Yes, Virginia, There Are Okies in Tuxedos

hog tux

First off, be advised that it was not easy for HOGS to get into that tuxedo at left OR to take a selfie while wearing it.

But it was all worth it.

Because I am now the proud owner of my first tuxedo.

Just like a grownup or something.

The return on investment is already awesome.

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The Day the Super-Cute Crack Puppies Turned Into Werewolf-Lion-Zombie Duck-Eaters

I swear I thought the Missus had said the doglettes did not mind the duck family that she had adopted, which have eaten my bread and shat on my driveway with abandon for a week.

Wouldn’t it be cute, I thought, to get the doglettes to walk near the ducks so I could take a lovely, inter-species family photo for this blog?

Oh Lordy. Lordy. Lordy.

This was so NOT a good plan.

The instant they saw the ducklettes, you would have thought these wee doglettes of mine were friggen saber toothed demon beasts from hell.

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Thanksgiving Thoughts From Down Under




I’ve been thinking about the Okie Thanksgivings of my youth in the 1960’s.

And Dying Down Here in New Zealand, where it is just not the same, turkey notwithstanding.

I really miss the “Turkeydays” of my youth, when you pulled the drapes shut tight to keep the bright sunlight out as you camped out in the living room, in front of the big, black-and-white TV, gorging on turkey and dressing and fixins piled THIS high on your TV tray.

Until you exploded.

Followed by punkin’ pie a la mode, watching Tom Landry’s Cowboys ALWAYS win, then, finally, undoing your belt, saying “waugghhhhh” like Buddy Hackett, and napping until dinner, the second NFL game, and the Charlie Brown TV special.

At least that’s what the menfolk did in the living room. I have no idea what the womenfolk did out in the kitchen. I guess they were eating and napping, too.


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A View on the JFK Assassination, 50 Years After, From an Okie Down Under

(Editor’s note: This is a serious blog post which was, of course, prompted by the 50th anniversary of the horrific assassination of the 35th President.)

I have not thought that much about the JFK assassination in the last 30-some years.

But when I was in my 20s, I spent untold hours reading dozens of books and papers on the assassination, and on the Camelot of Kennedy.

I even wrote a story about it for the student newspaper at the University of Texas at Arlington, after attending a many-weeks-long course taught by Jim Marrs.

Marrs was a former reporter with the Fort Worth Star-Telegram who became a prominent figure in the JFK conspiracy press. His book Crossfire was a source for Oliver Stone‘s film JFK.

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That Moment When…


Those Fatherly/Old Man/Okie moments when…

… You are informed that there was really no need to buy the expensive microphone stand to replace the one Junior lost, because at his birthday party he is reminded by a friend that the missing mic stand has been at his house for months…

… The sun is shining just right through the bathroom window to illuminate the white, three-quarter-inch Old Man Hair that has been growing out of your ear hole for who knows how long…

… Junior advises that the new Thor movie is now screening in Nu Zillans and you can go see it in approximately an hour, which rekindles the decades long Father & Son tradition and rebalances the universe…

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Scattershooting About Mason Jars, Eyebrow Threading and Chinese Weddings

masons jar ang pao Scattershooting while wondering about iced tea, Chinese weddings and why women pay strangers to rip hairs from various lady parts.

I do not recall any guy ever asking for them to do it. Perhaps this pay-for-hair-ripping thing is related to the requirement that lady lawyers painfully clomp around downtown carrying fat briefcases while balancing on stilettos.

Threading may also somehow be linked to eyebrow tattooing, which seems to be something women do after they have paid a stranger to rip out their standard issue hair so they can be tattooed with expensively perfect hairs made of ink.

I have yet to work out what hair-extensions are or how they work, exactly. I thought about asking once, being of the chrome dome persuasion. But I was scared off by the 6-4 inch, 300-pound, transgender Pacific Island hairdresser in our mall’s main salon. NTTIAWWT.

I also do not understand how alleged parents can walk around my mall, right beside their teen-age daughters who are dressed in skin-tight stretchy butt pants with matching cleavage tops. It is my view, this is why God gave fathers baseball bats.

But we digress. I am supposed to be scattershooting about Chinese weddings — not teenage butt pants — so I shall do just that, with the fervent hope that the Singaporean Missus does not read this particular blog.

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Halloween Memories Involving Orson Welles and the Great Pumpkin


I saw Christmas trees at the mall this week, so Halloween must be just around the corner.

When I was a kid growing up in Norman, I was actively involved in Halloween.

First in the cute, trick-or-treat kind of kiddie way, and then in the throw-eggs-and-be-a-ratbag-teenager kind of way.

As parents, we were never much into Halloween, although there was that one year in Houston.

The Missus got all creative with her sewing machine.

She labored late into the night for a week sewing up the most incredible Great Pumpkin costume of all time. Eli Pumpkin

Junior was the cutest thing ever!

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