Miss Laura Mae’s stories always held my interest, though they certainly weren’t intended for my ears.
“The twins come about a month after Floyd left. To tell the truth, I was kind of glad he wasn’t there to get me “that way” again right off the bat like he done before. They was a few weeks early, so I was up all hours of the day and night a’nursing ‘em. Floyd’s mama, Miz Barker was gittin’ kind of childish, so I brung her to come stay so I didn’t have to try to watch her, too. Turns out, she was purty good help, a’rockin’ one of them babies all the time instead o’ tryin’ to run off all the time. Seems like it kind of settled her. She was a sweet ol’ lady.
The garden was a’comin’ in an’ we had plenty to eat without buyin’ much groceries. Miz Barker, Floyd’s mama told me I could git her pressure cooker to do the cannin’ and that shore helped, not havin’ to worry about my beans and tomaters goin’ bad no more. I had got a check or two, so I was able to get a kerosene stove and git rid of that ol’ wood stove. I got Joe Smith to set it up out in the yard so I could do my cannin’ on it. It shore was better not heatin’ the house up.
I had always took in ironin’ at a nickel a piece to help us over times when Floyd was drinkin’. I was real careful to go straight an’ pay on my grocery bill soon as I got paid so Floyd couldn’ git in my ironin’ money. Sometimes that was all that was comin’ in. I got Betty Lou, Myrt, and Glomie started ironin’ as soon as they was tall enough. I tried to let’em keep a quarter a week of the ironin’ money when I could. I’d let ‘em play about an hour after school, then soon as they was through with their homework, put ‘em to ironin’. We’d all listen to the radio while we was ironing long as the batteries lasted. Purty soon, they was savin’ their part of the ironin’ money for batteries.
Things was good till Jody got burnt. He follered Jimmy out to burn to trash and caught his clothes on fire. He was burned bad all over his back, big ol’ blisters everwhere. Doctor Garnett come out to see him and gave me some salve and pain syrup and told me to keep them burns covered. He couldn’t say if Jimmy’d make it or not. It was right in the heat of the summer. Pore little Jimmy suffered so. I had all I could do takin’ care of him and them babies. I don’t know what I’d a done without Miz Barker a’rockin ‘em like she done. With Jimmy so sick, I couldn’t nurse ‘em all the time like I needed to, so I got ‘em on the bottle some to help out. Mr. Jones down at the store let me run my bill up purty high a time or two when I had to keep Carnation Milk without complainin’ a bit. The girls kept right up with the ironin’, never passin’ a word when I couldn’ give ‘em nothing.
My sisters Oly and Ory helped the boys keep the garden goin’ and when it come in, they done most of the cannin’, leavin’ me to take care of Jimmy and the babies. Bessie an’ Joe Smith took to milkin’ the cow in the mornin’ so I didn’t have to get up before daylight after being up so much at night. I don’t know how I’d a’made it if I hadn’ had all that help. In a month or so, Jody was doin’ purty good. By that time, I had them babies purty much on the bottle, and I was able to pick my work back up. I don’t know what I’d a’done without good neighbors, but I was so glad when I could pick my ironin’ and my garden back up and take care of my own young’uns. I was proud for the help, but ever’body needs to make their own way and not be worryin’ other folks.
I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife that I had a drinking problem, and to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else. I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task.
I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.
I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank.
I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank.
I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank.
I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass.
I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour.
When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank.
I’m not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I’m not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I don’t know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.
…. spending so much of his free time in the local bar, so one night he took her along with him. “What’ll you have?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. The same as you I suppose,” she replied. So, the husband ordered a couple of Jack Daniel’s and threw his down in one shot.
His wife watched him, then took a sip from her glass and immediately spit it out. “Yuck, that’s TERRIBLE!” she spluttered. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff!”
“Well, there you go,” cried the husband. “And you think I’m out enjoying myself every night!”
The man downed it with one swallow, put a five dollar bill on the bar, and turned and rushed out of the bar.
The bartender picked up the five dollar bill, and folded it carefully and tucked it in his vest pocket.
Just at that moment he looked up at the boss standing in the doorway staring at him.
Doing a bit of fast thinking he said, “Hi boss, did you see that fellow just now? Came in here, bought a double martini, gave me a five dollar tip, and rushed out without paying.”
