A Funny Story

[DanG]

There's no doubt in my mind that laughter, indeed, is the best medicine.

I like the story about the young man from a large family. Every time there was a wedding, his old aunts would nudge him and tell him "You're next, heeheehee!". He finally turned the tables on them at the next funeral, with the same line. :D

[Bibbyman]

I worked close to Tommy for a number of years.  He is a short but muscular man about 5'8" and is of mostly Native American ancestry - one of the eastern "Civilized Tribes", as I remember.  But he always dressed in fashion of the Southwest with his cowboy hat, shirt and boots plus the required silver and turquoise ornaments. Kind of a 7/8 scale Roy Rogers.

He also fancied himself a horseman and would amuse us with one of his "close encounters of the equestrian kind" from time to time.  

One day he limped in to work all bunged up.  The story unfolded that he was going to catch his horse and lead it into the barn for some reason. But beings he couldn't find a proper lead rope,  he'd just use the 50' rope he had hanging handy on the wall.  But ... what to do with the excess rope?  He'd tie it around his waist and wrap it around and around to use up the excess.  

He caught the horse and all went well until he stepped past the barn door and onto his sleeping hound dog.  The dog yelped and then frightened by the sight of the horse over him, went for the horse.  The horse jerked free from Tommy and headed for greener pastures with dog hot on it's heels.  Out went any slack in the rope, then the rope uncoiled spinning Tommy to the ground.  Then Tommy did a quick but close inspection of the pasture for about 50 yards - taking sample of dirt and grass and leaving samples of cloths and skin along the way.  He literally "bit the dust" and it's a good thing that god protects fools and drunks because he could have "bit the dust" figuratively as well.

He had a way of breaking horses too.  One day he got his unbroken gelding up and got the saddle and bridal on it.  He led it out into the pasture and then blindfolded it with his cowboy handkerchief.  His wife held the horse by the bridal until Tommy got on.  Then by signal, she released her hold as he reached up and pulled the handkerchief loose.  Well, it almost worked.  It may have worked.  But while he was extended forward to remove the handkerchief,  the horse took its first lunge thus putting Tommy in uncertain control.  With the blindfold partially removed but partially effective,  the horse went flat out but not too far as there was this barbwire fence ahead.  The horse with Tommy ran full speed into the fence. As Tommy was also responsible for the construction of the fence,  it was none too good so down it went, down the horse went, taking Tommy with it.  They couldn't just fall over a fence, as on the other side was the road embankment.  They both landed at the bottom of the ditch tangled in barbwire.  Thus necessitating a trip to the ER for Tommy for stitches and X-rays and a visit from the Vet for the horse. :'(

[Bud Man]

Bibbyman  --That 7/8 scale comparison to Roy Rogers seems a might high !!   Think I might limit his equestrian effots to cleaning out the stalls--Just make sure the horse ain't around. :D :D

[Bibbyman]

The Caption Nemo stories reminded me of what happened to Bill a couple of years back.  You may remember the stories I told about Bill when he was a kid trying to knock down the snow fort with his head and trying to swing out from the top of one tree and land in another.

Well, he's in his 80's now and still not slowed down a bit.  In fact,  he would do a back flip on his birthday until on his 78'Th birthday when he twisted an ankle on the landing.  8)

Anyway,  he was out cutting firewood in the middle of the winter.  He has stopped his truck in a pasture along a fencerow he was clearing out.  He left it running and the manual transmission out of gear for some reason.  The truck set there all right for a little while but then started to slowly roll.  Although only a few steps from it,  Bill thought it would stop.  It kept rolling but there was a terrace only a few yards away – it would stop there.  Well,  it almost stopped.  Bill watched as it teetered on the crown and then started down the slope. He could have caught it but there was yet another terrace that would stop it.  But again it topped it and rolled on over.  The pond was below but it was frozen over.  Surely the truck would get stuck on the edge of the frozen pond. But it went out on the pond – still running.  The ice held – for a moment.  One wheel broke through, then another, then the third and last.  Then the whole truck went through. :'(

[DanG]

Bibbyman, ya done gone and stimulated my storytellin' juices, with yer story about the "horseman", and the guy named Bill. Well, I knew a "horseman" named Bill. He really weren't a bad horseman, but had sh*t for luck, if you know what I mean. Of course, he probbly was the instigator of his own luck, but that was probbly the unluckiest thing that could've happened.

