Polygamy is Having a Dream About Nightmares

I wish society would quite drawing those pesky lines in the sand, because I continue to, inadvertently cross them. Telling it like it is, is the quickest way to get divorced, arrested, shot, maimed or to doom a presidential campaign. People scream for the truth, demand it, but the truth is!!! “You can’t handle the truth.” Jack Nicholson

There comes a time in every red blooded American male’s life when he realizes that the little boy next to him in the sand box is, in fact, a girl. At that point toy cars, baseball card and frogs take a backseat. He knows little about them and wants to know more. I could talk about how much he wants to love and cherish them, how much he wants to buy them a BMW or a charming little house in the burbs, but this is about truth, remember. He’s thinking huuummm how do I get me one of those. He’s contemplating the secrets of life, like how to undo a bra clasp.

He’s heard they are different, and he wants to find out how and why, first hand. The only information he has so far, has been gathered from boys on the playground who know less than he does, older brothers, cousins and uncles. More than likely all of it is wrong. He looks at her and dreams of a world without clothing.  She looks at him and dreams of a world where boys wash their hands after wiping their noses.

Somewhere along here a boy first hears the word polygamy. Once he understands its meaning, well, first his eyebrows raise, he thinks huuuummmm again, boys are deep thinkers. He can’t sleep for a week, and he immediately shifts from trying to select one perfect specimen to imagining being allowed to select four. If the road to truth is too much, turn around now. He is not thinking about commitment or relationships, but has taken the world without clothing thing to a new level in his imagination. He now hates Eve for the apple and fig leaf.

Most boys grow out of this, some never do. After all, the Bible says it’s Ok, they point out. There are numerous arguments designed to convince women, it’s advantageous for them. Women will believe anything, Hugh Hefner, O.J. Simpson and that book about Mars and Venus prove it. I’ll say it if no one else will. Polygamy is a playground in the minds of adolescent males, Sheiks and Zealots.

Don’t kill the messenger; remember this bubbled up in the dubious mind of a male. Ladies feel free to comment from the female perspective as there are likely more reasons to, not marry more than one man than they are to, not marry more than one woman.

I love my wife with all my heart, but can’t imagine have three more of her. When you get over imagining a world without clothing and the possible benefits of such a world, reality sinks in. They do not make houses with enough bathrooms to accommodate four wives. They do not make bathroom counters or cabinets with enough space to allow the hairbrushes, such an arrangement would require, to live the kind of lifestyle they deserve.

Your house would need to contain four bedrooms, four bathrooms and at least seven closets and we must not forget, room for a comfortable couch. The reason such situations are generally reserved for Sheiks and the like, the average man, could never afford the toilet paper. There would be so many creams, lotions, paints, pastes and hair products the house would be classified as a bio hazard area. Dealing with one woman who has two hundred shoes, hairbrushes and personalities is hard enough, multiply that by four. Imagine menopause as all of them reach the age where they alternately burst into flames, their heads spin around backward, and they develop seven new personalities, all of which hate you.

I expect headaches are contagious. If you make one mad, do you think the others will be happy that you stayed out all night playing cards? You my friend are sleeping on the couch. You will eat breakfast with four sets of daggers, formally known as eyes, silently burning holes through you. The silent treatment will be deafening.

You might imagine not getting much sleep and all the exciting reasons for it. It might be true in the beginning, but eventually you’ll sleep with one eye open from fear. Sleeping in one house with four women, twelve kids, four bathrooms, PMS, PTA, twenty knives and a poor economy is the stuff of nightmares. Bet you didn’t consider that at twelve.

I love my wife, all twelve of her, and I can’t imagine having thirty-six more of them. That is the single most confusing sentence I’ve ever written and the most mind boggling idea I’ve ever had.  

Kennesaw on facebook  

Freaky Feline Folks

Good, gracious granny, don’t get yer bloomers in a bunch until you read it all. Let me start by saying I like cats. That statement and the fact that no one knows where I live might save me. How about this statement? No cats, PETA members or Vegans, were hurt during the writing of this piece. I’m afraid that made it worse.  I know I’m treading in dangerous water, so it’s best to make my case and get it over with. I love cats and Vegetarians, they taste like chicken. The truth, I don’t like chicken.