So, the bartender does just that, and hands the man the bill. The drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender slaps the guy around a few times then throws him out into the street.
The very next day, the same drunk walks into the bar and once again says, “Bartender, buy everyone in the house a drink, pour yourself one, and give me the bill.” The bartender figures that he can’t possibly be stupid enough to pull the same trick twice, so he gives him the benefit of the doubt. He pours a round of drinks for the house, has a drink himself, and hands the drunk the bill.
Again, the drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender can’t believe it. He picks the guy up, beats the living daylights out of him, and then throws him out into the street.
The next day, the same drunk walks back into the same bar and says, “Bartender, buy every one in the house a drink and give me the bill.”
In disgust, the bartender says, “What, no drink for me this time?” The drunk replies, “Nope! You get too violent when you drink.”
Myth #1: The Guinness served in Ireland is different to the rest of the world
Actually, the Guinness served in Ireland is most likely the same as that served in Boston or Berlin. However, many people will attest that Guinness simply tastes better in Ireland, which is why the myth spread. There’s a certain amount of sentimentality in this myth, but when you dig into it, most of the reasoning is pretty circumstantial.
There are a few reasons why it may taste better in Ireland – most likely freshness and rapid keg turnover (a pub in Dublin will serve the freshest Guinness in the world) – but the actual product is not any different to the black stuff served around the world. Also, a Guinness drinker in Ireland is guaranteed to have their drink poured correctly in Ireland than in some parts of the world, which will have an impact on the quality of the experience.
Myth #2: Lite beers will help you lose weight
On average, a lite beer will have 90-100 calories, while a regular beer might have under 200. In the grand scheme of things, lite beers will contribute very little to your dietary goals, and considering their typical lack of taste, you’d be better off drinking one or two regular beers.
Myth #3: Dark beers are stronger in alcohol
The color of beer has no relation to its alcohol content. For example, Guinness, one of the most popular dark beers has an alcohol volume of 4.2%, while several light-colored Belgian beers have alcohol content of 8%+.
Myth #4: Corona beer contains urine
This was a nasty rumor claiming that Mexican brewery workers were relieving themselves into the beer. Allegedly, the rumor was spread by a Heineken distributor and was only refuted following a lawsuit by Corona.
Myth #5: Imported beers are stronger than American beers
Traditionally, American beers measure their alcohol content by weight, while many other countries (across Europe and in Canada) measure by volume. The alcohol by weight figure will always appear lower than the alcohol by volume – for example, 4% ABW = 5% ABV, hence the myth creation.
Myth #6: Beer should be served ice-cold for best flavor
This is an unfortunate myth perpetuated by the major commercial breweries – especially for their lite beers. The fact is, flavor typically diminishes when beer is served ice-cold. It may make for a thirst-quenching, refreshing beverage, but often bears little resemblance to traditional beer. Several beers are, in fact, best served much closer to room temperature or slightly cool and are considered undrinkable when icy cold – such as Guinness and many of the traditional English ales.
Myth #7: The best beers have green bottles
Another myth that circulated imported beers. Brown glass is the best color to protect beer from light, which is why most beers are bottled with it. A shortage of brown glass in Europe during the last century led to many breweries using green glass to bottle their beer – therefore, green bottles represented imported beer for many years and people incorrectly assumed the color indicated a better beer.
Myth #8: “Beer before liquor, never sicker – liquor before beer, in the clear”
This is common drinking advice shared but not scientifically true. In reality, alcohol is alcohol, and the overall quantity you imbibe will determine your resulting (in)sobriety or hangover. Drinking beer before drinking hard liquor may prolong the onset of inebriation. However, it won’t ultimately matter whether you drink beer first or last; it’s the quantity of alcohol that does the damage.
Myth #9: You can’t get a hangover from drinking organic beer
If only being eco-friendly was this rewarding! This myth is based on the idea that organic beer is cleaner or purer than other beer, but there’s no existing proof that it manages to avoid giving hangovers when consumed in sufficient quantities.
Myth #10: Beer will raise your cholesterol levels
Beer actually contains no fat and no cholesterol! Perhaps this is one reason that Guinness was originally advertised as good for your health.
