All Entries Tagged With: "humor"
Concussion-Proof Helmet Testing
Testing the new concussion-proof football helmet in Canton, Ohio. Over 3500 people lined up to crash their respective noggins into a barn wall in hopes of being chosen for a spot in Dancing With Cigars, an embarrassingly popular television program. Lots of headaches were reported, but hey…What a great Christmas present for the mindless football addict. (November 24, 2015)
The Ant, the Grasshopper, and the Bar Fly
(Wimpton Finger Wagger and Advertiser — November 23, 2015)
So this guy comes into a bar…actually the two of them had been lounging for most of the afternoon flexing what was left of their pale muscles, pumping wisdom like a tired old well about to call it a lifetime. Both were heavy into self-absorbed. But swashbuckling tomcats like Don Juan were light on scrutiny preferring the other side of the looking glass to the mirror.
These were very important men. Don Juan had an opinion on everything which he shared with the less fortunate like Candy, his shell-shocked drinking buddy who had eager ears but little as backup.
“Yeah, I’ve damn well got her made,” started Don Juan. “Got my bank roll, my trailer house is paid for, and my pickup is runnin’ great.”
He turned his neck ever so slightly and caught a glimpse of Candy who looked like he was trying to crawl into his cloudy pilsner glass.
“For crying out loud, man, sit up straight,” he cuffed. “Look at your body language. It says everything about you. It tips your hand.”
Candy looked at his body. He didn’t see or hear anything but he came to attention anyway following a pattern that had begun early on. Candy was there as a human reaction, to do as he was told. He was all but transparent because it had become easier that way.
“Look at this,” said Don Juan, scanning the local gazette as he reached for his beer. “They sent a probe to Mars but it blew up when it got close. Idiots! I wonder how much that cost. I pay taxes and I’m damn sick and tired of the government shooting off space ships like they were butterflies.”
Don Juan thought about what he had just said and smiled at his linguistic flair.
“I don’t like bugs,” said Candy, “especially flying ones.”
Don Juan continued to read the paper, his glasses fallen down around his cantaloupe nose. To him the expression on his face while reading was far more important than any information extracted from the experience. He wore a somber frown accentuated by hush puppies and a cap that read Cheyenne Frontier Days.
“Winter’s comin’,” he soapboxed. “Look here. It snowed three feet in Duluth just yesterday. I’m glad I’m ready…got my wood all in and new mud and snows on the Power Wagon. How ’bout you?”
Candy looked into the bar mirror. He had a propane heater in his small apartment that was paid for by the Veteran’s Administration because of the war. He didn’t drive and the last time he tried to can a batch of tomatoes, given to him by his sister over in Delta, he’d almost blown up the place. How could Candy prepare for winter? One season just plowed into another.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he choked with a uncertain voice, all but drowned out by the television.
“Fine, huh?” barked Don Juan. “Just like last year when you never got around to taping your windows and your pipes froze. Then you had to sleep on my couch for the whole month of January. Your like the man who had a forest of firewood at his fingertips but forgot to discover fire.”
Don Juan was now on a roll.
“Security doesn’t just wander up into your yard,” he preached. “You gotta go get it. Whether it’s financial, social or romantic there’s a brawl going on and you just as well join in right away. Lead with your left, boy!”
He slapped Candy hard on the back. The tiny toothless aperture just under his road map nose was not to be stopped now.
“Take money, for instance,” he continued. “I worked for thirty-five years to get me a nest egg and now I’m gonna enjoy it. I got stocks and bonds, 40 acres up on the Plateau, a great retirement, CDs, credit cards, a fat bank account and even some of them annuities. Everything I got is paid for and I don’t have any kids to leave nothin’ to.”
Candy stared into his empty glass. Don Juan ordered two more beers and companion shots. He had a captive audience and the four dollars was a well spent investment to keep it that way.
“You might as well spend it all,” quipped Candy breaking into a smile.
“Hell, we might just do that this afternoon,” smiled Don Juan who continued to peruse the paper. He was a man smart enough to perform two tasks at once.
“Yeah, you got to be ready for winter around these parts,” he said glancing in the direction of his doleful disciple who smelled like the wet cardboard on a case of Pabst. “You still got time and maybe I’ll even lend a hand but first let me tell you a story. I know you don’t like bugs but it’s called The Ants and the Grasshopper. It’s by some fella named Aesop. He was a Greek a long time ago.”
Candy perked up. “That’s a funny sounding name,” he mumbled.
Maybe you’ll get the connection here. You’ve got to have your affairs in order. You never know when your card will come up. What would you do in an emergency? What do you have to fall back on?”
