On Final Approach
By Calendar Hacksaw
Dear Readers and Readerettes:
We've gone through a lot together during these past twelve months, and I
want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your unwavering support during
the violent mood swings I experienced while traversing the cornucopia that is
Walker Basin. A wasted mind is a terrible thing, and I'm living proof of that.
But alas, the workbench in this ol' shed has become a junkyard of Post-it
Notes (tm), for which I now feel some obligation to assemble as a column; a
means of sweepin' away the cobwebs of 1997 and preparin' for the New Year. We
must look ahead. Remember: in another two years when we use the phrase "turn
of the century," we will not be referrin' to the year 1900. That alone
will be a difficult adjustment.
So here's a few things ol' Calendar's been thinkin' about, or meanin' to
take care of.
- A good wall thermometer is worth its weight in gold. But how do we find
one that's accurate? Well, first we look at the expensive ones, which should
all read the same, since they're expensive, right? Now we go to the cheap ones,
and select one that shows the same reading as the expensive ones. That solves
that problem. If there are no expensive ones, compare the readings on the cheap
ones. Five out of ten of 'em should have about the same reading. Pick one of
those. This technique works well on clocks and watches, too, if you know what
time it is. Moody asked me if this technique would also work for selectin' a
calendar. I said, "Well, go ahead, Wayne, give it a try."
- If you have a daughter of child-bearin' age, I hope you're not feedin'
her that old line that if she ever gets pregnant you'll "kill her."
We've had enough of that this year, what with scared teenagers dumpin' their
newborns in dumpsters, trashcans, fields and canals. Stop the infanticide. Let
'em live and rise above such stupid ideas.
- Did you know that when Okies die, they come back as big yellow flying
bugs? Yep. And every time some Okie-hating-idiot is motorin' down Weedpatch
Highway or Old 99 and says "Goddamn Okie," he gets a big yellow one
splattered across his windshield. You know what happens to them big, gooey,
yellow ones after they commit suicide on the windshield? They're reincarnated
again, and come back as Okies! It's a great system!
- I think I've figured out how to tell when deer season opens in Zone 9.
It's on the Saturday four weeks before the end of Daylight Savings Time. Is
that right? If not, I might have a small problem.
- Sometimes I leave my "business cards" laying around Walker
Basin. They're rusty old horseshoes with the letters "CH" written on
them. Found one? A lot of people claim they bring them luck. If you ran over
a "business card" and got a flat tire, it wasn't one of mine.
- Need to get in the mood for Christmas? Might I recommend Michael Martin
Murphy's "Cowboy Christmas - Cowboy Songs II"? It always works for
- Here's a secret message to the young lady who successfully bid for "the
shirt off Calendar's back" at the Fun Day auction: "You have the right
to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court
of law." And thanks for supporting such a worthy cause. How about a date?
- Folks often ask, "Where's your roots, Cal?" Try Willow, west
of Granite, north of Mangum, Greer County, Oklahoma. It's about a 30-mile
hitchhike south of the Biscuit Hill Truck Stop. Watch out for the guy in the
bar in Sayre, though; he leads an "alternative" lifestyle, and doesn't
like to take "No" for an answer.
- If your place is like the Twisted Sisters, you've probably got a hoard of
bats flyin' around at night collectin' mosquitos and lookin' for a place to bed
down. Well, an outfit called DHS Distributin' down in Texas sent me a free set
of plans to build my own "Bat Condo." They'll do the same for you, if
you ask. Write 'em at 18222 Point Lookout, Houston, TX 77058, or send an e-mail
request to <email@example.com>.
- I got a new job with the government, and my wife, Betty, told me to buy
as much "death insurance" as we could afford. Betty sure has a way
with words, don't she?
- One night last month, there was an explosion at the Imperial Toy Company
in Los Angeles, and four people were killed when heat or a spark from a
packagin' machine hit a cache of powder used to make caps for toy pistols. The
local TV coverage of the incident was enough to make me want to blow up the
entire town. Every time I wandered through my living room, I'd hear some stupid
"anchor-person" say somethin' like, "One thing is certain: there
will be a massive investigation of this incident to ensure that nothin' like
this ever happens again!" Or, how about this: "You had all the
ingredients for a really powerful explosion." What "ingredients"?!?
Gunpowder? An ignition source? The air we breathe? Yep, I guess they were
all there! Just like they are in every Walker Basin household seven days a
week. Heck, let's round up every male child between the ages of four and ten
and send them off to prison. After all, if it wasn't for them, there wouldn't
be any market for cap guns, would there?
- In "politically correct" Twin Oaks, there isn't much demand for
cap pistols. Most folks just give their young 'uns a good .22 Marlin or a .410
gauge, a little instruction, and send them on their way. This doesn't always
work out on school days, but so far - so good.
- Last time I was rollin' through Oklahoma I saw a farm truck with a
license plate that read "GTF-1997." I figured it should
belong to Wayne Moody: "Golden-Tongued Fibber -
1997." So I stole it. Merry Christmas, Pard. No arrest warrant,
Calendar Hacksaw's e-mail addresses are firstname.lastname@example.org>
and he would love to hear from you. In fact, Wayne and him may never write
another column for the Fence Post unless the publishers get hooked up to the
Internet. After all, this is the Turn of the Century