Myth #11: A good beer must be high in alcohol
Many people unfairly associate low alcohol with low flavor. There are plenty of poor quality beers that are high in alcohol content, and the opposite is also true. Some of the famous Belgian and German beers have traditionally high average alcohol content – perhaps 8% or 10%. However, the alcohol content is only one feature and doesn’t necessarily account for the good taste. In England, many of the best mild ales have alcohol content of 4% or less – resulting from a higher tax on stronger beer. Of course, the advantage is finding good-tasting, lower alcohol beers is that you can drink more of it!
Myth #12: Beer kills brain cells
Possibly the most damning of all beer myths, and we’re happy to explode this for you. An Australian study has determined that beer is not responsible for killing brain cells as was once thought
Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England (and the English know their beer!)
A handful of 7 year old children were asked, ‘what they thought of beer.’ Some interesting responses, but the last one is especially touching.
Tim- ‘I think beer must be good. My dad says the more beer he drinks the prettier my mom gets.’
Melanie – ‘Beer makes my dad sleepy and we get to watch what we want On television when he is asleep, so beer is nice.
Grady – ‘My Mom and Dad both like beer. My Mom gets funny when she drinks it and takes her top off at parties, but Dad doesn’t think this is very funny.’
Toby – ‘My Mom and Dad talk funny when they drink beer and The more they drink the more they give kisses to each other, which is a good thing.’
Sarah – ‘My Dad gets funny on beer. He is funny. He also wets his pants sometimes, so he shouldn’t have too much.
Lilly – ‘My Dad loves beer. The more he drinks, the better he dances. One time he danced right into the pool.’
Ethan – ‘I don’t like beer very much. Every time Dad drinks it, he burns the sausages on the barbecue and they taste disgusting.’
Shirley – ‘I give Dad’s beer to the dog and he goes to sleep.’
When my Grandpa Roscoe and his brothers were young, they never missed the rare opportunity to attend a dance or church social, no matter how hard they’d been working on the farm. They’d work like mad all week to get through in time to ride out to any barn-dance,corn-husking, or hoe-down set for Saturday night. One fine evening, his brother George was laid up with a broken leg, so Grandpa slipped off in George’s brand new boots, reckoning he’d cut a much finer figure in them than in his old brogans. After all, there was no reason the boots should miss all the fun. The rest of the boys piled in the wagon, riding off into the night, bound for a rollicking good time. This left the sorrowful George at home with Ma, Pa, and the young’uns.
Roscoe danced every dance, not leaving out a girl between eight and eighty, who’d allow herself to be jollied around the floor. His good time was reinforced by the jug he and his brothers had thoughtfully hidden beneath the hay in their wagon. After all, the horses knew the way home and they didn’t have to work tomorrow. George’s boots were feeling tight, but so was he, so he wasn’t in too much pain right then. It was two-thirty before they left, long after the last ear of corn was husked, the last girl rounded up by her pa, and the last note of banjo and fiddle music drifted to the rafters. The boys piled into the wagon, gave the horses their head and slept their way home.
By the time they got the horses settled in and were headed for their own beds, Roscoe’s toe, freed of the agonizing tight boot, was screaming its complaints. Likely, his decision-making wasn’t the best that night, but he got out his pocket-knife and whittled his in-grown toenail, making the problem exponentially worse. He wrapped the agonized toe in a rag soaked in high-alcohol liniment Ma had bought from a traveling snake-oil peddler the week before. Then he propped his foot on a chairback high above his head, and lay on the hearth, before the fire to soothe its throbbing. Finally comfortable, he nodded off.
Aware of the smell of smoke, and fearing he had died and gone to his reward for dancing and drinking, he awoke to find a spark from the fireplace had ignited the rag on his toe. Dancing a wild jig, he struggled to rip the flaming bandage from his torch of a toe. Never mind about music or a partner!
The Austins lived just across the pasture from us. Jody Austin “drank.” In our neck of the woods, “drinking” meant a man was disreputable, deprived and likely beat his wife and children, probably didn’t hold a job, and likely was prone to violence. It sounded a lot like today’s alcoholic. Jodie qualified magnificently. It was rumored that he had shot a man in a bar. Folks left Jody alone. Every Saturday night Jody hosted his “drinking” buddies for a binge. The festivities started with a huge bonfire. As they sat around on barrels, old cars, and broken lawn chairs, they tossed their cans out in the darkness. They got louder, sometimes had a friendly fight, occasionally rolling all around the fire, finishing off with a little singing…a treat for all the neighbors.
