StraightUpAmerican.com

Hobo Honeybee

I was outside earlier slinging paint on the front porch of the CowChows when I got a pleasant surprise. You know how the aroma of fresh paint seems to attract every bug for miles around; well I heard a buzz and looked down to find a honeybee had landed on the handle of my paintbrush. I raised the brush to get a better look and saw that he had a tiny bundle wrapped in a tiny red handkerchief tied to the end of a tiny stick that was propped over his shoulder. I said, “Hey, you’re a honeybee.”

“So what,” he said.

“I haven’t seen any of you guys around for a couple of years,” I said. “Where you been?”

“It’s not where we’ve been,” he said. “It’s where we’re going.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We’ve just had enough, is all. You work hard all day long, try to do the right thing, fulfill your obligations to the hive, and the harder you work the more they take. Eventually, you start to feel like nothing but a drone. There’s still plenty of bees around but they’re the fatcats and the layabouts that never leave the hive. Most of the worker-bees are gone. I’m one of the last to leave.”

“But, what about the others, the ones left behind?” I asked.

“Hey, we talked until we were buzzed out. All the fatcats want to do is strut around making rules and giving orders, and all the layabouts do is sit on their stingers and say, ‘That’s not my job.’ Hopefully, they’ll wake up before it’s too late.”

“But, what about making honey?” I asked.

“Everything it takes to make honey is still here,” he said. Make it yourself, or get the bees to go to work.”

“How do we do that? I asked.”

He shrugged and said, “Do a little jig, they’ll like that. Hey, you missed a spot.”

I turned to look where he was pointing and when I looked back, he was gone. “Wait,” I called, “Where are you going?”

A tiny little voice from high and away came back to me, “Yeah right, like I’m going to tell you.”

Cordially yours,

Tim Couch

Do the Happy Feet dance!

Want to have some fun?

I attended a Rose Croix funeral service this evening for one of our dearly departed Brethren, Illustrious Brother Jobie Goslee. It’s a beautiful ceremony and I feel honored to participate in it. As a participant it is also an opportunity to get all gussied up in my tuxedo, which is why I wound up having fun on my way home, at Wal-Mart.

I stopped in to get a few groceries. Apparently, wearing a tuxedo in Wal-Mart is similar to a hooker going to church; everyone wonders where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, and why you’re here.

Most people played it cool; they just glanced at me and then looked away as if to say, “Oh my God, the imaginary guy in the tuxedo is back.”
Some people were friendly and nodded to me approvingly.
One lady was especially friendly as she welcomed me to Wal-Mart.
And, one young lady actually greeted me and told me I looked nice, and then beamed when I thanked her and responded that she looked nice, too.

Then, of course, there were the others. Like the guy who waited until I was around the corner, and he thought out of earshot, before he turned to his wife and said, “Bond, James Bond.”
Or, the kid who was trying too hard to impress his friends when he called from the far end of the aisle, “Excuse me sir, have you any Grey Poupon?”
My favorite, though, was the young girl who asked me to do the Happy Feet dance, and when I explained that I hadn’t seen the movie she broke into dance and showed me how it was done.

I still don’t think I can do the Happy Feet dance, but now I’m thinking maybe I’ll just wear my tux sometimes for the fun of it.

Cordially,

Tim Couch

Dreaded Tomato Snake

Greetings,

I hope you are enjoying these lazy, hazy days of summer.

You may recall that a couple of years ago we had a real problem here at the CowChows with tomato snakes. Basically, the tomato worms were growing to such an enormous size that they thought they were snakes. When you pulled one off the plant they would wriggle around and try to bite you. Some would even spit at you. They were scary. The whole ordeal was so traumatic that we didn’t even have tomatoes last year. I think they upset the entire CowChows eco-system.

Well, I’m proud to announce that this year we have a solution to this menace and are once again enjoying our very own delicious homegrown tomatoes. After years of research, upon which no expense was spared, I have devised the Tomato Snake Early Warning System. What, you may ask, is this ingenious solution? It’s simple really. I have learned to recognize their droppings.

What makes the tomato worm such a formidable foe is his camouflage. He is of the same color, shape and markings as the plant. When you get close to the plant he stops moving and virtually disappears. But, his poop is dark brown, in the shape of a tiny little barrel, and it stands out against the bright green of the plant leaf. So, all you have to do is search the plant for these tiny barrel shaped gifts and when you find one you know there is a tomato worm lurking somewhere below. Of course, you still have to find him but at least you’re not wasting time searching for something that may not be there.

The one danger with this system is that you incur the risk of your neighbors thinking you have gone mad. So please, if you’re out around the CowChows and you see a grizzled old man in a floppy hat bent over at the waist and staring at a plant, don’t call the Sheriff. He made off with half my crop the last time.

Cordially yours,

Tim Couch

Who is the puppet master?

As far as I’m concerned the Letterman apology is too little too late. If he truly regretted telling the joke he wouldn’t have gone around telling it over and over during the days following. He only decided to make a serious effort at apology when he realized he had gone too far publicly and it was likely going to hurt him professionally. But, this post isn’t about Letterman. It’s about the person who has, so far, been overlooked in all this hoohaw.

This post is about the person who actually wrote the joke. Letterman is just a mouthpiece. He doesn’t write his own material. This became evident during the writer’s strike of 2007-2008. Sure it was poor judgement on his part to deliver the joke and late night T.V. would be better without him. But, somewhere out there is a comic writer, or team of writers, who actually thought the implication of statutory rape of a fourteen year old girl was funny. This is the person, or people, who really need to be fired.

Anybody that clueless about what constitutes humor has absolutley no business getting paid for their drivel. I say fire the writers. Maybe if they don’t have to spend their time coming up with stupid jokes they can go back to school and choose a career path that actually suits their talents. Something like, oh I don’t know, boat anchor.

Or, if they’re really determined to make it as a comic writer I think a little homeless time is just what they need. Some of the funniest and wisest people I’ve ever known honed their wisdom and education while domiciliary challenged.

So yeah, flush Letterman. He’s been floating for years. But let’s not forget, while we’re at it, the people who put those words in his mouth, and those who downplayed it in the media, and those who promote such bad behavior. The puppet may appear to sing and dance, but forget not who pulls the strings.

Sincerely,

Tim Couch