''Priceless!''

Whether you think about it or not, we all get there in the end. What do you believe is on the other side? Do you even believe in an afterlife? I guarantee that you’ll eventually find out. And when you get there; do me a favor. If you see Elvis, tell him, ‘Thank you, thank you very much.’

Many people waste their lives feeding a phobia of death. This leads to a limitation of the risks they are willing to take, which leads to reducing the number of dangerous andventures they will experience and that’s just plain stupid. Regardless of your belief that we are zapped into oblivion, that we are made masters of our own domain with 50 virgins for our pleasure, or that we forever sing in a celestial choir at the foot of God’s throne; we are put here to experience life. When you’re dead, you’re dead, so live it up now!

While you’re here, you may as well enjoy the party; and a little Oingo Boing, too. It was this or “Hell In a Bucket” by the Dead. I hope each of you has the leisure of a 3 day weekend. Let’s Rock! They have a great brass section.

It’s unbelievable to an Old Boy from the Midwest, born in the mid 20th Century, who grew up fair to middlin’; that I would live to see the day that the Pontiac nameplate disappeared from the General Motors menu of cars. Stranger still are the attitudes that now prevail in regard to the American automotive industry. Tuesday I saw a bumper sticker on a Toyota displaying the GM logo with a caption that read “Boycott Government Motors!”

I guess the idea is to punish GM for taking bailout bucks from Uncle Sam, a.k.a. “Uncle Sugar.” How far we’ve come from the days of “…what is good for the country is good for General Motors and vice versa.”

We’ve come about fifty years from the date that GM President Charles E. Wilson made that comment during confirmation hearings of his appointment as Secretary of Defense. During that period since we’ve seen alot of style changes, countless safety improvements, numerous emissions and mileage standards imposed. We’ve also witnessed two Oil Crises.

An old tune by the “Buggles” makes the claim that Video Killed the Radio Star. I claim that the Arab Oil Embargo of 1973 combined with the Iranian Revolution of 1979 to kill off the Muscle Car and to further cripple an automotive industry already woefully out of touch with the American consumer.

By the late 1970s Detroit was clueless and Chrysler was in serious trouble. Chrysler took a bailout from the Feds at that time and Lee Iacocca was able to turn them around; largely due to his introduction of the mini-van concept. Many at the time thought it a bad idea for the Feds to get involved. With the days of cheap gas becoming a fleeting memory, the car buyers were soon turning to the more fuel efficient imports of Japan and Europe. The Datsun (now Nissan) was a big seller with models like the B-210. These no frills tin tanks were rugged and very conservative with the petrol.

A diesel craze had begun and the Volkswagen Rabbit was selling for double the list price in some cities. And people were putting up huge deposits just to get on a waiting list. But as gas prices fluctuated the public would react like a person with multiple personality disorder. First demanding economy and then jonesing for huge gas-guzzling SUVs. What’s a car-maker to think? As the decades passed the U.S. manufacturers continued their aimless wandering through the desert morass. Meanwhile younger drivers became addicted to the offerings of the import companies. They liked the styling, the reliabilty and especially the economy. Slogans like “Buy American” or “Don’t buy Jap Crap” became anacranistic. Detroit’s market share continued to decline.

Detroit persisted in cranking out the same old tired designs, giving us options like the Pontiac Vibe (pictured above). Ford excelled at building a fleet of energy extravagant vehicles. They seemed fond of names like Explorer, Expedition and Excursion; each more gargantuan than the other. Anything that began with “EX” seemed appropriate. You’d think the more practical Escape would be an exception, however many people call it the “Excape.” I think they knew this. Ford finally realized their folly with the introduction of the Ford Excretion. It was touted as their biggest piece of crap to date.

Of course I made that up, but it isn’t far off the mark. I long for the days of the Big Block V-8 engine and real High Octane gasoline: a time when a full size sedan was larger that a roller skate and didn’t resemble a european jogging shoe. The days when “Rock” was “Rock” and we knew who are friends were. I guess it’s true that you can never go home again!

''One of these days I'll sell the Harley and find me a clean mean machine''

Hugh Loves ya, Baby

Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you and scorn in the one ahead. ~Mac McCleary

A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after. ~Peter De Vries

It takes 8,460 bolts to assemble an automobile, and one nut to scatter it all over the road. ~Author Unknown

A pedestrian is someone who thought there were a couple of gallons left in the tank. ~Author Unknown

''Life's a gas!''