When Jody got good and drunk, he started crowing, trying to wake his rooster! Jody had a fine crowing voice. But roosters are territorial, determined to keep their harem to themselves. Since roosters habitually are “early to bed and early to rise,” it usually took about four tries to get Rudy the Rooster going. His first response was usually half-hearted and anemic. Roo-ooh- ooh-ooh-ooh-oooooh. He obviously needed his rest. Jody’s buddies took a turn crowing. Rudy was riled now and ready for a rooster fight, but couldn’t find a single rooster to whip. The partiers thought this was high humor. They all took turns crowing. After a particularly authentic crow, Rudy called back “ROOH-OOH-OOH-OOH-OOOOOOH!!!” The longer the competition went on, the madder Rudy got. He must have hated Saturday nights and drinking…
“Is he tired of me already? What did I do wrong? Is he going to leave me. Do I want a man who drinks and gambles? Decent men don’t act like this! What have I gotten myself into? …and his brothers? They’re awful! I wouldn’t trust that Edward as far as I could throw him. Parnell isn’t even ashamed he’s running around on his wife and blowing his pay on a trashy woman while his mama’s taking care of his wife and kids. That’s just lowdown.” For the first of many times, she berated herself for her hasty marriage. “Was it too late to get out? How do you even get a marriage annulled? Mama and Daddy didn’t even know she was married yet! How could she face them after making such a mess of her life? If only he hadn’t walked into the cafe and flirted with her. Why hadn’t Annie told her to wait a while?”
As if once wasn’t enough, she castigated herself over and over, giving into weeping between each round. Aimlessly, she tried to divert herself by reading a murder mystery, doing her nails, and putting her hair in pin curls. So far, Bill hadn’t seen her hair pinned up, but what did it matter now? She tiptoed down to the kitchen to return the coffee cups and bumped into Mrs. Martin. Humiliated by her swollen eyes and pin curls, she tried to duck out. Mrs. Martin stopped her. “I know them boys is up there playing poker. They better not forget tomorrow’s rent day. Bill owes me for two weeks.”
She was horrified! He took their last money to gamble and was behind on rent! What kind of mess had she gotten herself into? Before going upstairs, she listened outside out the door where they were playing. She heard a man’s voice, “No you ain’t quitting yet!You got to give me a chance to win my money back!”
“Was that Bill?” She couldn’t tell. Miserably, she crept up to her room and to bed. After an eternity, she slept. About two am, the light awoke her. Bill was in an expensive mood. He hugged her and spread his winnings out on the bed.
” Look at this, Sweetheart! I won more than a hundred dollars. It’s more than enough to settle the rent and buy you something pretty.We’ll go get you a new dress Saturday and then go see your Mama and Daddy . I want them to know I can take care of my wife.”
Kathleen’s troubles melted away in her handsome husband’s arms. How could she have doubted him? She was a lucky woman!
I will be forever grateful to our late neighbor Charley for our lush lawn. When we moved to our home forty years ago, our two acres was almost entirely in trees.
There wasn’t a blade of grass except for the front yard. We love shade, but didn’t want to live in a forest. We got busy clearing out the the excess. Sixty trees later, we still have plenty of shade. The other trees grew tall and strong.
Thanks to our drinking neighbor, Charley, we got a lush lawn with none of the work. This is one case where heavy drinking turned out well. Charley got out early every morning to tend his lawn. He turned the water on early, and by ten, was snookered. It ran till his wife got home from work every evening . Living downhill, we got the benefit of all that water, seed, and fertilizer. What a gracious gift!
Powdered and perfumed, Kathleen was all dolled up when Bill got in. “You sure are pretty,I’m a lucky man, “ he said as he hugged her.” “We better get down to supper before they hog it all up!” She was still bashful about eating in front of him, so she just ate a little jello and salad. “Do you want my meatloaf?”she offered, though her stomach was growling.
“Sure, if you’re not gonna eat it.” The platter was making its second round and the last slice was going on Edward’s plate. Though Mrs. Martin laid a generous table, with six hungry men, everything was gobbled up down to the last biscuit. When she brought out the fried pies, Kathleen smiled and passed hers over to Bill.
