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Word of the Every So Often

nebbish:  (adj.)  a person, especially a guy, who is seen as pitiful, ineffectual, submissive, or overly timid; a pussy.  We always thought Carl was nebbish.  We never dreamed he’d actually kick somebody’s ass.

The Almost Daily

Aside from the Fourth of July, today is National Hillbilly Day!  Both holidays involve eating, drinking, and blowing things up.  Hey, it’s the American way.  The term “Hillbilly” dates back to the late 19th century.  “Billie” was a tradition Scottish-Irish name for a guy, somewhat like “Dude,” and if that guy lived off in the hills, he was a hillbilly.  Pretty straight forward.

 

Hillbillies, as we’ve come to know them, originated in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky and West Virginia, and found their way to Southwest Missouri and Northeast Arkansas.  These were simple folk.  Clay of the earth.  You know... morons.  Seriously?  Who hasn’t seen “The Beverly Hillbillies”?  Or the Vice President?  Nowadays hillbillies are pretty much mythical, only existing in places such as Silver Dollar City and nearby Branson, Missouri, where city folk come to get rid of their money.

 

The idea to have a day just for hillbillies was first kicked around in the 1930s by The Ozark Mountain Jubilee, a radio show (and later TV show) that made the term “hillbilly” popular.  The first Hillbilly day was celebrated on this day in 1971, down in Bentonville, Arkansas... home of Wal-Mart.  Like that comes as a surprise.  Apparently there are Hillbilly Clans.  It was two guys from Hillbilly Outhouse Clan #2 who first started observing National Hillbilly Day – Howard “Dirty Ear” Stratton and “Shady” Grady Kenney.  They were two Shriners who did it to raise money for crippled children.  Or maybe it was to build a library.  It’s kinda hazy.  Either one’s a good thing.

 

And finally, they call it “Moonshine” because they made it at night to avoid getting caught by the Revenue-ers.  So there you have it.  Enjoy the Fourth, and if you’re a Hillbilly, it’s the Daily Double!

Cartoon of the Week

15 One Carnation.jpg

One Carnation Under Cod

Stuff

Richard

 

I grew up with this guy named Richard.  He lived around the corner from me.  The thing I remember the most about Richard was that he was always coming up with get-rich-quick schemes, all the way back to junior high.  Probably even before that.  He’d be doing stuff like buying a pack of gum for ten cents and the trying to sell the pieces for a nickel each.  But then he’d be stuck with the pack of gum, because nobody was willing to pay that much for gum when other kids were giving it away for free.  And because it was against the rules to chew gum in class, he’d almost always get it taken away by some teacher who didn’t understand free enterprise, and even if she did, she wasn’t giving it back without a note from Richard’s parents, which wasn’t going to happen.

 

One time Richard convinced his parents to advance him a whole year’s allowance, with the promise that he’d never ask for allowance again, because he didn’t think he’d need to.  With that money he bought a riding lawnmower, planning on mowing lawns in the summer and plowing snow in the winter.  But the mower was a piece of junk.  Sure, the engine worked well, but the whole chassis was rusted out, and the first time he sat on it, it collapsed in a heap.  Of course, the whole project wouldn’t’ve worked anyway, because he hadn’t budgeted for gas.  Nevertheless, he was left with an engine, which he now planned on making into a mini-bike, which he could sell for twice as much as the riding lawnmower.  But that didn’t work, either.  Yeah, there were plenty of guys in the neighborhood who could’ve easily welded a frame for him, but none of them was willing to do it for free.  So in the end, he ended up selling the mower to Old Man O’Toole for something like ten dollars, who made it into a mini-bike and sold it for twice as much as the riding lawnmower had cost Richard.

 

It was in college that Richard hit his stride, so to speak.  Instead of living in the dorms or renting an apartment, like the rest of us, Richard got a loan from the bank and bought a mobile home.  His idea was that he could sell it when he finished his degree and come out ahead, because you’ll never get back your rent.

 

While he was living in his trailer, he got a pedigree Irish Wolf Hound.  It was huge even as a puppy.  His idea was to stud it out when it got older.  People are apparently willing to pay for such things.  But like two weeks after he got it, before the dog could completely destroy his trailer, it got out and ran out onto the highway.  Which is really sad, but that’s what happened. 

 

Then he got a pair of pedigree Persian cats with the idea of turning his back bedroom into a cattery.  The kittens they’d produce could be sold for several hundred dollars each.  After the first litter, it would all be profit.  Thing is, Persians are long-haired cats.  They require almost constant grooming, which is expensive, unless you do it yourself.  I’ll give Richard credit.  He tried.  But after about six months and two visits to the emergency room to sew up various slashes, he ended up all but giving the cats away.  There were no kittens.

 

Then he came up with the idea of buying Volkswagen Rabbit trucks.  He was convinced they were going to be best sellers.  Everybody would want one, so the price would only go up.  And he figured out a way to get them cheap.  If he bought three of them, they’d knock down the price considerably.  So he found two people – one of which was not me – to go in with him and buy a truck for well below retail.  If you’ve never seen one of these trucks, they’re little.  Really little.  No sooner did he have it in his driveway than his wife came up pregnant.  There’s barely room for two people in the truck, much less a car seat.  So he ended up selling the thing at a loss, which is just as well, because they never did catch on.  Probably because they had no power and the doors tended to fall off.  The other two guys, yeah, they lost out, too.

 

About that time Richard graduated, so he tried to sell his mobile home.  Thing is, there wasn’t a mobile home ever made that actually appreciated in value.  Add in the lot fees, the monthly loan payments, including interest, and the maintenance which you have to do if you own your own place, and Richard lost a considerable amount of money on the deal.  More than he would’ve paid had he rented, even renting a mobile home.

 

Last I heard, Richard had moved to his third house in like five years.  He was also on his third wife.  There may be a correlation there.  He’d buy an old, run-down house, move in, and then fix it up.  When he had it where it was almost comfortable enough to live in, he’d sell it for a slight profit, then re-invest the money in another run-down house in a slightly better neighborhood, move in, and start renovating all over again.  Eventually he hoped to have a really nice house in a really nice neighborhood that was completely paid for.  And then he could take all that money the rest of us were spending on rent or mortgage and invest it in God knows what.  And, I imagine, that’s exactly what he did.

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