Howdy everybody! Yep, Eddie’s back, and I’m extremely excited and proud to announce the winner of my “Name that volume!” post. All of your entries and comments were fantastic! They were very well thought out, highly imaginative and intelligent.

Tony D.’s “Threaker” and “Six Pint,” and Banana82’s “Thuart,” “Tree Qwat,” and the several numeric suggestions were all very strong. My own “Quirtle” was excellent in its own right, but I have to proclaim that after careful scrutiny, my totally objective, unbiased, and impartial decision goes to my sweetheart Iola for her entry: the “Ponygal!”

Ever heard of the Pony keg? Well, this is the Ponygal! Just less than a gallon. Now (and no reflection on my sweetie), I know that a Pony keg is actually a quarter barrel, and there’s no three-quarter barrel size or name just like my dilemma concernin’ quarts, but it’s a great name. It’s cute, trendy, and catchy; destined to be very popular. Just think of the possibilities! Maybe it could even be in a new hit song like “Ponygal in the Sand.”

Speaking of popular, looks like old Eddie’s won a contest in Iola’s heart. It’s great to be loved, besides, Iola threatened to cut-off the “goodies” if she didn’t win. No! Not those ‘Goodies’…these goodies! Sheesh! Well, I gotta go now. The sweet fragrance of romance is in the air, and Iola has to leave before my probation officer comes around for her weekly visit. She says I can’t have any contact with anyone who might compromise my sobriety. Oh, yeah, can’t forget to hide the hooch! Bye y’all!

''I'd like to thank all the little people...''

I got this over the top greeting from ''Mr. Over the Top'' himself.

On this 20th Day of Festivus I wanted to share with all of you the following greeting I received from my biggest fan. Perez Hilton (come on, you know you would have harassed this guy in high school) has been after me to do a project with him on Hollywood celebs. I told him that it just isn’t my thing. I find most of those people to be too self absorbed. I’d much rather do something on the peccadilloes of 17th century French artistocrats. I just wouldn’t want to have been around for the French Revolution.

It’s hard to believe that today is the 20th of Festivus. Salsa Day! And I’ve made up a batch of Uncle Bucky’s Dirty White Boy Sonoran Style Salsa with Cilantro. Say THAT 5 times real fast. If you dip deep into a heaping bowl of Unlce Bucky’s you’ll almost swear you can smell the green chiles roasting over a real donkey dung fire. MMMMmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMM!!!!

Seeing how it’s Friday I’m going to finish some chores in preparation of The Chiefie’s return and then work on tomorrow’s post. I saw an interesting bumper sticker yesterday. It reminded me of how much has changed about this country in the last half century. I’ll leave you with this bit of wit & wisdom.

The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.
- Groucho Marx

Hugh loves ya, Baby!

When I rise each morning and reach for my cup of Joe, I often reflect upon the changing and challenging world in which we live. The constant and ongoing transformation of creation is always awe-inspiring. I view the universe as evolving toward something more grand than the mundane pursuits of mankind. In so doing, I am often struck by the stark contrast of the good and the ghastlly.

How is it that these things can coexist? In my continuing quest to probe some of the more intriguing questions of life I posit this one for your reflection.

Why is it that when you feel really good that there is always something around that smells really bad?

For the more imaginative among you who wish to post your responses, I will send you one of my free booklets titled “Ten questions you should never ask your spouse” or “How cross-dressing can help you get your next promotion.”

Now, get out there and take on the day! And don’t take any crap off of anyone!

Ladies and Gentlemen – Bucky has left the building.

What an a##hole!!!!

Last night’s traffic report failed to mention the low flying canine that crossed my path. More accurately, Cali leveled me with an NFL professional grade tackle. I don’t know how she failed to split her head open. My shin is bruised and swollen. My sandals landed about 20 feet away from the point of impact. I’m feeling better now.

I will pick “Chiefie” up tomorrow and return her to our home where she will recuperate from her surgery. You may send personal messages to her at HughBetcha@hughcares.net and I will pass them along.

Nothing very witty today. The rains have me buried to the arm pits in weeds and I have a carburetor to repair on the Harley and a pool pump to reinstall. See you tomorrow.

