Q. What do you get if you pour hot water down a rabbit hole? A. Hot cross bunnies! Q. What do you call a rabbit with fleas? A. Bugs Bunny! Q. Why shouldn’t you tell an Easter egg a joke? A. It might crack up! Q. How did the soggy Easter Bunny dry himself? A. […]
memoir
Ten Commandments Especially for Us
The Gospel According to Daddy
Daddy was “the Boss.” God put him in charge, so we didn’t have to worry about what God wanted. If we had any questions, we could go straight to Daddy. He always had a Bible verse at the ready to back him up, if needed. Most of them sounded suspiciously fresh-coined and self-serving, lacking book, chapter, and verse. Not having memorized the entire Bible, it was hard to prove they didn’t exist, like the one that forbade men to milk cows, “You cannot take what you cannot give.” Please. You didn’t have to be a heathen to see through that one. Actually, Daddy anticipated our needs, requiring no effort on our part. Permission to visit a friend, attend a school activity, or socialize had to come from Daddy.
Well, this is not strictly true. Mother was free to say, “No” any time she chose. The answer for visiting or socializing was easy. “No. You don’t need to go. Tell so and so they can come here.” “No you can’t go to that party. You don’t know who will be there.” Or even more emphatically, “NO! ………..will be there!”
School activities were usually okay in theory…… 1. If we weren’t grounded. 2. If one of the other kids in the family wasn’t grounded. 3. If nobody in the family had C or lower on their report card. How often would a family with five kids not have at least one doofus with a C or lower on their report card? This ruled out most opportunities to attend school activities, and “It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t have even have had to ask.” Of course, the answer was “No.”
School dances were off limits. We were Baptists, and at that time, in addition to preaching the Ten Commandments, Baptists preached against dancing, drinking, and wearing shorts. Even asking to go to a dance was a sin. The sermons didn’t hold the other Baptists back, Daddy always made sure we didn’t do those things expressly preached against. I didn’t have too much trouble with the Ten Commandments, never having coveted my neighbor’s wife, committed adultery, and so far hadn’t killed anyone, but I wanted to go to dances. There was no commandment forbidding dancing, but dancing would have incited lust. If Daddy had bothered to check out the kids we went to school with, he wouldn’t have worried too much about lust. Most kids were hayseeds, skinny, pimply, and inbred. In the early sixties, we had no access to mind-altering substances to make us look better to each other.
In the unlikely event everyone had perfect grades, the activity didn’t break a commandment, and our plans could still wash out at the last minute if Daddy was in a bad mood, or one of the neighbor’s kids had behaved outrageously, causing Daddy to require us to be a perfect example. In addition to the opportunity to provide a perfect example, we got to stay home and luxuriate in the added bonus of their lecture by proxy.
As all parents do, Daddy invoked his miserable upbringing, replete with selective memories, to reinforce whatever point he was making at the time. If he needed to point out we were being selfish, “Once we went three days with nothing to eat!” If Mother didn’t want to make ice cream, “One thing we could always count on. Mama always made ice cream on the Fourth of July.” He looked injured and almost tearful. He wanted dessert after every meal. “My mother made a cake every day.” He may have thought I wasn’t listening, but I pondered every word in my heart. The next time he rolled out, “Once we went three days without eating.” I shot back, “Why didn’t you eat one of those cakes your mama made every day.” I got a quick lesson in the difference in smart and smart-aleck and secondly “silence would have been golden.” My life would have been so much easier if I had just followed these commandments.
Commandments
I. Thou shalt not do anything without my approval. This includes failing to anticipate what I might want you to do or having to be told twice. God help you if you anticipated wrong. There is no recovering from that. About fifty-percent of the time, I’d say, “I thought you would want………” with the resulting reply, “That’s what you get for thinking.” Growl, growl , growl, growl, growl.
Approximately forty-nine percent of the time, I’d defend myself by saying, “I didn’t think…….” To which the response w.as
“If you aren’t going to think, you might as well be alike on both ends. Growl, growl, growl, growl, growl.”
If there appeared to be no retribution headed my way, my eyes glazed over with the first growl.
About one percent of the time I didn’t mess up.
