Cheerleaders

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“Ugh Um-gow-ah! TJ has the power!”
TJ–short for Thomas Johnson–was my high school.
The cheerleaders were doing a bang up job tonight.

“Cigarette ashes, cigarette butts! Grab the referee by the nuts.”
They yelled out another one.
They shook their hips and swirled their pom poms.

“Elevator, Elevator! We got the shaft!”
I was the only player not watching the game.
I found the cheerleaders, and what they had to say, fascinating.

Good Stock

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Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen or PBGV is the breed of dog I am proud to have.
Louie is a sturdy dog, who could fit in a small suitcase.

He has a wicked loud bark.
He is afraid of most things and at the same time instantly ferocious.
I had to pull him away from a miniature Schnauzer at the dog park. One sniff and Louie went from Jekyll to Hyde instantly.
Although he comes from good stock, he was kicked out of dog classes for misbehavior.
He has mostly had me as a role model, which explains his mostly useless lifestyle.
He has a lot going for him though, as I love him.

Beautiful Tomatoes

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I’m not a gardener, but today I picked two very beautiful tomatoes.
I planted these plants, I watered these plants. These are the first tomatoes I have ever grown.

I really looked them over.
A few bug bites, the skin calico green and red around the stem.
I had no technical training, never gardened before, and I grew two tomatoes.
There are more coming.
Before I eat this tomato, I’m going to give it a kiss.

Ripe Melons

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With lots of exercise, sunshine, and good genes, I’m looking pretty good.
An attractive woman at the grocery store motioned me to come to her.

She was squeezing a melon, which made he chest bulge out, and she said,
“Do you think these are ripe?”

I smiled and said, “Those are the breast melons they have.”
She said, “Did you say breast melons?”
I said, “I meant best melons.”
She said, “Sure you did, honey,” and gave me a very warm smile.

Old Friends

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An old friend asked me what I had done with all
of my money. I told her that I spent most of it on gambling
and women, and I wasted the rest. She then asked me if I still drank
a lot. I told her I don’t drink, strictly drugs. Finally, she had the nerve to ask me if I was bisexual. At the time I was uncertain of the meaning of that term so I told her, I had bought sex before, but was not interested.

Hey Fat Man, Come Here!

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Many years ago, I was recuperating from emergency gall bladder surgery in a hospital in Chesapeake, Virginia. I would walk to the end of the hall and back, strengthening my stomach muscles.

As I would pass by one doorway, an ancient black woman with a raspy voice would yell, “Hey fat man, come in here.” After three days of this, I finally looked into her room and she yelled, out of her mind, “Hey fat man, come here!”
Her head was no bigger than a grapefruit. I swear to God she said, “Let me see your wiener.”
I left her room quickly. I closed her door.
Sometimes I regret that I did not show this woman, in her final days, something she really wanted to see.

Something Wicked This Way Smells

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There was something making a noise in my closet last night.
It might’ve been a mouse, but I am worried that there could have been some paranormal activity brewing in my old laundry hamper. I grabbed my mini NEBO flashlight and investigated.
I found a very old banana peel, a dead stinkbug, and a silver ring mixed in with some horrendous looking socks and underwear. The aroma was frightening.
This strange combination may have conjured up a ghost in my closet.