One day, Bill was asked to help round up some rather wild cows on a little ranch, near here. They was in behind a little string of heifers, pushing them right along a little hedgerow. Ol' Bill was right between the hedge and a big power pole, at a brisk lope, when this ol' dog jumped out from under the bushes. Bill's horse shied, and ran right into the pole, which caused an immediate cessation of Ol' Bill's forward progress, that is, everything stopped except Bill's glass eye, which ain't been found, yet, and his dentures, which were found. Bill's buddy came back to check on him, and, not knowing about the false teeth, and the phony eye, and Bill laid out like a corpse, and all.......well, you get the picture. It weren't a pretty sight! For some reason, Bill ain't never been invited back for a roundup.

[Bibbyman]

Just to show a funny story does not have to be an old one:  

For the past couple of weeks we've seen this fat coyote mousen' down in the hay field below our house about every morning.  

Well,  son Chris was here this morning and Mary pointed the coyote out as she was making us waffles.  Chris had let it go a couple of time but I guess he figured the nasty old thing had kept him up one too many nights ??? so he slipped on his boots,  grabbed his model 700 BDL 7mm magnum out of the safe and "indianed" out the upper door.  Our earth contact house makes it easy to get on the roof and get a real advantage point on the valley below.   ;)

Mary continued making her waffles but kept a watch with me on the coyote about 150 yards below the house sniffing the grass and pouncing like a cat.  KrBoom! Went the 7mm.  The coyote kind of looked around and then went to sniffing again.  KrBoom! again and again the coyote looked around and did a little dance but went back to business.  KrBoom! once more and the dirt flew up just under or behind him.  He circled a bit and came back to where the dirt had been thrown up and sniffed at it.  KrBoom! the forth time and this time dirt exploded under the coyotes nose.  He leaped in the air and did a little circle and came back to sniff the spot.  He kind of looked around and decided "These mice must be exploding in this part of the field." and bounced his way back across the filed and into the rough.

The whole scene reminded me of the Steve Martin movie "The Jerk" where the guy was shooting at him from across the highway and Steve thought he was shooting at the oil cans.  "He hates these cans!" :D

[macurtis]

  I dont't know how funny my uncle thought this was at
the time, but I had a ride of a life time.  My favorite uncle
was Uncle Auther, could roll a Prince Albert cig.
with one hand in a wind storm. The doctors told Uncle
Auther that the cig's. would kill him one day, they did
when he was 98. Uncle Auther owned a dairy farm,
not very big, but could milk 8 cows at a time. I always helped him put the feed down in front of the cows. When they
stuck their necks through the slatted boards, I would
slide another board over and latch it. Uncle Auther always
told me not to spook the cows.  One day he went up to the
house to get something, I got to thinking like a rodeo cowboy
and decided to climb up and sit on one of the cows necks.
When I got on her neck every thing was fine until I goosed
her in the side. She jerked back, the other 3 cows jerked
back and ripped the complete stall out, when they did this
the other cows on the other side spooked and ripped the
other side out. Now here I was on the cow hanging on for dear life, and 7 other cows all trying to get out of the barn with
the stalls on theie necks. Needless to say but my favorite
Uncle appears in the doorway with this funny look on his
face, he asked what happened, I was trying to come up
with some bull---t story, he said he understood, we
gathered up every thing, fixed the stalls and went back
to milking. I will never forget my favorite uncle and the
times I had riding in his old Studabaker truck!!!

[DanG]

Mike, are you sure we ain't kin? That story could have been about my Granddaddy, 'cept for his name weren't Arthur, and he rolled Bull Durham with his left hand while drinking a cup of Nescafe' Instant with his right.  But he did have a small dairy with an 8 slot milking parlor, complete with the board stanchions, and he did have a Studebaker truck.  Small world, ain't it?

