Randem Thinkings 2 

MulletBoy has more on his plate than loose hairs

I have come to a decision about whether to wade into BW's blog-pool. I'm not going to do it, that's my decision. I am perfectly happy producing one healthy, big-boned 1,000-worder a week. I have no wish to shmutz up my routine, straining to contrive truncated mini-opinions about whatever rolls across the dashboard of my attention, just so I can call myself a "blogger"... which I believe to be, at best, a dubious distinction, anyway.

In coming to this decision, I have had to notify a number of cellar dwellers in my aggregate essence that their services will not be needed. You see, had I decided to blog, it was my intention to allow several disparate voices a share of the stage, all under the Bill Cope blog brand. There is Doris (marmalademaven@sweetmeats.org), the self-described "Queen of West Kuna" who is driven to critique a different jam or jelly every week. I have never known anyone who relishes preserves more than Doris, and I would happily have overlooked her penchant for mixing those reviews with rather lurid observations on which celebrities she would love to lick which jam off of. (One recent example: She insisted that Russell Crowe would go best with a cinnamony apple butter, spread not too thickly.)

Then of course, there is MulletBoy (randemthinkings@whistlingdixie.csa) of whom I presented a taste earlier in the year (BW, Opinion, "Red's Good Idea, Feb. 17, 2010). I am particularly fond of Mulletboy's exuberance. I sometimes think, "There, but for the grace of God ... along with a few dozen I.Q. points and a high school diploma ... go I."

With that said, you will understand why I have agreed to run an occasional Mulletboy piece in the space BW allows for my column. And since his account of what he did to commemorate 9/11 illustrates perfectly why I find him fascinating, let us start with that.

Sept. 12--The last time I blogged you up was the morning Ripster and I headed out for that big ol' thing good ol' Glenn Beck was throwing last month. We cut out of Nampa with two whole days to get back east to Washington, D.C., and we'd o' made it, too, if'n we hadn't got lost in Pocatello. We took Ripster's big ol' Dodge truck, and we had to get off the freeway to fill up, and somehow or tother we got turned around and before you know it, we were headed for Utah instead of whatever dang state Washington, D.C.'s, in. Sos I says, "Ain't you got no map in this rig, Cuz?" And he says, "Look in the jock box," and I did, and he did. But it was a map of Idaho and I says, "Whoo-ee, Dawg! This ain't gonna help. We already know how to get outta Idaho."

It took us a few hours but we got headed right again. We never did get to that big ol' Glenn Beck thing, though. If you want to know the truth, we never got closer to Washington, D.C., than Cheyenne, which is somewhere in Wyoming, which is one state over from Idaho if you've never been that way. That's where we run out of money. Ripster was filling his big ol' Ram up for like the fifth time and he says, "Hope you brought lots of money." And Whoo-ee, Dawg! That's when I remembered I'd forgotten to cash my last check from the Lube & Scoot. Good ol' Glenn Beck says there were like 500,000, maybe a million people there at that big ol' thing of his. I'm thinking that if everybody had a gotten there that set out to get there, there woulda been like 10 million or so. Like, Ripster and me woulda sure been there if only we'd o' gotten there. Makes you think, doesn't it?

Sos not much else happened until a couple weeks ago when that preacher over in Florida told everyone he was a gonna burn up some Muslim Ko-Rans. I says to Rip, "Hey, why don't we drive over to Florida and help that preacher burn them Ko-Rans?" And he says, "Sure, why the hell not!" Then he wants to know how far it is to Florida and I look it up on my kids' jigsaw puzzle of the good ol' U.S.A. and tell him, "It's way the hell the other side of Cheyenne." So he says, "Screw it." So then I says, "Hows about if we burn some Ko-Rans right here in Nampa?" And Rip says "I got a idea. What if we microwave some Ko-Rans instead?"

Whoo-ee, Dawg! I thought that sounded like a dang good idea. So I bought two Ko-Rans from a Barnes Noble discount bin, then I called the TV station and tell them we're holding a Ko-Ran-zapping rally at my place. Rip says, "Which TV station you call?" And I tell him it's the one what runs good ol' Glenn Beck on it. And he says, "Ain't that one way back East somewheres?" And I says, "Yeah, but I used my wife's cell phone, sos I won't have to pay the bill."

They didn't show up anyhow. I thought about calling a closer TV station, but by then, we had the Ko-Rans in the microwave, all ready to nuke. My wife was out yard saling, and it was just me and Ripster and a couple dudes I work with from the Lube & Scoot. We wrapped the Ko-Rans up in tin foil because Rip says his Mom wraps ever thing in tin foil when she cooks it. Then I turn the microwave to about 12 minutes and after a couple of minutes, those Ko-Rans start to pop and shoot off sparks. I figure it's God's way of taking our side in the war against the Muslims.

Whoo-ee, Dawg! Turns out you're not supposed to put tin foil in microwaves. I think I knew that once, but forgot. Now I have to buy a new microwaver or my wife says she'll never cook weenies again. And it looks to me like those Ko-Rans came out of it just fine. Tomorrow, I'm gonna see if I can get my money back from ol' Barnes Noble.

P.S. "Whoo-ee, Dawg!" is my new motto. I just thought of it this morning. Someday, I'll make a U-Tuber of how to say it right sos you don't sound like you're Chinese. Chow for now.

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