses were, so we agreed to meet at my place the next afternoon after work and leave from there in Dooley's truck which already had all the beer.

This probably would've worked out fine except when I got home that night Ms. Edie reminded me that she and I already had commitments to go out of town that weekend as the exterminators were going to treat our house.

Since it was too late to call that night and I had no way to reach them at work, when the boys showed up the next afternoon at the appointed time, I had to break the sad news to them. They seemed a little disappointed, but were okay when I sweetened the pot by donating my share of the beer and throwing in three or four pounds of venison sausage and four quarts of chili.

Time being short, Bubba decided to go ahead and leave his truck at my place, so he pulled it up onto a paved section beside my garage. They got everything loaded into Dooley's truck and after borrowing two of my rods and reels and a lantern, they were off on another memorable adventure.

That, my friends, was the start of my troubles. Bubba's truck ain't exactly what anyone would call pretty except maybe Bubba. It used to be a red '63 Dodge, but now it's a kind of reddish brown '63 / '67 / who-knows-what-else. It has a green fender on the right front, no fender on the right rear and road rash and whiskey bumps down the left side.

The contents of the bed are nondescript, but there is a plethora of stuff in there. Valves and valve parts, what's left of the truck's right fender, two partial spools of barbed wire, a five gallon bucket of what looks to be rusty tools of some kind, an assortment of empty oil cans, beer cans, brake fluid cans, and a box of roofing nails. There’s a pile of rusty chain covering what appears to be the remnants of a tent, two sledge hammers (one with a handle and one without), one rubber boot and least two hard hats, and this is just some of the equipment that meets the eye.

And to top everything off, shortly after Bubba parked, two tires went flat.

I'll have to admit the old truck didn't look real spiffy sitting there next to my house, but, what the hell, it was only for the weekend and my neighbors had always been fairly tolerant of my drunken friends.

Someone pounding on the front door awakened me at daylight the next morning. I knew right off that it wasn't one of my friends since they all know to come to the side door. Stumbling to the front door, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and fumbled the dead-bolt open to find rotund profile of “Fat Willie" of the Civic Association Neighborhood Watch Patrol. He didn't waste any time or words with pleasantries such as "sorry to wake you" or "good morning” but got straight to the point, “That your truck settin' out there?"

Not fully awake and barely functioning, I replied, Why hell yes that's my truck. I've been driving that Tahoe for over a year now. Where the hell have you been, scarfing down the desserts at the neighborhood center or something?

Willie answered, "I'm not talkin' about the Tahoe, I'm talkin' about that piece of shit that you're trying to hide beside your house--and you'd best keep your comments about my eatin' habits to yourself.”

Awake fully now, I recalled "Fat Willie" took his position very seriously and had caused big problems for several folks for minor rule infractions, so I decided to try a little kinder and gentler approach. "Sorry Willie, I was still half asleep. That old truck belongs to a friend of mine who left it while he went on a weekend fishing trip. He'll pick it up when he gets back Sunday afternoon."

Willie straightened his ball cap, threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, while pulling in his gut as best he could to get into his "official" posture. He lowered his high-pitched voice an octave or two and pronounced, “It had better be gone when I check back by here on Monday morning or I'll be forced to write you up. While you're about it you need to weed these flowerbeds and plant some seasonal color in here. And this yard looks like it hasn't been mowed since last year--just look at all that clover and button weed. You'd better attend to that this weekend, too, Mister.”

With that he turned on his heel and walked out to his '95 Plymouth police special, complete with yellow flashing lights and magnetic signs on the door saying: "Basura Blanca Estates Civic Assoc. Neighborhood Watch Patrol" and was off to capture another dangerous defiler of the neighborhood.

Honestly, I didn't give a lot more thought to Fat Willie's visit except to be a little pissed about being awakened at daylight on a Saturday when I really had no reason to get out of bed that early. Anyway, since we were already up, Edie and I went ahead and dressed, packed the Tahoe and left on our weekend getaway as planned.
(To Be Continued)

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Now is a good time to put the wraps on this one and write a (-30-) at the bottom of the page. I hope you enjoyed this segment and will check back for the next. Email me your comments, good or bad, and if any of you would care to critique this effort, your help will be appreciated.

Be kind to yourself, share your smile with someone who needs it, do a random act of kindness and always remember, when all your other friends have abandoned ship, Old Newt will still be there to help you paddle.

God bless you my brothers and sisters and God Bless America !

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

My Pledge:
To maintain the highest standards of which I am capable or happen to feel like on any given day, to publish only information that is based on as much fact as I can find or make up and most of all to have as much fun as possible without offending too many readers. The facts expressed here belong to everyone, the opinions are mine, and it’s your job to figure out which are which.

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Newt Harlan
© 05-21-09
-30-

 

[oldsparkey]

Bring them ...ON ....Don't leave us stranded. :lol:

 

[bearridge]

I jest noticed he sent that May 21. I dont think I got one since. If the next one aint Pt. 2, I will email him 'n git it. I figger Humble aint that far frum Wannabe San 'n Mike. Where iz ole Singin' Jim? I hope he aint banned like the fellas in the Seychelles? [grin]

 

[Wannabe]

Bear,
Mike is just a hoot &a holler from Humble.
Bob

 

[bearridge]

Opps.....I had this.
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Honest Lies and Other Misguided Thoughts---05-25-09
By Newt Harlan

Howdy, y'all from the back porch perch in beautiful downtown Humble where I've been working on the second installment of our serialized short story, “An Innocent Victim?”. Truthfully, the story’s been written for quite some time, but I’ve been doing things like tweaking the grammar, choosing better words and proof-reading. However, I'm sure that even after all these efforts, some of my sharp-eyed and intelligent readers will discover errors.