Don Juan went on to tell Candy the story of the industrious ants and the lazy grasshopper. Despite the fact that Candy did not like bugs he listened intently. Don Juan told him about the ants drying grain on a fine winter’s day. The grain had been collected over long, hard days throughout the summer months.
“Then along comes this grasshopper, half starved, begging for a handout,” he explained. “One of the ants asked him why he had not stored up any food during the summer. He says he had not leisure time enough and that he had passed the days singing. The ants scorned him saying that if he had been foolish enough to sing away the summer then he must dance supperless to bed in the winter.”
Don Juan waited for a response.
“Mean little bastards,” said Candy.
“You miss the point,” said Don Juan. “The ants worked at getting their ducks in a row while the grasshopper wasted his time. It’s just like you and me,” he added. “I’m the ant and you’re the grasshopper. My house in order while your roof is caving in.”
Then suddenly Don Juan clutched his chest, executing a poignant plunge from his prosaic perch at the bar. A swan dive in a dive. He hit the floor hard, his satellite brew crashing beside him. He was a goner.
At the funeral a lot of people that Candy had never seen talked about what a great man Don Juan had been. They said he had grit. They said he had enjoyed a full life. They said he’d be missed. What they were really doing was a little preheat jockeying for position with regards to his assets, which ended up going to an uncle and aunt Don Juan could not stomach.
Meanwhile Candy wandered home and spent the rest of the day putting up visquine over the peewee windows of his ratty chamber. Were there no end to the chores? Don Juan’s old pickup sat propped in the driveway, a gift from the counterfeit relatives who didn’t want to haul the thing back to Salida. Now he would have to put gas in it. How would he ever get around to that.
– Kashmir Horseshoe
A Touch of Provence in Hotchkiss
We arrived at Leroux Creek Vineyards on a sunny mid-morning and were greeted by Bon Bon and Piaf, two interested Corgis. The vineyards ramble to the Southwest. An early 70s vintage MG sits in the driveway.
“I guess I’m a bit of an Anglophile,” says wine maker Yvon Gros, who with his wife Joanna of Leroux Creek Vineyards on Rogers Mesa. “Come in and let’s talk for a few minutes then I have to get back to stomping grapes.”
Gros, who grew up in the Provence region of France, told us that the North Fork Valley resembles his boyhood home, one of the finest wine producing areas of the world.
“It strongly resembles the Coulon Valley right down to the rivers and the rolling countryside,” he said, showing off a substantial collection of maps and reference materials on the subject such as An American Provence , which favorably compares the two regions.
“Actually I came to Colorado to play golf and ski and this happened.”
The future wine maker arrived in Vail in 1973 where his brother lived, intent on pursuing his passion for cooking. He worked at several of the leading establishments and embraced the ski all day – work all night philosophy.
“In the summer it was golf and in the winter it was skiing,” he explained. “Somewhere in between I carved out a career.”
Gros grew up in Lac d’ Annency, one of 7 children, during World War II. He pulls out a thick, somewhat intimidating recipe book.
“This is the book that my mother used every day. There would be 7 children at the table but when another showed up at dinnertime she would invite them to sit and join us. She was an exceptional woman. She taught me the love of cooking.”
Later Yvon studied French Classic Cuisine at Thonon Les-Baines Culinary School in Savoie and interned at Liond’or near Lake Geneva.
Yvon’s partner, Joanna, was a clothing designer, and a graduate of the Fashon Institute of Technology in New York City. She has developed a signature line of skin care products based on grape seed extract. The inn reflects the elegance of Joanna’s design touch. Leroux Creek Spa, the signature line of Grape Seed Extract skin care products, available online, at the Inn and in speciality locations.
“But now we should have something to eat, some wine to drink,” he smiled pulling a cutting board chocked with olives, prosciutto, gorgonzola and brie, gherkins, French bread and freshly made pate’. Along with the fare, originating with local organic farmers in the neighborhood came a bottle of Chambourn, his flagship vintage.
Leave it to the French to present an elegant feast to highlight a morning interview that has now stretched into the noon hour.
“Wherever apricots and peaches thrive so will grapes,” said Gros filling our glasses with his robust red wine. “The terroir is defined by the volcanic soil and the climate. The grapes can handle the cold.”
The Chambourin goes well with beef, pork and lamb. Before the naturally grown grapes are ready they undergo oak barrel aging and strict monitoring so as to insure consistency throughout the process.
“Maybe I’ll make a sparkling wine next,” he laughed, “but right now there are grapes to stomp.”
Gros told us that although his inn is upscale there are plenty of people out there searching for just this kind of experience. The natural beauty blends with the delicious food and exceptional wine.