There is a house on Star Island in Miami referred to as the Cat house. It is located two doors down from the 58 million dollar home of Doctor Phillip Frost and is worth about 22 million itself. I cannot for the life of me find out who the cat lady was or when exactly she died. I did, however, find a classified ad looking for people who love cats and who have impeccable references. The Crazy Cat Lady left her estate to her cats. Rumor is that 14 to 20 cats live in the lap of luxury at her estate and will continue to do so until they all die. Did this woman have kids? How do they feel about this?

Talk about going postal and having a valid reason to do so. Imagine waiting on cats day and night for minimum wage. Imagine watching your own children struggle with life, love and their education, while pampering a bunch of cats that have a better house, better food and possibly better heath care. The world is insane. I believe that someone must have dropped this Lady on her head as a child.

Alright now, let’s take a look at the stereotypical Crazy Cat Lady, sorry person. He or she must be near or above middle age and have very few friends. Their family must only talk to them out of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. They must have given up totality on the idea of ever finding Mr. or Mrs. Left, much less right. They must be able to carry on a conversation with any unsuspecting person who might wander into their house. All the while, keeping a straight face as the innocent person turns green from the smell of cat urine and other things we can’t mention here. Traveling salesmen, members of religious originations, census worker, social workers and people who work for charities, all fall into this list of unfortunate souls and are always welcomed at the Crazy Cat Persons house.

If you sell brushes, knives or vacuum cleaners and the door is opened wide when you knock. You are at the Munster’s or Adam’s family’s door, or in the movie Wrong Turn, worse you might be entering the house of a Crazy Cat Person. Your eyes will water, your nose hairs are about to be melted, and your nostrils are going to be assaulted like never before.

Did you know that John Lennon once referred to himself as The Crazy Cat Lady in disguise? He loved cats, his first was named Elvis. He once owned ten at one time and had one named Jesus. His favorite cat Alice quite by accident jumped from the window of their high-rise apartment and used up all her lives at one time. She died on the same sidewalk he would later die on. His son Sean said that the day of Alice’s death, was the only time he ever witnessed his father cry.

Recently federal charges were filed against the museum dedicated to Ernest Hemingway on Key West. In 1935, he was given a six toed cat by a sea Captain friend. He loved his cats so much that when he died he made provisions for them in his will. They will be cared for until the last one dies. At present there are somewhere near sixty living in the museum.

The six and seven toed cats, known as Hemingway’s cat are not actually a breed, but are genetically deformed. The US Department of Agriculture has decided that the museum no longer represents one of our most beloved writers, but has become a cat exhibition. What do they want? To impose regulations and charge fees. What else?

A Vet visits each year to administer shots. They say it’s hard to get all of them, as once you pop one, he tells the rest and so on. By the time you get to the last ones, they’re nowhere to be found.

Don’t confuse cat hoarders with those above. Animal Hording is a mental illness which is bad for the animals and people involved. The above people simply love cats. When I look in the mirror, I see The Crazy Cat Lady hiding inside me. I love cats and have cried at a few cat funerals. I dare say I will again.

I can't imagine a better place to be a pirate in the world.

Key West?

That’s right Key West has always had this nasty little question mark hanging off the end of it. I know I’m from Georgia, and I might be a little backward, but I never understood the name. It was about time to find out.

I’ve had a wicked sense of directions all my life and am just smart enough to believe that Key West is South. Turns out I was right; it is the southernmost city in America. If you want to live any further south you must make the next island hope, a mere 90 miles to Cuba. This move requires a passport, a good grasp of the Spanish language and a dog eared copy of the Communist Manifesto. So with all this, shouldn’t it be called Key South?

See it’s a legitimate question. Even the thickest country boy needs basic navigational skills to bass fish on his local lake. Surely most of us realize that Key West is one of the most easterly cities in America. If you want to move any further East, you must simply make a little 60 mile hop, and you’ll be in Freeport, Bahamas. Of course, you would need to speak Bahaman and become an instant Bob Marley fan. Well one out of two ain’t bad, and besides given enough beer, I can say mon with the best of em. Pay attention there may be a test, next question. Why not Key East?

I have had a few rough nights in my life, followed by a few rough days called hangovers. I have spent them looking for the exact location of the car, motorcycle or boat I was driving before developing said hangover. I cannot imagine what kind of hangover would cause a person to name the most southeasterly city in America, Key West. There I did it, I exposed my vast wealth of ignorance to the general public once again.

It’s a well known fact that when Columbus discovered America or more aptly South America, he thought he had rediscovered China. He and the Crown of Spain were quite proud of discovering a nation containing thousands of people which had been discovered many centuries earlier. I mean honestly, the Spanish discovered half the known world of the time, named it some of the craziest stuff imaginable and then traded it like baseball cards, and lost most of it.