==**==**==

Are any of y’all distance runners? I've known a couple of marathon runners over the years, but it was never something I was tempted to try...my short little old legs just ain’t built for that kind of running, however I figure there’s at least one runner whose time I can beat, if ever I'm of a mind to try.

Back in 1912 in the Summer Olympics in Stockholm , a Japanese contestant completely disappeared while running the marathon. He was listed as a missing person in Sweden for something like 50 years -- until a journalist found him living happily in a small town in southern Japan .

His story was that he was overcome by heat during the race, and stopped off at a garden party to refresh himself by drinking some orange juice. He stayed for an hour, then took a train to his hotel and sailed for home the next day, too ashamed to tell anyone he was leaving.

There's a happy ending -- In 1966 the runner accepted an invitation to return to Stockholm and complete his race. His final time was 54 years, 8 months, 6 days, 8 hours, 32 minutes and 20.3 seconds -- as I said, even I can beat a time like that.

==**==**==

The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings."

==**==**==

The time has come, also, to rejoin our adventure in suburbia as we continue “An Innocent Victim?”

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(Part II)
An Innocent Victim?

This is an attempt to explain why some of y’all may have seen me in a group of men doing such things as building and grounds maintenance, cleaning trash from public areas, and other maintenance and custodial duties around the Basura Blanca Estates neighborhood as part of “Fat Willie’s Garbage Patrol.”

In our first episode, Bubba Reeves, Dooley Wilson and I planned a fishing trip one Thursday night to leave the following afternoon. I found out at the last minute that I had a previous commitment so the boys left without me, and Bubba left his dilapidated truck parked beside my garage. I was awakened early the following morning by Fat Willie of the Basura Blanca Neighborhood Watch Patrol pounding on my door. Willie warned me about having Bubba’s truck parked in my driveway and several other infractions of civic association rules that I was guilty of violating. I paid little attention to Willie’s threats and Edie and I left town on our weekend trip.

~ *~*~

We returned shortly after dark on Monday evening to find nothing had changed. Bubba's old truck with the flat tires was still parked beside the house, and since I don't have a fairy godmother to look after such things, the flower beds still needed weeding, some seasonal color plants and the yard still needed mowing.

In addition, there were empty trash cans in front of the house from where we'd put them out before we left on Saturday morning. There was also a three-day accumulation of newspapers in the yard because we'd forgotten to ask anyone to pick them up.

However, the thing that caught our attention was the following message in bold red letters on a "Basura Blanca Estates Homeowners Association" letterhead taped to our front door:

Dear Homeowner:

You are directed to report to Basura Blanca Estates Homeowners Assoc. Security at your earliest convenience to answer the following charges:

1) Unauthorized and non-conforming vehicle on property more than 24 hours.

2) Failure to maintain landscaping in an acceptable manner.

3) Lawn not maintained in accordance with directives.

4) Newspapers accumulating, causing visual pollution in the neighborhood.

5) Failure to remove trash cans from front of house within 2 hours of trash pickup.

[Signed]

William P. Framingham
Chief of Neighborhood Watch Patrol

I read the message and decided that my earliest convenience would be whenever the hell that I got around to it and I wasn't fixing to get around to it anytime soon. I let Edie read the message, then wadded it up and put it in the trashcan for safekeeping. In my opinion, that's where it belonged --BIG MISTAKE!

As it turned out, Dooley and Bubba's weekend trip got extended by about 5 days. It seems the fish weren't really biting all that good and by Sunday afternoon their beer was all gone. But would you believe they just happened to run into old Joe Cotton who just happened to have several batches of his world famous homebrew ready to come off and be bottled that very day. Needless to say, this was a huge stroke of luck for our erstwhile fishermen.

The boys finally arrived in my driveway around 2:30 on the following Saturday afternoon, after being missing in action for several days. Bedraggled didn't start to describe their appearance. They hadn't bathed, shaved, or changed clothes since they departed on that fateful Friday afternoon a week earlier, and both of them were so hung over the old cliché about getting better to die didn't even apply -- hell, these boys would've had to improve to even be considered dead. I've seen mummies that looked healthier than they did.

Anyway, after the requisite bitching, belching, pissing and moaning, four cans of Fix-a-Flat and the use of my jumper cables, Bubba got his truck fired up in a cloud of smoke that rivaled the mosquito-fogger making his nightly rounds. Just as he put it in gear and was about to exit the driveway, who should show up but old friend Fat Willie, Chief of the Basura Blanca Neighborhood Watch or whatever-the-hell his title is.

It was easy to tell Fat Willie was on a mission when he stopped his cruiser in front of my house and activated the yellow flashers on the top. He exited hurriedly with his clipboard in hand, tugging his baseball cap firmly in place and adjusting his genuine police special mirrored sunglasses into the proper position. Willie walked directly to the driver's side of Bubba's old truck and commenced to pitch a hissy fit. Dooley and I couldn't hear what Willie was saying above the truck’s roar, but to emphasize his points, he commenced to shake the finger of his left hand in Bubba's face while holding his clipboard and clicking a ballpoint pen on it with his right. Fat Willie obviously was not too pleased with the appearance or performance of Bubba's truck.