[Tom]

The past 3 days I have been sawing in the country around a bunch of "good ol' boys".  I first found myself having a conversation with the log owner after I set the mill up.  After about a minute of conversation I found that I was looking at the back of his head.  Hmm.... "What's he looking at while I am talking to him", I asked myself.  

Looking out over the cow pasture where He was looking I found nothing of particular interest.  There were no cows and only an occasional bird.  The grass looked no different than most grass I've seen and nothing was beyond but a bunch of trees.

Feeling a little rejected, I stepped closer and beside him, looking his way to determine if he was really talking to me or was his attention elsewhere.  Like the old skit of the fellow standing on the street corner looking into the air it was.  I felt a little stupid.

Directly, along came one of his friends.  Introductions were performed and  I began a lively conversation with him, glad to have someone to talk to.  Then I realized that he was looking out over the field too.  Shoulder to shoulder he stood with the log owner with me a half step behind.

Along came the son of the log owner and the same thing happened. Then came another friend, the brother and yet another friend.  In each case we all wound up side by side looking out over this field.  

Seven of us were standing in a line, talking and not one was looking at the other.  I tried, honest I did,  but it seemed that there was no interest in anyone looking at the other.

Is this a Rural thing?  I've seen farmers carrying on a conversation and, as memory serves, they were side by side.

Urban folks don't do this.  Is it because they have nothing to look at?  City folks act as if they are afraid to turn their backs,  Quite to the contrary they are usually in each other's face.

Have I discovered a never-before-found rural social etiquet?

[Bud Man]

Them rural folk are mighty keen in the Field of Animal Husbandry and bashful when it hit's close to home  :-[,  Did you check your Fly ?

[Jeff]

 :D :D

You would of thought one would say XYZPDQ!  :D

[CHARLIE]

Tom, there is a book out called "How to talk Minnesotan' and Public TV also made a short film of it.  One of the subjects is how these Norsky/German descendants carry on a conversation. The proper way to carry on a conversation is to face away from each other at a minimum of a 45 degree angle. Never make eye contact.  Now, this book is a spoof on Minnesota customs, but I've seen it all in action. :D  So, what you experienced is commonplace up here. Was your friends name Sven, or Olie?

I've also found that a lot of people don't like to look someone in the eye when talking to them. Have you ever noticed when you pass someone in a hallway or on the street, they'll look anywhere but at you.....and they'll avoid saying anything. I always make it a point to look someone in the eye (even if they're looking somewhere else) and I will always greet them or ask them a question to make them respond. Then they usually loosen up a bit. I usually excell at getting people to loosen up in elevators and waiting rooms. ;)  

[Bibbyman]

I've seen this kind of body language when around here but not so blatant.  The way I've encounter it was times I was in the part store and trying to get something to fix a problem.  There may be a guy setting at the counter not involved in the conversation but would interject some remedy while all the time looking straight ahead over the counter and not making any eye contact or gesture to introduce himself into the conversation.  Sometimes that was the extent of but other times the conversation pursued and then eye contact was made.

Another odd gesture around here but probably more popular out west is dropping to a squatting position to talk things over.  I remember one young man that was about 6-7 tall that would walk right up and greet you and then squat to and carry on a conversation. The cowboy way I guess.  :

[Tom]

I have not had too many experiences in the snow, or the cold for that matter, but, in Athens, Ga. in 1964, I found out what cold is.

I had a BSA 650 Golden Flash that I used for transportation.  It was a relatively heavy bike in comparison to most motorcycles of that day.  I was also racing motorcycles on a TT Scrambles circuit.  They don't do much of this today, favoring Motocross. Our tracks were in the country on private property and club maintained.  We were in a different town on most every weekend racing for trophies.  Our Club was the Cherokee Cycle Club and our track was on a farm in High Shoals, Ga. about 15 miles south of Athens.  (That was a trip to us )  

It was the dead of winter and a snow/ice storm had hit the area.  The wind was blowing, the roads were full of ice.  Slush and snow was everywhere and I was scheduled to work on the track.  A little weather wasn't going to stop me.