Happy 18th of Festivus. Today is the day of the traditional chicken pie dance. Enjoy!

''It's do or die, pal!''

“I DO DECLARE! I AM A LUCKY, LUCKY MAN! YES! YES! YES!” Hap proclaimed as he sat on his living room couch with the day’s mail. He said it with a guarded confidence. Hap knew things had uncannily gone his way after “The Incident” (that was what his boss Mr. Pedasso had called it), but was also aware that seemingly benevolent paths can suddenly twist and turn.  

Believing that reassuring one’s self was like sending up a message to God to keep smiling upon you in unstable situations, Hap refreshed himself often. Without realizing it, he habitually would try to invoke magic. When stopped at a red light, he would let the bus creep forward a few inches at a time as if this unconscious spell casting would cause the light to change sooner.     

And why shouldn’t he feel exceptionally lucky? Acquitted of four murders, destruction of property, and numerous traffic violations; then being excused from attending court ordered rehab after their intake and admissions staff seriously bungled by allowing not two, but three individuals involved in the same fiasco to be enrolled together. Not to mention that one of them harbored violent intent towards him. Lucky indeed!     

Sorting through the small stack, the mail was the usual fare: phone bill; electric bill; cable and Internet service bill; this month’s issue of “Pimp Your Bus!”, scores of junk mail, etcetera, etcetera. One item caught his eye, however. It was from the Tartarus Superior Court, and had a rubber stamped “Immediate Response Required – Time Sensitive Material” notice across the bottom edge in bright red ink.     

Hap grumbled “WHAT NOW? I DID MY PIECE ALREADY IN THAT STUPID-ASS LAME CLASS! WHAT’S THIS?” Opening the letter, it stated:     

Attn: Mr. Carlton Harris     

Case#: TR-CR- 201005990013     

You are being notified by the Clerk of the Superior Court of the City of Tartarus to register and complete your mandatory Community Service as per your plea agreement. Please appear at the court intake desk within 48 hours of receiving this notice. Failure to comply may result in the revocation of the agreement, and a bench warrant may be issued for your arrest. Have a nice day.     

“OH CRAP! I FORGOT ABOUT THAT VOLUNTEER STUFF STU TOLD ME ABOUT!” Hap grudgingly recalled. “OKAY! GOTTA DO WHAT I GOTTA DO!” Hap made a quick lunch of Chef Boyardee, Ruffles potato chips and cream soda. He knew Betty would scold him for eating so poorly, but the thought of a thrilled and enraptured Doris consumed him.     

Hap arrived at the courthouse an hour later, went through the security checks at the main entrance, and followed the department directory map to the “Community Service” window. Above the window hung a sign reading “To Serve Man” in large green capital letters. He signed-in, then took a seat. He was alone except for a frail looking white teenage girl who sat in a corner appearing quite annoyed; like she could be somewhere else – anywhere else – but here.     

Her hair was short, spiked, and dyed bleach blonde, and her black eye shadow matched the roots of her hair. She had numerous piercings, and a tattoo of the Nazi SS double lightning bolts on the left side of her neck. She gave Hap an ominous stare. “HEY THERE, GIRL! I’M HAP! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” “None of your business, you big dumbass jerk!” she fired back. “OH, OKAY…I KNOW! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE, EITHER!”  replied Hap diplomatically.     

“I GOTTA DO SOME COMMUNITY SERVICE FOR RUNNING OVER A DOG!” Hap continued.  A smile and a look of genuine interest and admiration now formed on the young woman’s face. “Really? You whacked a dog? That’s awesome! Did it squeal? Was there a lot of blood and guts and stuff? Did it wiggle for a while before it croaked?” “YEAH, I HEARD IT SCREAM…BUT I COULDN’T SEE ANYTHING SINCE I WAS DRIVING SO FAST! WHAT ARE YOU IN HERE FOR, HONEY?” She looked demurely at Hap and said “Aww, it wasn’t as cool as what you did. I got busted with my boyfriend for vandalizing a bus, so now I have to do this crap to stay out of jail.”     