On the other hand, Bubba's head damned sure wasn't in any shape to put up with all this BS and he registered his disapproval by letting fly a stream of Red Man tobacco juice that cleared Willie's left ear by about a quarter of an inch on its way to the flowerbed. Topping that off with a string of expletives about Willie's ancestry and sex practices, and giving him the universal one-fingered salute, Bubba roared out of the driveway, leaving Willie engulfed in a cloud of mosquito-killing smoke.

I don't know if it was the smoke or Bubba's attitude, but for whatever reason Fat Willie was vapor-locked. As the smoke cleared, he stood in the exact spot he was in when Bubba left, with his clipboard still cradled in his right arm, while his left arm and hand continued the finger shaking action in extremely slow motion. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his eyes bugged out and his face turned cherry red. He appeared to have an extremely urgent need to pee or was maybe the victim of an exceptionally bad gas attack or perhaps both.

Whatever the problem, he made such a funny sight old Dooley and I couldn't help laughing until we doubled over with tears streaming down our cheeks. We'd partially regain composure, look at Fat Willie, then each other, and start in laughing all over again. Finally, after about five minutes of this, Willie regained his official bearing. Straightening his baseball cap and sunglasses, squaring his shoulders and sucking in his gut once again, he marched over and stopped directly in front of me.

Never one to bother with pleasantries, Willie got right to the point. "First of all, you'll be well-served if your drunken friend driving that piece-of-shit truck doesn't find his way back into this neighborhood, because if he does, I'll personally report him to the Sheriff's Department and the Air Quality Board and will name you as an accomplice.

Secondly, because of your slovenly ways and recalcitrance, 'The Association' has found it necessary to present you with these 'Official Papers'." With that, he handed me a business-size manila envelope and presented his clipboard for me to sign, acknowledging receipt. I signed Mickey J. Mouse in a script so illegible that my doctor would've been envious. Willie gave it a cursory glance and being unable to decipher my penmanship just shrugged, snorted, turned on his heel, and headed for his trusty patrol car.

Just before reaching his car, Willie turned and said, "You'll notice that those papers require your appearance before the 'Association Board' on Monday night and you need to be aware that if you fail to appear, we have the authority to send the constable to get you.”
(To Be Continued)

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It’s time to write a (-30-) at the bottom of the page and put the wraps on this one. I hope you enjoyed this episode and are looking forward to the next. I appreciate your comments, good or bad and if any of you would care to critique this effort, your help will be appreciated.

Be kind to yourself, share your smile with someone who needs one, do a random act of kindness and remember, when you think all of your friends have gone to the house and left you to pull the load by yourself, Old Newt will be here to help you tug on the traces.

God bless you and yours my brothers and sisters and God Bless America !

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My Pledge:
To maintain the highest standards of which I am capable or happen to feel like on any given day, to publish only information that is based on as much fact as I can find or make up and most of all to have as much fun as possible without offending too many readers. The facts expressed here belong to everyone, the opinions are mine, and it’s your job to figure out which are which.

==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==

Newt Harlan
© 05-25-09
-30-

 

[bearridge]

Honest Lies and Other Misguided Thoughts---05-25-09
By Newt Harlan

Howdy, y'all from my back porch perch in beautiful downtown Humble where I've been working on the final installment of my serialized short story, “An Innocent Victim?”. This episode runs a little longer than I'd like, but there wasn't a logical spot to break the conclusion of the story. Anyway, I trust you'll enjoy the finish.
==**==**==
Old Newt says -- When you are faced with a tough decision you can always decide not to decide unless you decide to change your mind and decide to decide to decide. Hopefully this didn't confuse those of you who are easily confused.
==**==**==
The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings."
==**==**==
The time has come also to rejoin our adventure in suburbia in “An Innocent Victim?”

==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==
(Part III)
An Innocent Victim?

This is an effort to explain why some of y’all may have seen me in a group of men doing such things as building and grounds maintenance, cleaning trash from public areas, and other maintenance and custodial duties around the Basura Blanca Estates neighborhood as part of “Fat Willie’s Garbage Patrol.”

Earlier, we learned about a weekend fishing trip made by my buddies, Bubba and Dooley, which I was forced to cancel out on at the last minute. However, Bubba left his dilapidated truck parked at my house which raised the ire of the neighborhood civic association enforcer, “Fat Willie”.

My friends’ trip lasted longer than the planned weekend and they returned very hung over after a week of good-timin’ it. As if by magic, Fat Willie showed up at my house just as Bubba got his old truck started and was fixin’ to leave. Willie and Bubba had a heated conversation, which Dooley and I were unable to hear over the truck’s noise, that ended with Bubba driving off and leaving Willie gill-flirted and vapor locked. He looked so comical that Dooley and I laughed until we had tears in our eyes.

The hilarity ended when Willie came over and presented me with a manila envelope from the Basura Blanca Civic Association, which I had to sign for and he accompanied with a brief threatening lecture about my drunken friends and slovenly ways. As he was going to his car, Willie told me that the papers in the envelope summoned me to a meeting for which he said I would be apprehended by the constable if I failed to attend voluntarily...

==+**+==

Willie barely had his car in gear before I had the envelope ripped open to find out just exactly what the Association had in store for me. Inside the envelope was a letter on the letterhead of the law firm Dewey, Cheatham and Howe.

It read:

Dear Homeowner:

Due to your failure to answer previous requests to meet with the Basura Blanca Estates Homeowner's Association" to discuss various problems involving your failure to comply with deed restrictions, it is our duty to inform you that you are directed to report on 25 March, 2009 on Monday evening, at 7:00 PM to the meeting of the board of directors of Basura Blanca Estates Homeowner's Association to discuss reasons why you shouldn't be found in non-compliance.