II. Thou shalt not sass. Sassing includes anything from actual speech to questioning authority.
Sassing meant failing to say, “Yes sir” or “No sir,” eye-rolling, or being sullen. One should snap into a jolly mood as soon as punishment was complete show appreciation for discipline. Sometimes, I had a little trouble with this one.
Obstinance could be anything from pouting (sticking one’s lip out and refusing to speak), eye-rolling(God help you), to disputing his word. (But I didn’t leave the gate open, whether you had or hadn’t.)
III. Thou shalt not think bad thoughts. Bad thoughts included harboring anger toward parents, thinking of doing something wrong, or keeping secrets. If I knew one of my siblings had done something wrong, I was as guilty as they were if I didn’t tell. If he knew I knew Billy stole a gumball, I got my rear whipped, too, when the truth came out.
IV. Thou shalt not ask to do things. School dances, wearing shorts, causing boys to lust (this was never a big problem for me) or asking to stay over with friends could get you quite a lecture. If other kids got in trouble and he learned of it, they got lectured by proxy. I guess we were free to pass it on if we wanted. He assumed every kid who got in trouble was our dearest friend.
V. Thou shalt not be lazy. There were cows to be milked and hogs, chicken, and other livestock to be fed daily. Then there was the seasonal work; haymaking, clearing land, piling and burning brush. Daddy was generous toward his women-folk. There was no work they couldn’t do. Daddy and my brother couldn’t do “women’s work.” It was demeaning, fit only for women. Doing men’s work improved women and kept them humble.
VI. Men shall not milk cows. Thou canst not take what thee cannot give. The Chapter, Book, and Verse of this injunction was never sited. Daddy just knew it was in the Bible somewhere. He couldn’t risk messing up on this one.
VII. Thou shalt not be trashy. This one was directed to women and girls who without his guidance, have flaunted themselves. They must wear knee-length dresses and not flirt or do anything to make the neighbors think ill of Daddy. The worst insult he could hurl at a girl was “fix your clothes.” God forbid, at best, a girl’s dress was over her head, or at worst a girl might have humiliated him by intentionally soiling her skirt, a premeditated insult to his dignity.
VII. Thou shalt never utter sexual innuendoes or dress in a way that would lead any man or boy in considering you in a sexual context. This would be the ultimate insult to his dignity and authority.
VIII. Thou shalt not be trashy. This embarrassment is the worst a man can suffer, trashy women in his family.
IX. Thou shalt be grateful thee has a father to raise thee right. Thee would be in the street if he weren’t here to guidetelling ten commandments thee.
X. Thee should always come to me with thy problems. (Fat chance)
Easter with the Family
I am the barefoot girl standing in the back row. Mother made me wear a dress, since it was Easter. By the time this photo was made, I’d been playing football with my cousins. Two buttons were missing from my new blouse, finished it only that morning. The hem of my skirt was dragging. Needless to say, Mother was not pleased.
Eater egg hunts with my cousins were a lot more like cage boxing than gentle competitions. I am sure I fit right in. I had more than forty first cousins, mostly wild animals. By the time my aunts and uncles herded them to the scene of the
crime, they just opened the car doors and all Hell broke loose. Exhausted from defending themselves and the babies on the ride over, it was every man for himself. God help anybody in the way.
They’d rip through the house under the guise of needing the bathroom and a drink of water, destruction in their wake, before being cast out into the yard like demons into swine. Actually, they were cast out onto the other cousins. We’d get a baseball or football team going, all the big kids on one team, so the little ones never got a chance to bat, or got mowed down in football. They’d go squalling in to their nosy daddies who’d come out long enough to straighten us out a vague semblance of fairness, often lingering to play a while.
Once the egg hunt started, it was chaos. It was survival of the meanest, shoving kids down, stomping eggs little ones dropped, squalling, and even a few bloody noses. Crazy Larry kept trying to pee on us while we were distracted. One aunt in particular didn’t think her big kids ought to have to share at the end of the hunt, even though they had twenty eggs and babies had none. “They found ‘em!” It didn’t matter that she’d only brought a dozen eggs to the hunt.
Ah, family. Better get busy. I have company coming. But not Crazy Larry. He’s in the witness protection program.
The Easter Bunny
Easter horror story from Hugh
The Great Cow Hoist