I left Athens with my heavy jacket, two pairs of pants work boots and a pair of fur lined gloves.  Down US 441 I went. The cars were sliding all over the place and there was so much water being thrown up that it seemed that it was raining.  My tires were kicking up ice and water from the ruts I was running in and it was freezing on my boots and back.

I arrived at the farmhouse about 8:00 am and was looking forward to a cup of hot coffee.  I stopped the bike, felt the ice break as I removed my feet from the pegs and found that I couldn't get my gloves off of the handle bars.  They were frozen tight.  I slipped my hands out of the gloves and strode up onto the porch where I removed my helmet.  It didn't want to come off because I found that there was a three inch thick sheet of ice connecting it, in the back, to my jacket.  I removed my jacket, that was a chore, and the helmet as one piece of clothing and left them on a chair on the porch.  Then I propped my boots up on the chair to take them off and found that I was encased in ice half way up my shins. The boots weren't coming off.

It was one of those "old timey", two story, farmhouses with a kitchen the size of most living rooms and a wood stove in the corner.  I was let in, given a large cup of coffee and sat down next to the wood stove with my feet underneath.  About 15 or 20 minutes later I was able to untie my boots and get them off.

Needless to say, it was too messy and too cold for us to work on the track.  The trip had made a believer out of me, and besides my clothes were wet.

I was given a ride home with another club member, who had showed up with his wife in their car, and went back a couple of days later and got my bike.

I was not the only one who rode his bike but I was the only one who had come any distance.  "That's dedication", they said.
"That's dumb", I thought.

[splinters]

Well boys, nobody knows me much yet cuse I'm new to the forum. Todays my first active day. Got my fall work most done, didn't have any winter to speak of right here, You boys in the UP got what we normally have, & to cold and wet to start  doing the spring stuff. I looked at the map and Jeff has my dot to far South. It needs to be about mid state.  Actually north east corner of Oneida Lake. On a map thats the big blue thing in the middle.  He's got me around Painted Post. Thats where the fellow was going to get rich growing barber poles. Crossed a Cherry and Maple tree with a corkscrew. worked out OK. Just peel the bark and cut to length. Went broke when the barbers died off and all the shops became hair saloons.  Now he's working on a replacement for the wiffletrees that all died from blight and caused such hardships among the Amish and Menonite communities.And other equine  persuits. He's going to cross ash with ironwood.Thought about the advantage of growing the parts with the hardware already on it. He's had some luck. If they grow individually, not in a grove, he can harvest singletrees. The long stems of course make a reach.

[Tom]

 :D Yeah, you'll be ok.

[Frank_Pender]

Yep, I think he will be ok too, Tom.  That is as long as a "single tree" don't "reach" out and get him. 8) :D 8) :D  Sometimes it si when you are truning and the "single tree" will not go in that Dang direction and "reach" for another.  But too it all depends on the Ge or the Ha you yelled first as well as the horsepower involved. ;)

[Gordon]

Another post I just did got me thinking about the things I did as a child and young adult. Well you know it seems you always had one friend that was just a bit slower than everyone else. He was the one you could convince into about anything. Or that, heck yea it's safe to do that Wes. We would but were going to let you go first.

Even as kids you know that there was a fine line between having fun and getting hurt. But Wes would try anything well almost anything. This one time we were all talking about running our bikes down the hill and jumping where the backhoe had dug a ditch at the bottom. We had even went as far as shoveling the dirt for a good entry ramp. But that was as far as it ever got was talk. The hill was steep and it would be a very long jump. On the other side was grass, but man oh man what a jump.

So here we sat at the top of the hill once again talking about "the jump" and then all of the sudden out of the blue Wes started pedaling down the hill real FAST. We just looked at each other in amazement. Then we yelled to him STOP WES STOP. He never let up, ZOOM off the ramp he went and up he went WAY up. It seemed like he was airborne forever. In the air he did fine the best looking jump I'd ever seen. He was nice and level.