This letter is to inform you that the charges that you face are indeed serious and could result in the foreclosure on your property or other penalties as deemed appropriate by the board.

Please be aware that your escrow account will be billed in the amount of $800.00 for the legal expenses involved in presenting you with this document.

Sincerely,
[Signed]
John P. Howe
~ ~ ~

Since the letter threatened foreclosure and stated my escrow account had already been charged $800 for the law firm's services, I figured it would be in my best interest to show up this time. So on Monday evening at about 6:45, I walked into the main room of the Basura Blanca Estates' clubhouse. Finding no one there, I tried the door to one of the adjoining smaller meeting rooms and finding it open, entered to find the directors' meeting already in progress. There were five people seated behind institutional style tables arranged in a horseshoe with the chairman at the head and two members on either side. I knew their positions because each had a brass nameplate engraved with their name and title sitting on the table in front of them. This seemed a little ostentatious since, with the exception of a constable asleep in a chair off to one side, they were the only five people in the room.

They continued the meeting for several minutes seemingly unaware of my presence as they discussed the fact that teenage girls and young women were wearing shorts that were entirely too short and pants that were entirely too tight, in the public areas of the neighborhood. Finally the chairman looked up and, noting my presence, asked, "May I help you?”

I introduced myself and explained that I was there to answer a summons about some perceived misdeeds for which I'd received a letter. His preeminent highness explained that they were in something called an executive session and if I'd wait out in the other room, they would call me when they were ready for me. I would've liked to hear more of the "shorts" discussion, but figured I had better obey their directions so I left the room, closing the door behind me.

Some of the other residents who had received summons had arrived and we talked briefly about our various infractions. There was a platter of finger sandwiches, chips and some soft drinks set up on a table over in one corner of the room, so we helped ourselves, figuring we might as well get a little something worthwhile out of our visit. I found myself a seat over near the meeting room door, sat, and ate my sandwiches as I contemplated my chances at the hearing.

Since I was acquainted in one way or another with each member of the board of directors who were to be my judge and jury, I figured my prospects for a good outcome to these proceedings looked pretty gloomy.

The chairman was the Rev. Milton Sneed of the Greater Basura Blanca United Freewill Church. He was tall and lanky and sported a straggly goatee, and thought he resembled Abe Lincoln. The reverend had one of those deep bass voices and was fond of stating everyday facts as if they were pronouncements of earth-shaking significance.

One Sunday morning many years ago, I delivered my daughters to Sunday services at the reverend’s church and when they opened the door to get out of the truck, about a half-dozen empty beer cans fell out onto the street. My girls just went on into the building and although I was a little embarrassed, I got out and picked up the cans and tossed them into the back of the truck.

The reverend was out front greeting his parishioners as they arrived and heard the commotion. He walked up to my truck and took it upon himself to chastise me in his booming voice for the bad example I was obviously setting for my daughters by my use of the demon alcohol and etc. Well, I was never one to put up with being lectured, and besides I was nursing a bad head, so I tried to tell him politely that he was meddling. He persisted in the harangue until I finally had to say some pretty bad words about his being a self-righteous blow-hard and reminded him about the “Judge not lest he be so judged” thing, to get him to leave me alone. He hadn't spoken to me from that day until tonight when he asked if he could help me.

The second board member was Addie Sue Walker, a teacher at the local elementary school. She taught my kids twenty years ago and is still just as dingy and air-headed today. Her specialty is having her class sing the daily menu for the cafeteria lunch. Can you imagine twenty third-graders singing: “Chili-beans, mashed potatoes, salmon patties, two cookies and Jell-O plus your choice of water or milk." Boggles the mind, doesn't it?

Another of the five was Ms. Mary Francis Howe. She was the wife of attorney John P. Howe, a partner in the firm which represents the association in legal matters. Mary Francis was a brassy bleached-blonde, forty-something soccer mom with one face-lift and three liposuctions. She had a degree in home and family living from Westfield State and was of the opinion this made her an authority on everything. She was secretary of the school board and about every organization around town counted her as a member, including the garden club, PTA, library friends, Lionesses, church choir and at least a half dozen others that don't come readily to mind. In her frequent interviews in the local newspaper, she described herself as a 'Soccer-mom, homemaker and wife of a prominent attorney'. -- Around the beer joint, we'd describe her as a meddlesome bitch.

The fourth member was Idalou Parker. She was a diminutive, mousy-haired woman in her early forties who had recently gotten a boob job and had laser surgery to replace her coke bottle glasses with contacts, neither of which improved her appearance significantly. Idalou was the granddaughter of one of the local community founders and a member of every liberal cause that had ever been invented. A tree-hugger deluxe, she was a charter member of Green Peace. She'd saved whales, toads, snail darters, and fire ants. Her current pet project was saving some kind of monkeys that supposedly were being eaten alive in Thailand or somewhere. If it needed saving, Idalou was going to save it. She hated hunters and fishermen and was well aware that I was both, as I had approached her on several occasions over the years for permission to hunt and fish on her family's properties.

The final member of my tribunal was none other than our erstwhile patroller of the neighborhood and keeper of the covenant, William P. Framingham--Better known as Fat Willie.

I didn't have too long to dwell on my fate because, just as I finished my sandwich and coke, Idalou stuck her head out the door and announced, in her squeaky voice, that they were ready for me. I rose and walked into the room feeling, for some reason, somewhat the same as I used to as a schoolboy when I got summoned to the principal's office.