The above picture is not me. I would never have smiled while I milked.
There has been an ongoing argument between Connie and Marilyn for years. At the risk of alienating one of my sisters, as a true witness, I feel obligated to set the record straight. Mother was there as well, but everyone knows how ditzy she is. Additionally, she tries to be impartial, so she sees the story both ways, depending on which sister is putting the most pressure on her at the time.
To begin with, milking the cow was the most universally hated job in the household, palmed off on whichever God-forsaken soul who had the least excuses and broke first. Of course, neither Daddy nor my brother could milk. It was a Biblical injunction, book, chapter, and verse known to Daddy alone. “Thou canst not take milk if thee cannot give it.” I never heard this verse quoted by another and seriously doubted its existence, but if it was good enough for Daddy, by golly, the lowly women in the family were stuck with it.
Mother was stuck with milking in the morning on school days due to the amount of time involved in de-manuring required before school. As much as she hated milking, she didn’t want to get notes from school, “Your daughter comes in reeking of cow s__t!”
There was no salvation for us on evenings, weekends and holidays. “I’ve milked all week. Now it’s your turn!” Eventually, Phyllis and I fought it out. I grudgingly took mornings since I got up earlier and preferred to get the evil deed over with. She took evenings. It was horrible! First of all, milking involved wading manure and mud to lure the cow to the least manure slopped area. We never had a milking shed with fancy mangers to fasten the cow’s head in while they eat their grain. I suspect there was no Biblical injunction preventing construction of a milk shed or manger, just unconcern on Daddy’s part, since he didn’t have to worry about getting hooked or the weather while milking. Milking, standing in mud and manure, with freezing rain running down my collar was my personal favorite. I feel sure all that rain that ran off the cow’s back must have greatly improved the purity of the milk.
To the best of my recollection, I never milked a constipated cow. Invariably, Bessie or Star would feel the urge as soon as I got started. In the event she was a little slow getting started, I could always content myself with being slapped with a tail caked with dried manure left from the last episode. Just so you know, personal hygiene is not high on a cow’s list of priorities. The milker could count on several solid tail slaps while milking, in addition to being stepped on if one is not good at following the cow’s lead.
Enough bragging. On the day of the Great Cow Hoisting, there was no milking involved. Mother had dragged me out to help her separate the cow and new calf who had escaped his pen to join his mother in the pasture. For your edification, I’ll explain. The cow and calf had to be separated all day to keep him from stripping her of all the milk that he felt was rightfully his. He got to spend a few minutes with her twice a day to nurse after milking, when the milk from one udder was saved for him. Afterwards, the cow turned out to pasture leaving the calf penned up.
Connie and Marilyn were standing nearby. As the cow ambled by, she turned her head to the side, hooking Connie’s shorts. Surprised to find herself burdened with a little girl, she lowered her gently back to the ground, setting her on her feet.
30 Funny Short Jokes That Are Guaranteed To Make You Smile
Reblogging gged
Relationships are a lot like algebra. Have you ever looked at your X and wondered Y?
Source: 30 Funny Short Jokes That Are Guaranteed To Make You Smile
Flip Side of a Coin
Waiting to see a doctor can be tedious or fascinating depending on the humanity sharing that space and moment. One one recent visit, I waited with an open lively, old woman and her young granddaughter as well as a geriatric couple. The wife was obviously fatigued by the demands of caring for her husband who suffered from advanced Parkinson’s Disease. He had such a pronounced tremor, he had to clasp his hands on his knees to come control the shaking.
Bored, we all sat as though mesmerized, zoned in on a commercial featuring a cow when little Susie, the granddaughter asked Granma if she’d ever milked a cow.
“I milked me many a cow!” She laughed. “Why, one time when I was about your age, I was a’staying with my granpa and he set me to milking. A big ol’ hog slipped up to that cow on the other side and he was a’sucking that cow’s back titty while I was milking the other side. I was just a’laughing, but didn’t stop my milking. Granpa heard me laughing and knowed what happened and came in and run that ol’hog out. Grandpa said that ol’ hog tricked him and stole milk that way many a time.”
She had the complete attention of all those waiting as she finished her tale. Meanwhile, the man had taken advantage of his wife’s distraction to attempt to pick his nose. He was intent on the task, made more difficult by his tremor. Using both hands to guide his finger to his nose, he’d almost completed his mission when his wife whirled and caught him about to claim his prize. Disgusted, she slapped his hand away.
I loved the the old lady’s story while I felt bad the old man had to live that way. They were the of an age but their situations were so different.
How People REALLY Decide to Buy Your Book…
Reblog of a great article
Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog
To read this highly informative article by Tucker Max,
including a great Infographic,
click on the link or image below:
how-people-really-decide-to-buy-your-book
….and she carried her poop in her purse while on date
Just so you know, I never did this
[Dear readers, I apologize for publishing this cheap and nasty story that has recently gone viral on the web. But when I am working on educating men, I had very little choice to make]
A recent internet story that went viral on social media was about a woman carrying her poop while on date. The story, as revealed by her tweets goes as follows –













Looks like it does happen to other women as well.

Soon she was a celebrity, a hot girl…..

…and then comes her publicity stunt…

Moral for guys –
- Never try to see what’s there in a woman’s purse. You may end up finding her poop.
- Know your date and what’s hiding behind that innocent / hot / sexy look.