Hap felt his blood pressure skyrocket at these words. Mount St. Helens was a mere firecracker. He bolted out of his chair and glared at her; at what he saw as a most revolting sight. “YOU DID WHAT!!? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DO FOR A LIVING YOU LITTLE TRAMP!?” She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them while looking absolutely terrified. “I’M A BUS DRIVER!! AND YOU’RE ONE OF THE LOW-LIFE LITTLE DIRTBAGS WHO TURN ALL OF MY HARD WORK AND CARE INTO RUIN!” He took a step forward, feeling intense rage welling-up from within. The girl, immobilized with fear at the sight of this huge man approaching her, felt a warm wetness flowing in her crotch.     

“Mr. Harris? Mr. Carlton Harris, please!” announced a boyish sounding voice from behind him. Distracted, Hap spun around to see a tall young man with tousled brown hair and thick, tortoise frame glasses standing behind him. He carried a manila folder and was smiling nervously. “Are you Mr. Harris? Hi, I’m Spencer Travis the Community Service Coordinator. Would you come into my office please?”     

Hap was able to regroup his thoughts. “OH, YES! YES! COMMUNITY SERVICE! SURE! HAPPY TO BE HERE! THAT’S WHY MY NAME’S HAP!” He began to follow Spencer towards the hallway, then turned to the urinating waif with a withering death gaze and uttered “IF I EVER, EVER SEE YOU ON MY BUS, THE ONLY THING LEFT OF YOU WILL BE A MISSING PERSONS REPORT!” “Is there a problem, Mr. Harris?” Spencer queried. “NO! NO, NOTHING AT ALL! BUT YOU MIGHT WANT TO GET SOMEONE IN HERE WITH A MOP AND SOME LYSOL!”     

To be continued…     

''I salute you!''

What is the significance of the coordinates – or degrees of latitude and longitude – when we are dreaming? Lately, this has been a subject of inquiry in my dreams. It seems that someone is either asking or stating the particular coordinates of our location in “dreamland.” When I awake I write down the figures to be looked up later. On one occasion the numbers corresponded to Death Valley and on another it was Paris – France, not the rich bitch.

Before I could obtain the answer this morning, “Mr. 4 a.m.” had to leave for work. His extremely loud pipes can be heard for the next 5 minutes as he navigates the neighborhood and makes his way over to nearby SR 86. His parting shot is a hard acceleration that sounds like an interminable “Bronx Cheer” as he heads the next several miles toward town.

This brings me to the second question. Who the hell is this guy trying to impress? I usually get up about 5 o’clock and I don’t need this guy to be my wake up call. I am plotting my revenge. Please, don’t tell him.

Question number three: Who gives a rat’s ass? Certainly not me! Now go do something useful.

One of the best ways to enjoy a Saturday

Saturday, which is the sixth day of the week (one exception being the Jewish religion which recognizes it as the Sabbath or seventh day of the week), was named sometime prior to the second century for the planet Saturn. The planet having been named for the Roman God of agriculture.

Growing up, we spent Saturday morning watching westerns on T.V. This was followed by activities at the YMCA and by early afternoon we found ourselves in the bedlam that was the movie theater; hundreds of screaming kids demanding more cartoons.

As teens we discovered the freedom provided by the automobile and the fun of working on them. Later we planed movie dates at te Drive-in. As we reached adulthood and beyond we often turned Saturday into overtime as we endeavored earn more money to feed growing families.

I now use Saturday as a means of escaping the drudgery of the work week. That means riding my HOG or working on my landscaping. Saturday night is still exciting, though it no longer lasts until the wee hours of Sunday morning. I reserve that for the younger set.

Whatever your choice of activities, I hope you make it a day that provides the recreation so necessary to restoring and maintaining your sanity. Have a great weekend!

Middle age is when you’re sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn’t for you

~ Ogden Nash

Dewey Lovitt? – Hugh Betcha!

HELP!!!

bal·ance [ bállənss ] noun (plural bal·anc·es)

Definition: opposition of equal forces: a state in which two opposing forces or factors are of equal strength or importance so that they effectively cancel each other out and stability is maintained

How often in our lives do we find that we are out of balance? Whether at work, in our relationships, in our budgets, you name it; we all get out of balance.

We also have access to the answers if we learn how to develop contact with that inner voice. Each of us has the ability to draw from a source of infinite intelligents. To do so we must first learn how to listen.

Something to contemplate this weekend: Five Pathways to Listening to Your Inner Voice

From me to Hugh!