“It’s fun to see our guests get excited about the place,” he said. We offer a bed and breakfast with so much more.”
For more go to www.lerouxcreekinn.com
Horseshoe Voted Best in Several Categories
(Colona, CO – Pine Beetle Press – November 21, 2015)
The San Juan Horseshoe walked away with a record number of first place trophies for Excellence in News Creation at the 91st Colorado Stress Association Banquet held at Pea Green Observatory last night.
Panels continually focused on the Horseshoe as the easiest to tear into small portions and burn extending multiple accolades in this review.
Another top award, for taste and aroma, was accepted while the paper won another first-place mention in the Juvenile Pairing Classification.
Perhaps the biggest surprise was a stroll through a nostalgic winner’s circle where 93% of the general voters said the Horseshoe resembled impressionable moments in their childhoods.
The paper received $50 in cash from Zen Consumerism Magazine in addition to silver-plated dust collectors and wall plaques that will be stored underground in an undisclosed location.
Readers may recall when the paper took a Pulitzer back in 1992 only to return the prize to its rightful owners the next day.
– Merci Plaine
Tres Farcheezies Lesionado
(Montrose, Colorado – 20 de noviembre 2015)
Tres de los cuatro Farcheezies Flying resultaron levemente heridos cuando un extremo de la cuerda floja cayó en el Cañón Negro del Gunnison durante una actuación aquí. El Farcheezies, un acto de cuerda floja croata con linaje directo a los Habsburgo, se cruza el cañón en dicha cuerda floja cuando se produjo el incidente. Guano Farcheezie, su hermano Armando y su hermana Helena todo raspaduras y moretones sufrieron y fueron atendidos y dados en el Memorial Clinic de San Roscoe.
Al parecer, el accidente fue provocado por las acciones de un guardabosques del Servicio Forestal de exceso de celo que se dieron cuenta de que los altos gimnastas no habían pagado los honorarios de campamento en el parque desde mayo 2.
Después de varios intentos de localizar a los artistas de alto alambre ella simplemente comenzó el desmantelamiento de sus excavaciones.
Desafortunadamente el desmantelamiento incluyó la cuerda floja que estaba atado a una mesa de picnic concreto. El guardabosque sufrió lesiones menores como varios pollos, dormideros en la esperanza en el pecho de la Sra Farcheezie, la atacó mientras se excita el campamento. El guardabosques, cuyo nombre no fue dado, será premiado por su dedicación a su país con un trabajo de escritorio en Salt Lake City.
Los sobrevivientes afortunados dijo a periodistas que se sintieron aliviados de que la historia se rompió por primera vez en el San Juan de herradura, ya que, al igual que los sábados por la mañana los dibujos animados, es raro que alguien alguna vez se mató en una de las páginas de ese papel.
“Si esto hubiera ocurrido en uno de los otros papeles que podríamos haber sido asesinados y / o nuestros nombres mal escritos,” cantó Armando Farcheezie.
El grupo viajará al Valle de Bland el martes para llevar a cabo en un local de noticias transmitido allí.
-Ripple Van El Winkle
Three Farcheezies Injured
(Montrose, Colorado – November 20, 2015)
Three of the four Flying Farcheezies were slightly injured when one end of their tight rope fell into the Black Canyon of Gunnison during a performance here. The Farcheezies, a Croatian high wire act with direct lineage to the Hapsburgs, were crossing the canyon on the said tight rope when the incident occurred. Guano Farcheezie, his brother Armando and sister Helena all suffered scrapes and bruises and were treated and released at St. Roscoe’s Memorial Clinic.
The mishap was reportedly provoked by the actions of an over-zealous Forest Service ranger who noticed that the high gymnasts had not paid camping fees in the park since May 2, 2010. After several attempts to locate the high wire artists she simply began dismantling their digs. Unfortunately the dismantling included the tight rope that was tied to a concrete picnic table.
The attentive ranger sustained minor injury as several chickens, roosting in Ms. Farcheezie’s hope chest, attacked her as she excited the encampment. The ranger, whose name was not given, will be awarded for her dedication to her country with a desk job in Salt Lake City.
The fortunate survivors told reporters that they were relieved that the story first broke in the San Juan Horseshoe since, like Saturday morning cartoons, it is rare that anyone is ever killed on one of that paper’s pages.
“If this were to have happened in one of the other papers we could have all been killed and/or our names misspelled,” crowed Armando Farcheezie.
The group will travel to the Bland Valley on Tuesday to perform on a local news broadcast there.
-Ripple Van Winkle