Turns out a Spaniard named Key West, who’s surprised? The original Spanish name is Keyo Weso which means Bone Island. It was a communal cemetery for the local Indians and was literally littered with bones. The island was the westernmost Key with fresh water, and so the Americanized translation of its name actually makes some sort of sick sense. There at least I answered one of those stupid questions we all have and want to answer before we die. I’m working on why next.

The trip to Key West started at six a.m.. Well that would be my time, it actually started about six forty five a.m. which would be Mary Carmen’s interpretation of six a.m.. The trip down is about 150 miles and requires crossing tons of islands and bridges. There are many, vast three foot wide beaches interspersed between the hundreds of Lego houses stacked neatly on top of each other. Okay that was extremely sarcastic, while some of it is highly overdeveloped; there are plenty of beautifully well preserved places to enjoy.

Every three foot beach we passed was packed, and cars lined the road for miles, all parked on, near or under a sigh which said, No Parking. There were hundreds of people on a beach that would only hold twenty and only hold five of them comfortably. The other hundreds had to stay in the water while twenty stayed on the sand. To get out someone had to get in.

Every time you came off of one of the very scenic bridges you were on another island. One of the most impressive things, every island had its own welcoming committee. They sat there with their pretty blue lights preached atop their cars, just waiting for their opportunity to properly welcome you to their island. The highway was strewn with their buddies eagerly welcoming as many as possible. I found and took pictures of a three foot Iguana who decided he’d had enough and chased me for a while until I quit. Don’t you hate lizards with attitude? By the time, we returned home, I had driven four hundred miles on about fifty miles worth of cigarettes.

Now for the truth. I loved the Keys, the food was excellent, the atmosphere was superb, and the people were extremely welcoming. I can’t imagine a better place to be a pirate, in the world. If I ever come up with 7.3 million bucks, I’m buying that 400 square foot bungalow just down the block from the house which belongs to Hemingway’s cats.

 

I'd Rather Be At The Table, Than On The Table

 “Sometimes you eat the bar and sometimes the bar eats you.” Daniel Boone You can’t blame this one on me, even Daniel spelled em like he seen em.

Armed with that little piece, of what can only be described as Redneck wisdom we decided to take a trip to the Everglades on Memorial Day.  Our intended destination was Cooperstown Airboat Tours. I could hardly believe it was only twelve miles from our home in Miami. There is something unsettling about a city of 5.5 million and a swamp with over a million alligators and over three hundred thousand Pythons, sharing the same zip code. Like me, you probably imagined that, that only happened in Africa, Asia or South America. We were wrong.

Mama Elena, my mother-in-law was to accompany us on the trip. In her late seventies, her only fear was the sunshine we’d encounter. As we pulled from our driveway, Mary Carmen started the song and dance, necessary to pry the information needed from the dreaded GPS.

She placed the address into it, it asked the following question.

Why?

She tried again, it asked.

Where?

On the third try, it asked.

Why would you want to?

Don’t you hate a GPS with an attitude, I do, and there are two things I’m not interested in when heading out into a swamp full of critters higher on the food chain than I am. I want a nice, polite GPS, and more importantly an extremely well behaved boat. I don’t want to be goin off into what amounts to, the largest side salad in the world with a boat that was born and raised up north.

We arrived without the help of the GPS, wait, let’s give this dude a southern name. We arrived without the help of, Gomer Pointing South, and soon piled onto a big fat airboat. For those of you who don’t know what an airboat is, it’s an airplane in drag as a boat. It skims rapidly across the water and is only a thin piece of metal which separates you from being who you are or being a T bone with a Ceasar salad.

I imagine it was invented by a country boy who found a crashed airplane while hunting in the swamp, because we know a country boy can make anything out of bailing wire and duct tape. Adding a mangles airplane to his repertoire is like adding gravy to potatoes. There would have been no one there to claim the plane as they would have already been on the wrong end of a candle light dinner. Crashing your plane and ending up as supper on the same day just don’t sound fun.

Once upon a time, a Japanese Redneck, with a hangover knocked over a Suzuki motorcycle on the assembly line. To cover his mistake, he added two extra tires and the Suzuki automobile was born. Same thing with the airboat, it’s simply astounding what a redneck can do, with a boat, a twisted up airplane and a few cases of beer. Bill Clinton was president. Need I say more?