Upon entering the inner sanctum, I was directed to a folding chair that had been placed at the open end of the horseshoe, facing the chairman. No table for my notes, nothing to hide behind, just a folding chair in which to sit as I pleaded my case (I thought) and learned my fate. I sat as directed and awaited my inquisition.

The reverend didn't waste any time with the preliminaries and went straight to the meat of the matter. He said in his booming voice and best Lincolnesque manner, 'Mr. Harlan, the board has taken the liberty of reviewing your charges prior to your appearance and has arrived at what we feel is an equitable solution to your various discrepancies and misdemeanors. Although you chose to ignore an earlier appearance request and made light of our efforts to improve the quality of life and enhance property values in Basura Blanca Estates, this is your first time to appear before the board, hence we will waive the threat of foreclosure on your property. However, we will impose the following penalties:

1) For the next consecutive seven days you will be required to accompany Mr. Framingham as he goes about his duties of making sure that all the rules and bylaws of the association are adhered to and observed.

2) You will perform whatever duties Mr. Framingham deems necessary during this time to improve the quality of life and property values of Basura Blanca Estates.

3) You will maintain your personal property in a manner that will improve and enhance the property values and quality of life in our neighborhood from this day forward.

4) You will install a gate in your back fence so that your property may be inspected at any time as deemed necessary.

5) You will perform any other improvements, enhancements, or landscaping as deemed necessary by the architecture and landscape committees.

6) You will discourage the visitation from friends known to be of rowdy and unsavory character and will forbid parking of 'junk vehicles' on your property. This shall apply especially to Bubba Reeves.

With that the reverend struck his gavel and asked if I had any questions.

To tell you the truth, I was dumbfounded. I had come prepared to answer all the charges and debate with the board as necessary concerning property rights, meddlesome blue-hairs, tree-huggers and the like. But here I sat with my fate signed, sealed and delivered without my uttering the first word. I started to say something, but the part of my brain that has a little smarts remaining kicked in and I mulled over what the reverend had just said. As near as I could tell, all my punishment would be was to clean up my yard and flowerbeds, put a gate in my back fence, tell Bubba to not drive his old truck over to my place anymore and, the only really bad thing, put up with Fat Willie's bullshit for the next week. No foreclosure or anything like that, and the $800 for the law firm was already gone from my escrow account. All in all, considering my situation, it sounded better than a sharp stick in the eye, so I told the reverend that I had nothing to say.

He instructed me to report to Mr. Framingham (Fat Willie) at promptly 7:00 the next morning, pounded his gavel and dismissed me and called the next case.

And that my friends is why during the past week y'all have seen me serving in various capacities in the maintenance crew of Basura Blanca Estates."

-30-

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Since I’ve already written the (-30-) which signals the end of the story, I suppose all we have left to do is wrap up this effort.

I had fun writing this episode and the entire story and hope y’all enjoyed them as well. I’d appreciate your comments, good and bad. If any of you would care to critique the entire story, I’d appreciate it.

Stay happy and be extra good to yourself. If you happen to run across somebody who has lost their smile, give them one of yours. Do a random act of kindness every day and remember when you’re feeling down and think you’re out of friends to help you up, Old Newt will always be here to help you pull your bootstraps.

God bless you and yours my brothers and sisters and God Bless America !

==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==

My Pledge:
To maintain the highest standards of which I am capable or happen to feel like on any given day, to publish only information that is based on as much fact as I can find or make up and most of all to have as much fun as possible without offending too many readers. The facts expressed here belong to everyone, the opinions are mine, and it’s your job to figure out which are which.

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Newt Harlan
© 05-28-09
-30-

 

[Bilgerat]

Well, Humble, Texas is about a 20 minute drive from where I sit next to my adult beverage reading all about Newt's trials and tribulations with the nazi home owner's association. This story is why I refuse to buy a home that is in such a situation where the wannabe nazi's (not to be confused with our Wannabe Bob who is an upstanding guy from what I can tell 8) ) can tell you how to live.

OH! Just to clarify - I do work for the Constable's office that is responsible for the Humble, Texas area and I deny being asleep at that meeting. :shock: :shock: :shock:

Mike :mrgreen:

 

[Wannabe]

Good wiggle Mike.
Bob

 

[bearridge]

most excellent wiggle.... [chuckle]

 

[bearridge]

I got this frum Newt yesterday. Figgered it wuz time fer an update.

*******************************************


Basura Blanca Update

Last week during our sort of weekly get-together down at the watering hole, fondly referred to as choir practice, the subject of Basura Blanca came up.

Y’all remember Basura Blanca Estates, it’s that kind of fancy, and kind of rundown subdivision where my imaginary humble abode is located that here a month or so ago I wrote a series about, detailing my experiences with Fat Willie and the local civic association..

The gang reminded me that several years ago, I would post semi-monthly, semi-ever-so-often reports on the comings and goings and other doings out at Basura Blanca, but other than the recent series about my experiences with the civic association, it’s been quite some time since I gave y’all an update on the goings on. I'm turning over a new leaf starting today so here’s something to bring y’all up to date on significant occurrences.

Here lately it’s been an exciting time around Basura Blanca. A 25-year-old Bracero Villas resident was arrested last Thursday afternoon, accused of robbing a bank at which he was a frequent customer.

Police say a teller at the branch of Basura Blanca State Bank located inside the grocery store at 3811 Campo Del Oro, immediately recognized Jevon Peavey despite his apparent attempt to conceal his identity with sunglasses and a hooded jacket.

A robbery detective said, “He works in the area at a carwash and occasionally holding a sign advertising a tax service so he had been in there many times and they knew him by name.”