“Are you sure?” he asked, though it was already half gone. “You sure don’t eat much.” It was so gratifying that he’d noticed.
They took their coffee back to the room, promising to bring the cups back. Kathleen was looking forward to another romantic evening. She hung her dress up to air and slipped into a light gown and duster.
“Kathleen, do you have any of that five dollars left? I want to go play poker with the boys and all I have is two bucks and change.” Kathleen was shocked at his wanting the money back, and for poker of all things. Her daddy would never have played poker!
“Uh, I have $1.46. Let me get my purse.” She dug the money out. He was out the door.
She was devastated. Bill had taken the last of their money to play poker! Why would he do that? Coming from a home where every penny was precious, she couldn’t imagine how he could just throw money away. She was angry and scared. Who had she married?
Miss Laura Mae’s stories always held my interest, though they certainly weren’t intended for my ears.
“The twins come about a month after Floyd left. To tell the truth, I was kind of glad he wasn’t there to get me “that way” again right off the bat like he done before. They was a few weeks early, so I was up all hours of the day and night a’nursing ‘em. Floyd’s mama, Miz Barker was gittin’ kind of childish, so I brung her to come stay so I didn’t have to try to watch her, too. Turns out, she was purty good help, a’rockin’ one of them babies all the time instead o’ tryin’ to run off all the time. Seems like it kind of settled her. She was a sweet ol’ lady.
The garden was a’comin’ in an’ we had plenty to eat without buyin’ much groceries. Miz Barker, Floyd’s mama told me I could git her pressure cooker to do the cannin’ and that shore helped, not havin’ to worry about my beans and tomaters goin’ bad no more. I had got a check or two, so I was able to get a kerosene stove and git rid of that ol’ wood stove. I got Joe Smith to set it up out in the yard so I could do my cannin’ on it. It shore was better not heatin’ the house up.
I had always took in ironin’ at a nickel a piece to help us over times when Floyd was drinkin’. I was real careful to go straight an’ pay on my grocery bill soon as I got paid so Floyd couldn’ git in my ironin’ money. Sometimes that was all that was comin’ in. I got Betty Lou, Myrt, and Glomie started ironin’ as soon as they was tall enough. I tried to let’em keep a quarter a week of the ironin’ money when I could. I’d let ‘em play about an hour after school, then soon as they was through with their homework, put ‘em to ironin’. We’d all listen to the radio while we was ironing long as the batteries lasted. Purty soon, they was savin’ their part of the ironin’ money for batteries.
Things was good till Jody got burnt. He follered Jimmy out to burn to trash and caught his clothes on fire. He was burned bad all over his back, big ol’ blisters everwhere. Doctor Garnett come out to see him and gave me some salve and pain syrup and told me to keep them burns covered. He couldn’t say if Jimmy’d make it or not. It was right in the heat of the summer. Pore little Jimmy suffered so. I had all I could do takin’ care of him and them babies. I don’t know what I’d a done without Miz Barker a’rockin ‘em like she done. With Jimmy so sick, I couldn’t nurse ‘em all the time like I needed to, so I got ‘em on the bottle some to help out. Mr. Jones down at the store let me run my bill up purty high a time or two when I had to keep Carnation Milk without complainin’ a bit. The girls kept right up with the ironin’, never passin’ a word when I couldn’ give ‘em nothing.
My sisters Oly and Ory helped the boys keep the garden goin’ and when it come in, they done most of the cannin’, leavin’ me to take care of Jimmy and the babies. Bessie an’ Joe Smith took to milkin’ the cow in the mornin’ so I didn’t have to get up before daylight after being up so much at night. I don’t know how I’d a’made it if I hadn’ had all that help. In a month or so, Jody was doin’ purty good. By that time, I had them babies purty much on the bottle, and I was able to pick my work back up. I don’t know what I’d a’done without good neighbors, but I was so glad when I could pick my ironin’ and my garden back up and take care of my own young’uns. I was proud for the help, but ever’body needs to make their own way and not be worryin’ other folks.
Miss Laura Mae’s stories always held my interest, though they certainly weren’t intended for my ears.
Miss Laura Mae’s stories always held my interest, though they certainly weren’t intended for my ears.
Nutsrok 