Soon we sat in the boat and stared into the eerie eyes of a Gator. It appeared glad we had arrived. The salad was already prepared; all the gator needed was for one of us, to fall in. Mama wasn’t too concerned, after all she would only be a rib eye steak, Mary Carmen would only be prime rib, but me, I’m a whole rump roast, complete with potatoes and carrots. Everyone knew I was the preferred meal and were properly relieved or terrified by that information.

We did survive and made it back. We then sat down to lunch at the Cooperstown restaurant. What did we have? You guessed it, gator stew and frog legs. Okay I must admit it, if no one had told me, I’d have thought the frog legs were the legs of malnourished chickens. Contrary to popular belief the gator tasted nothing like chicken, but was more akin to redneck lobster.

Maybe I should start a restaurant chain named Gator Gumps, on the sign would be a gator with a piece of grass in its mouth, he’d be wearing a straw hat and overalls while drinking a beer. He’d be cooking on a grill made from a piano, a satellite dish and a 1976 Pinto.

I sat there eating gator stew and being quite pleased with my place at the table.  I couldn’t help but wonder if it had come down in the gators favor, would I have tasted like chicken? Sometimes you eat the gator, sometimes the gator eats you. Sometimes the boat’s a boat, sometimes it’s a plane and other times it’s both and dances to, It’s raining men, by The Weather Girls.

Thanks to all the Veterans out there, America would not be what it is without you.

Capt'n Kenny

Capt’n Kenny

Kennesaw

Who hasn’t dreamed of being a Pirate? Did you know that Pirates were government sanctioned? That’s right they were called Privateers, and were hired to pillage and plunder other countries during war. When the war ended, they were essentially laid off. Of course, there were no government programs such as unemployment at the time, so they became Pirates. They then commenced to pillage and plunder on their own; hanging was the Pirates primary retirement plan.

Imagine a Pirate standing in line at the unemployment office.

“What is your employment history?”

“Well, I plunder, pillage, scare folks and generally say YARRRRGGGG a bunch.”

“It would appear you have few qualifications. About the only thing, I think you would be good at is being a politician.”

“YARRRGGGGG.”

Jimmy Buffett wrote one of the best songs ever written. A Pirate looks at forty. The cannons don’t thunder, and there’s nothing to plunder, I’m an over forty victim of fate. Arriving too late, arriving too late.

Well imagine my surprise to find out he was wrong. As most of you know, I try to keep a job as my writing doesn’t understand it’s supposed to support me, instead of my supporting it. This week I was hired as a first mate on a Pirate ship. The job requires that I do the typical first mate stuff. Cast off a line or two, help passengers on and off the ship, entertain the children, admire the mothers and try to keep the daddies from annoying either. I’ll need to point out notable attractions around Biscayne Bay and tell a few tall tales, I can certainly do that.

I must act and talk like a Pirate. Are you kidding me, I do that now, well if I’ve had a few beers or simply woke up in one of my strange moods. At the interview, I found out, I must dress like one too. Wait, how much do I have to pay to do all this? What, they pay me? I swear I’d do it for crackers.

I almost missed my calling. I get to dress funny, talk funny and in general act the fool. I been doing that all my life and on one has paid me to do it, so far. Who knew there was a job out there which required one to be a lunatic? I’m over qualified, remember I’m from Milledgeville, Georgia, affectionately named asylum city, I can’t fail.

Now for a little update on Miami. If you think you want it, someone is selling it on the sidewalk or in the median at red lights. You can buy tacos, burritos, quesadillas, rotisserie chicken, only here they call it pollo a la brasa, and it’s plumb yummy. There are newspapers, gym memberships and we must not forget drinks of all kinds. You can buy tickets to everything, give to a hundred charities, buy phone cards, and I imagine you could arrange a date pretty easily. There are no corners left for the homeless to use for panhandling. A bum better be pretty quick on his feet if he wants to survive here.

I bought a five buck hotdog from a vendor yesterday. I ordered it with mustard, catsup and onions. The vendor looked at me like I was speaking another language, which I actually was. What I got was a bun covered with pink sauce, whatever that is, cheese, bacon, onions and potato chips. I never found a hot dog, and I looked, but it was delicious.