According to the police report, Peavey handed a teller a note reading, “I have a gun and put the money in a bag.” A store employee was on a smoke break outside the store and was a witness. She told police she saw the man flee the store after the robbery, heading toward Cabron Viejo Road .

Officers searching the area arrested Peavey about 1 p.m. Police said they believe Peavey hid in a drainage ditch after the robbery because both he and the money that officers found on him were wet.

Peavey is currently awaiting charges and held in jail without bond because of a parole violation.
---*---
A quiet wedding at the Basura Blanca Club Campestre over Memorial Day weekend instead turned into quite an affair. Jennie Lee Pickett and Ross Earl Nash were saying their vows in the beautiful garden area of the club and somehow, when they reached the part where they said their “I do’s, fireworks being stored for the big July 4th show went off prematurely. The resulting show was spectacular and the wedding guests oohed and aahed as each shell exploded, not aware it wasn't part of the celebration.

Fire chief Don Briscoe reported that there were no serious injuries in the mishap, but the storage shed as well as a tent borrowed from the cemetery was a total loss, and the swimming pool had to undergo extensive repairs in order to be functional in time for the summer swim season.
---*---

Saturday, June 8, everyone turned out as Eva Sue Wilbanks, Bertie Fay McGill, and Sonny Wheelock held the grand opening for their new business down on Cabron Viejo Rd. near the main entrance to Bracero Villas (the mobile home section of Basura Blanca). The name of the Sonny’s enterprise was: "Old Goat Road Bait, Pit B-B-Q, Ammo, and Cold Beer & Ice.” While in an adjoining building the girls featured, “Yard Art, Needlework & Beauty Shoppe.”

Until about 10:00 that evening everybody had a bodacious good time. Then, after celebrating all day on the free beer, Sonny and his brother Tommy Lee became involved in a brawl with several old boys from Moonshine Hill. Sonny was upset because the Moonshine Hill bunch, who aren't residents of Basura Blanca or Bracero Villas, were there eating the free barbecue and drinking the free beer with no intentions of buying anything. The melee required four carloads of deputy constables with help from Fat Willie and several others to break up. In an effort to restore order the lawmen declared the party over and made everyone leave and go home.

The Rev. Deacon Floyd Kline of the Basura Blanca Free Will Baptist and Pentecostal Church and church secretary Sister Rosamond Lutcher were present for the ribbon cutting and stayed for the free barbecue and beer (mind you, just a few sips for medicinal purposes only). Unfortunately, after authorities closed the celebration, they were involved in a minor one-car auto accident in which the Rev. Deacon's Cadillac somehow ended up in the ornamental pool at the main entrance to the subdivision. Rumor had it that both parties were "unfrocked" from the waist down. Of course that was just rumor, but Sybil Jenkins whose brother lives next door to our resident highway patrolman, said that he told her that it was a fact.

Unfortunately, the businesses were short-lived, surviving only three days after the grand opening gala. It seems the proprietors weren't aware of the necessity of getting the proper licenses to operate, plus some government agencies discovered that they had an interest in the trio.

Release from state jail should come sometime in 2011for Eva Sue and Bertie Fay after both were arrested on warrants that they violated probation for hot checks. Sonny will probably be the guest of the taxpayers of the State of Texas until about 2025. It seems that the two cows he butchered for the grand opening barbecue belonged to a gentleman up in Polk county. It also turned out about ninety percent of the materials Sonny used in building the new establishment were courtesy of 'Home Depot', without the knowledge of Home Depot employees.
---*---
In another recent turn of events, the arrest of Betty Sue Walker for working as a prostitute shocked the community. The popular, attractive, blonde was a teacher for "Special-Needs" students at Bracero Villas Middle School and also a dance instructor at Miss Kellie’s Studio for Dance and Gymnastics. When questioned about her arrest, Betty Sue said that her clients in the evening also had "Special Needs" and she was just trying to give back to the community.

Sister Mona Bradford, chief deaconess of the Basura Blanca Free Will Baptist and Pentecostal Church and also Chairperson of the "Bluehairs Against Crime" committee, commented that she knew all along that Betty Sue was no good. She said, "Any young women who would get out there at them dance recitals almost naked, doing them splits and stuff -- it just ain't natural". "Why I caught my own husband Leo drooling and looking so goo-goo eyed at her that he steamed up his glasses, when he was supposed to be watching his very own little darling niece. I declare, I just had to slap the fear of God back into him, right there in front of everybody."

Betty Sue was released after paying a $200 fine and wants all her friends to know that while no longer working as a dance instructor or teacher, she is currently employed as a hostess and waitress at the Wagon Yard Bar and Grill.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
We’ve reached that point in these communiqués where I normally say, it’s time call it a wrap on another of my attempts to attain at least an acceptable level of journeyman writing, and put a (-30-) at the bottom of another page…Consider it said and done.

I give my usual thanks to those of y’all who have again endured the balderdash and bunkum I produce, although there was considerably less than normal in this issue and, in fact I may have sparked a brief flash of brilliance a time or two, although they were admittedly short-lived... Seriously, I appreciate y’all reading and if you have friends or family you think might enjoy my retarded ramblings, please forward this to them. I sometimes have delusions of grandeur and think I might get around to attempting a book one of these days and if that comes to pass, I will need all the readers I can muster…If you have the time and are of a mind to, please ping me a little email and give me your opinion on how I did with this post, good or bad.