But then came the landing he bounced, the handlebars bent down and tumbling he went. The bike went one way and he went the other. It wasn't pretty. For a brief moment we thought he was for sure dead. But the kicker of it was after a few sprawling tumbles he got up and was at running speed. He slowed down and turned looking back up at us---I'm ok I did it first I'm ok. A few small cuts was all and a bunch of grass stains on his clothes but thats all no broken bones or anything like that. I can picture it like it was yesterday.

Needless to say he was the first to jump what we called deadmans jump and was a hero in school for it.

Of course we couldn't let Wes beat us so we all jumped it as well within the next couple of weeks. Over time we all jumped it. When I went I wiped out, held it on landing but then went topsy turvy. Didn't get hurt but scared the heck out of me. (couldn't let any of the other guys know that though) Well over time as we got older it was no big deal to make that jump.

But you know something Wes was still the first to do it. I wonder what he's up to now.

Oh to be young and dumb
Gordon

[Corley5]

Bikes and ditches that brought back a memory.  West of mom and dad's house dad dug a drainage ditch.  This was to prevent the basement from flooding after the the new road was put in.  Anyway my cousin from Wis and his family were visiting for the day and he and I went for a bike ride.  It was just your average bike ride until we were in the yard west the house on the return trip.  I just automatically headed for the north end where it was shallow.  Cuz didn't follow me.  When I realized what he was doing it was too late.  I yelled a warning but he ran smack in to the ditch.  Over the handlebars he went and then tumbled several times.  It bent the forks and rim on the bike and he got scratched up pretty bad from the grass stubble.  After some sniffling he was fine :D

[Bud Man]

Welcome aboard Splinters, seems like you got your merit badge in BS and will fit in well. Probably give some of these Yahoos a run for their money. All my stories on the other hand are the Gospel and don't need any challenging.  As for the WES fellow Gordon mentioned, I think he changed his name to Kinevel, Think I've seem him on TV.

[splinters]

Remember them bikes well. single speed-balloon tires- coaster brakes-rode everywhere-was that or walk. only problems were a couple of crabby perple who didn't want us on their lawns, and the big kids with the cars who tried to make you think they would clip you as they drove by.

[splinters]

Well Boys. Thinking and writin bout bicycles got me to thing on my mis-spent youth didn't have a lot of adventures and such. to busy tryin to make a buck. Them days that took about an hour at prevaling wages.
 Had a job for a while for a guy sharpening postholes. Seems that his name was Bill C.  Smith. This fella had a farm on good bottom land but just got tired of  going broke farming. Thought about that bottom land, and went out and got some topsoil.  Just spread it out over that bottomland. Left about two feet between them.  After the whole thing set up for a while, went out and commenced to cutting chunks out of it. With that good bottom and nice top the space in between made a nice hole.  The first batch came out so good that he got topsoil from a hill to make holes of different depth.You know, shallow for mailboxes and bean poles, deep for the power and phone.
When I was there he had a deal with one of the farm supplies.  They gave a free hole with each post.  But the posts were pointed and wobbled in the flat bottom holes, so I had to make the hole fit the point. He got the idea to try to line the holes for swampy places but the technology of the time wasnt up to it. The  best he could do was a fur lining.  Sold them at Christmas for chimneys to make it easier for Santa. Then some big outfit bought him out. Were going to make machines to do what he did by hand.  Mostly wanted the lining research. After a long time they finally got it all together and started to market a product. Started with a steel lining and now moved into plastic. There's must be millions of feet of this stuff out mow.
They was so greatful that they named the stuff  after Bill.
 Used his middle name. Bill Culvert Smith

[DanG]

 :D :D :D

Goodun, Splinters. I see where you got yer nickname, now. Them posthole splinters are hard ta git outta yer fingers.  Did ya ever sharpen the wrong end? I hate that! Make's them hard to find. : : ???

[Jeff]

Splinters, sumpthun tells me I will be needing these more often now that yer a member.

If anybody feels the need to borrow these in the future, feel free...

[Bud Man]

That feller has definately got a gift for gab, no doubt he can give some of you BS'ers a run for the title of Royal BS'er......ain't nothing like a good yarn !! ;)