I have seen four bicycles frames chained to bus stops. How can you strip a bicycle in broad daylight on a busy city street? Apparently it can be done. Imagine getting off the bus after a hard day at work to find a bicycle skeleton. The bicycle then becomes a lot like my writing. I’m carrying it instead of it carrying me. If you have a prosthetic leg, you better learn to dance with it. It’s harder to steal a moving target. Cyclists here know better than stop at red lights; instead they circle slowly until the light turns green. Twice I’ve returned home to find my drawers gone. I can’t imagine how someone stole them, or more importantly, why they would want to.

If you don’t learn to move quickly here, you will be perpetually in the right lane, you may lose a bunch of drawers or false teeth and bicycle parts don’t have a chance. I’ve managed to keep anyone from stealing my birthday, but of course, no one steals something you don’t want. The other day someone stole the taste out of my mouth, wait, I’m sorry I was eating at a soul food restaurant in Jersey.

Unwad your panties; I’m just poking fun at Miami. Miami has no more or less problems than any city its size, but it wraps them in such beautiful packaging. “The weather is here, wish you were.” Jimmy Buffett.

How to Survive in Miami and Other Foreign Countries

Kennesaw

I bet I have heard, welcome to Miami a thousand times this week. While a few were sincere, most were uttered sarcastically just after my expressing sticker shock over some extraordinarily high prices. We tried to rent an apartment before we got here, but many of the ads online seemed too good to be true. There were houses and apartments with everything you might want and need. Only problem, they all belonged to little old missionary ladies who only drove them on Sundays, before they were sent to Africa. “Just give me a credit card number to pay the $2000 bucks and you can move in.” I was born in Georgia, but not in Slingblade, Georgia.

So we decided to wait until we got here. To rent an apartment, you need a cosigner, great references and at least that same $2000 bucks. There are at least five middle men, sorry or women, who are all getting their piece of your pie. Every one of them is located at least forty blocks apart, and you must visit each one. Forty blocks of slow moving mind boggling traffic, I might add. When you finally make it through the process, you are taken to a one bedroom apartment that cost a $1000 bucks a month. The mailbox is beautiful, and it’s a good thing because it’s bigger than the apartment which just happens to come with it.

Everyone seems to be from another country or at least from a different ethnic background. They all have their own ideas, based on that background of where the best food can be found. So far they are all right. The food in Miami is unbelievable.

The traffic is crazy, you best have a loud horn and be ready to use it. You must also be prepared for others to blow at you for obeying traffic laws. The person behind you blowing the horn seems not to care that you are stopped at a red-light and behind several others who can’t move. Yesterday Ellie Mae and I made evasive maneuvers as a tractor trailer blasted its horns behind us. I was dismayed, Mary Carmen was frightened, and Ellie Mae was miffed. What passed us was a 1978 Pinto. It was three different colors, was missing a fender and had air horns attached to the roof.

The fast lane on I 95 means exactly that. You better have a car capable of doing over 80, or you best stay out of it. Moving from the fast lane is akin to landing a 747, the slow lane is like the fast lane during rush hour in Atlanta. You know that sound the tires make as a plane comes in to land?  Yeah you must come down from supersonic speed and move over into the next lane. You must try not to get run over by the faster cars behind you or the slower cars beside you. All the while you must be blowing the horn, performing sigh language and running through the American Sailors dictionary, end to end.  As you do all this, Ellie Mae is reminding you, she is just an old hoopty and Mary Carmen is chastising you for using colorful language, in Spanish.

I don’t care if you speak Spanish or not, you know when you’ve done something wrong. I learned quickly the two most important words any man needs to know. Si Bebe, which is the Spanish equivalent to yes dear, if you’re married, you better know these words. More importantly, you best be able to say them like you mean them. They say to learn a language quickly, you must be immersed in the culture, I am.

As with all large cities there are inherent dangers, but here they have a few extras not found in Atlanta. They have 20 foot Pythons and 11 foot Alligators, both of which are higher on the food chain than six foot country boys. Haven’t met any and hope not to, both make mugging attractive.

We did find a place, we are sharing a house with a delightful Cuban couple. They hardly speak English, but so what, I’ve been told I have the same problem. A properly placed look can convey you are using the wrong fork at dinner. A few Spanish words can convey you are in trouble for using colorful English words. The proper inflection can convey hospitality and warmth from those around you, even when they are in another language.

All jokes aside, I’m loving Miami, the food and weather are great. The bugs are organized, in the union and carry business cards so you’ll know who bit you, but they don’t eat much. The beaches and sunrises are spectacular. What more could a country boy want?

Oh yeah, go Heat, it appears there will be plenty opposing teams to make fun of here.