Enjoy your life, be super-nice to yourself, and if you should cross paths with somebody without a smile, give the one of yours... Sneak up on an old geezer and surprise them with a random act of kindness-- Remember when you feel like you’re deserted and are scratching around at the bottom of the friendship barrel, you’ll still have one friend left…that’ll be me, and I’ll be there for you. God bless you and yours my brothers and sisters and God Bless America !
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My Pledge:
To maintain the highest standards of which I am capable or happen to feel like on any given day, to publish only information that is based on as much fact as I can find or make up and most of all to have as much fun as possible without offending too many readers. The facts expressed here belong to everyone, the opinions are mine, and it’s your job to figure out which are which.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Newt Harlan
06-18-09
-30-

 

[bearridge]

Honest Lies and Other Misguided Thoughts---06-22-09
By Newt Harlan

Good morning, y'all from the back porch perch in beautiful downtown Humble. As many of you are already aware, in this corner of the South, early in the morning and late in the evening is about the only time it’s even close to being comfortable out here on the porch. Even with the ceiling fans running, it’s a might warm for your average fat boy. At least it’s officially summer now. Although we've been having summer weather for the better part of two months now, it finally became officially summer Sunday, June 21 at 1:45 AM. Now we can start the countdown until it becomes fall around September 21 and October brings the return of autumn’s cool weather.

Sunday was also Father’s Day and I trust all you dad’s enjoyed your special day. For the most part, I spent the weekend avoiding the heat, which is a good thing when you are as old, fat, and AC spoiled as I am. This 90-degree plus heat we've been experiencing is less than ideal for your health, no matter your age or condition. In fact, in addition to the heat-related problems you may be familiar with, some previously unsuspected things can occur, such as your toenails might fall off, your ears could quit making earwax, you could experience severe flatulence and women are known to have sprouted beards and mustaches in rare cases. Now mind you, none of this is medically proven, but this fat boy isn't taking any chances. It’s going to be air-conditioned home, truck or a watering hole with frosty adult beverages for me until the danger has passed.
==**==**==
You know the situation is serious when it affects wild creatures’ behavior. Would you believe on Saturday Jake Wheeler had to stop his truck over on the Barber's Hill Highway to let an armadillo cross the road? Now this wouldn't have been all that unusual, except the damned ‘diller was carrying a parasol… and a canteen. I'd say that's an unmistakable sign it is pretty damned hot.
==**==**==
Old Newt says---Part of the problem in this great country of ours today is the fact, with the exception of those fiberglass imitations found on construction sites, there’s no longer any outhouses in use. Somehow sittin’ and thinkin’ on indoor plumbing just don’t lend itself to reaching the proper conclusions that our forefathers did on the thrones of old.
==**==**==
"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings."
==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==
Embrangled and Confused
The other afternoon, a group of us was sitting around the bar down at the waterin’ hole solving myriad and complex world problems. Suddenly, Old Man Stanley came down with a severe case of borborygmus. Everyone in the bar noticed and almost immediately the talk turned to the various remedies for it the digerati had catalogued over the years. There were various offerings, but probably the most complicated, which embrangled everyone, involved someone seizing the old man's left hallux in a firm grip and defenestrating him immediately.

All right now be honest, how many of y'all understood the paragraph above? Let's have a show of hands…c'mon now there's got to be some of you who can take a wild-assed guess. Still none? Okay I guess it's time for a little help, how about if I define some the words that you may not know.

Myriad-a great number, innumerable
Embrangled-perplexed, thrown into confusion, embroiled
Borborygmus-rumblings and other noises made as gas moves within the intestinal tract. (commonly called belly-growling)
Digerati-computer experts
Hallux- (in this usage) big toe
Defenestrating-throwing something or someone through a window

Okay, let’s read the paragraph again. Now that we know these new words, we can pretty much understand it… of course the paragraph still doesn't make much sense, but at least we can comprehend it. It’s strange how the language we've been speaking and reading much of our lives can become incomprehensible when we're faced with words we don't use in our day-to-day speech. It's not that we're dumb, it's just that we're not accustomed to or exposed to this particular part of our language.

We can just hope some of those damnyankee folks who make fun of the way we talk, will take notice and realize just because they can't understand our particular brand of English, it doesn't mean that we're for some reason dumb, stupid, ignorant, uneducated or otherwise mentally impaired. Hell, there isn't a one of us who'd fall for it if someone passed gas and tried to blame it on the dog or would jump in the river to get out of the rain or buy hair restorer from a bald-headed barber, but to hear them tell it, if you talk Southern, you've just got to be dumb.

I'm here to tell them that I'm not dumb and we're not dumb and as long as I'm alive, I'm going to do my part to preserve at least the verbal part of my Southern heritage and I'd be mighty proud to have y'all join me. Now that I've got the sand out of my craw and the burr from under my saddle, let's move on to some fun things…

Here lately my young, skinny-assed, athletic friends have been telling me that if I keep drinking beer I'll never get into shape--hell, I'm 69 years old and think I’m in pretty good shape for my age and condition…don’t forget round is a shape. Besides, when I tried jogging, it made my beer foam up.

The past few years sometimes I find myself thinking about cleaning up my act and embarking upon one sort of self-improvement program or another. However, when I make this mistake, I’m reminded of yet another bit of advice I received many years ago from Uncle Babe Martin over in Saratoga , "Newt, if it don't seem like it's worth the effort, it probably ain't.” As they say in court, I rest my case. About the only worry I have about my current condition is, if the occasion arises and I’m lucky enough to be invited, is it legal for fat people to go skinny-dipping.

Before we leave this discussion about conditioning and drinking beer, I have one more quote. Ben Franklin is usually cited as the author of this one, but I actually heard it from Uncle Babe at the hunting camp down in the Big Thicket, "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

There have been some other pretty good discussions at the waterin’ hole here lately. Hogjaw said that he had read in a gee-whiz file somewhere that a duck's quack doesn't echo. Science doesn't seem to have an answer and no one can explain why, but a duck’s quack is just good for one go.

The boys kicked this around for several cool ones and a couple of dips of snuff, but not one of them could remember having heard a duck's quack echo. Muzzy said he figured that the quacks didn't echo because ducks never did quack in places where echoes live, like tunnels, caves, or alleys or up there in them mountains over in Arkansas .

Seeing as how the boys couldn’t reach a plausible conclusion either way, they decided to table this one until the next time our former resident duck expert, Norvell Eddie, who is now living up in Arkansas somewhere, comes to town. Meanwhile, if any of you know anything for sure about duck quack echoes or lack thereof, please e-mail or meet us down at the waterin’ hole to bring us up to speed.

Another topic we invested several cold beers cogitating, discussing and lying about is why we can see through glass. Our man Muzzy was right on top of this one when he said, "hell's bells any damn fool knows that the reason you can see through glass is 'cause it's clear." --"Damn, Ray Charles can see that." One thing about Muzzy, he's got a keen grasp of the obvious.

Well, I had a hard time getting the gang serious enough again to tell them I had read on the Internet the reason we can see through glass is because, as solid as it may appear, it is actually a viscous liquid. Dogeye said he thought that a vicious liquid was something like gin and tonic or that vodka, orange juice and Champagne stuff they mix up that sneaks up on you. I had to explain it was viscous, not vicious we were discussing… A viscous liquid stiffens when cooled, but never becomes completely solid.

In solids the atoms arrange themselves in a rigid, crystalline molecular structure, however in glass the atoms just kind of hang out helter-skelter like, doing what the hell ever they want to, so light can squeeze between them. Also, the molecular make-up of glass unlike that of solids, keeps it from absorbing visible light, so because of these factors we are able see through glass…Didn't make a helluva lot of sense to me either so I took the first chance I got to just shut up and let another damn fool try his hand at the explaining.

The glass as a liquid discussion continued to be quite lively for several more beers until finally the group reached a consensus that, while them scientific folks were probably right, there wasn't a damn one of us who could remember ever cutting himself on a piece of liquid.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The time has come declare an end to the latest edition of rigmarole. To the amazement of absolutely no one, this piece isn’t much of an improvement to it’s predecessors. I thought there were one or two sparks of what might’ve passed for actual literature, although they were short-lived… Perhaps my long-promised flash of brilliance is preparing to emerge.

Anyway, the only thing left to do is to put the wraps on this one and write (-30- ) at the bottom of the page. Thank all y’all who joined me on yet another trip down the back roads of reality. As y’all frequently read in this space, you have an amazingly high tolerance for poor writing and an exceptionally strong streak of perseverance. Nevertheless, thanks again for reading. If you have a chance and the desire, drop me an e-mail and give me your comments on this one, good, bad of indifferent.

Remember; while you’re traveling down the road of life try to dodge the used chewing gum and dog piles. Regardless of whatever else you may do, be extra good to yourself and surprise someone with a random act of kindness. If you happen to cross paths with a crusty old geezer without a smile, please give him one of yours. Remember, when you get to thinking you’ve run plumb out of friends, you haven’t… old Newt’s still here. May God bless you and yours my brothers and sisters, and God Bless America !

My Pledge:
To maintain the highest standards of which I am capable or happen to feel like on any given day, to publish only information that is based on as much fact as I can find or make up, and most of all to have as much fun as possible without offending too many readers. The facts expressed here belong to everyone, the opinions are mine, and it’s your job to figure out which are which.


Newt Harlan
©06-22-08
-30-

 

[dawallace45]

Being reasonably well read I knew what Defenestrating is and from being in the computer industry I knew what Digerati meant ,

I went to school with a guy who had what to me looked like deformed feet , he had the longest toes I've ever seen , his big toe was some where between 2.5 to 3" long , seems the doctor had used the term Hallux with in his hearing and he told every one he suffered from Hallux , of course after that his nickname was Hallux , he also had arms that were so long he could scratch the back of his knees with out sitting down or bending over , I reckon those long toes were to help him grip tree limbs better , he was 5'11" tall , in grade 5 , of course he was 4 years older than the rest of us , guy was dumber than dog sh&t .

I think every one knows what Myriad means and I could work out embrangled but borborygmus had me buggered

David

 

[bearridge]

I had ta go back 'n edit a change I made in Newt's post. Me'n Newt got ta arguin' how ta spell rigmarole. I put a "a" rite after the "g"....figgered Ole Newt mis-typed, so I fixed it fer him. I tole him it had ta come frum Italy, so it had ta have that "a". He wrote back:

Rigmarole is correctly spelled without an "a" after the "g", however we Southerners are often adverse to pronouncing two consonants together and tend to add an extra vowel to facilitate pronunciation. This habit frequently carries over into our spelling, hence rigamarole. Origin is Middle English from a game of chance called Ragman which used a rolled up scroll as part of the game. The scroll was called ragman roll. This eventually passed into the language with several alterations as rigmarole, a description of any list or long and rambling discourse... Hope this didn't spoil your wine and mutton...by the way, if it's of any consequence, I pronounce it rig-a-marole, too.

Reviewing what I've written here, it seems that you asked the time and I described how to build a watch...a near-perfect example of rigmarole.

Old Newt