A remarkable artist from the 1950s, Art Frahm, had a recurrent motif in his artwork: ladies in distress due to the unexpected losA remarkable artist from the 1950s, Art Frahm, had a recurrent motif in his artwork: ladies in distress due to the unexpected loss of their panties while ogling men enjoy their predicament! You can Google this artist's name to see some examples of his style and works should you so desire.
In looking at the scene depicted, very clearly, the heroine is dismayed. But her unsympathetic onlookers are not. But what is the reason for this motif? There are several possibilities that I would like to discuss.
1) It is an antifeminist statement. It is intended as a cautionary lesson against intruding into what were male perserves because of the possibility of panty mortification! However, this argument seems invalid in that many of his pictures depict women doing typically female activity such as grocery shopping. For some reason, celery is recurrently depicted also.
2) It is a mild risqué artistic work; a substitute for the lush 19th century nudes that a pre-Puritan time permitted. After all, porn and irony did not come into being until the 1990s. By putting the heroine in a ridulous situation, it disarms the viewer and causes him to see it as amusing. Furthermore, the typical male did not usually have any experience with prurient garments as granny panties unless they had been married for a substantial amount of time, ten years or more.
3) Ultimately, this is simply an expression of the short life span that the elastic of the time had, a then-developing technology in which Art Frahm revealed its imprefections! To cite as support for this I cite the easy acceptance of blue jeans as feminine garb. Wearing jeans took a lot of the existential worry out of appearing in public!
4) Finally, the type of panties of the 1950s might have been part of the problem. Grannies, because of their weight, result in more downward stress on the elastic. However, by the use of lighter material and briefer panties, the incidence of panty failures diminished dramatically. Therefore, the progression from granny panties to panties, to bikini briefs to thongs represents superior technological developments as well as social more change!s of their panties while ogling men enjoy their predicament! You can Google this artist's name to see some examples of his style and works should you so desire.
In looking at the scene depicted, very clearly, the heroine is dismayed. But her unsympathetic onlookers are not. But what is the reason for this motif? There are several possibilities that I would like to discuss.
1) It is an antifeminist statement. It is intended as a cautionary lesson against intruding into what were male perserves because of the possibility of panty mortification! However, this argument seems invalid in that many of his pictures depict women doing typically female activity such as grocery shopping. For some reason, celery is recurrently depicted also.
2) It is a mild risqué artistic work; a substitute for the lush 19th century nudes that a pre-Puritan time permitted. After all, porn and irony did not come into being until the 1990s. By putting the heroine in a ridulous situation, it disarms the viewer and causes him to see it as amusing. Furthermore, the typical male did not usually have any experience with prurient garments as granny panties unless they had been married for a substantial amount of time, ten years or more.
3) Ultimately, this is simply an expression of the short life span that the elastic of the time had, a then-developing technology in which Art Frahm revealed its imprefections! To cite as support for this I cite the easy acceptance of blue jeans as feminine garb. Wearing jeans took a lot of the existential worry out of appearing in public!
4) Finally, the type of panties of the 1950s might have been part of the problem. Grannies, because of their weight, result in more downward stress on the elastic. However, by the use of lighter material and briefer panties, the incidence of panty failures diminished dramatically. Therefore, the progression from granny panties to panties, to bikini briefs to thongs represents superior technological developments as well as social more change!
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Thursday, January 16, 2020
Skin the Bunny
Okay, I've seen a few things in my time. On one infamous road trip the Chili Dog Sisters sojourned to Atmore, TN to that haunt of depravity: the Boobie Bungalow, Yes, and even participated in an amateur night at one of the clubs in that unhallowed part of the Volunteer State!
However, it was in a club in darkest Idaho that I found the nadir of games: skin the bunny!
How is this played? You find the damnedest things on the internet; and the Urban Dictionary* came across. To-wit:
https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=skin+the+bunny&defid=1774758
I was strictly an observer to this depraved spectacle. I was not the bunny!
I must say that most of the participants were in varying degrees of intoxication and rated a D.U.I. if motoring.
Geesh! I feel like a censorious old lady! Maybe the Methodists might take me in. Or the Four Square Gospel congregation.
*You occasionally get good info in this participatory web site. But not often.
However, it was in a club in darkest Idaho that I found the nadir of games: skin the bunny!
How is this played? You find the damnedest things on the internet; and the Urban Dictionary* came across. To-wit:
https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=skin+the+bunny&defid=1774758
I was strictly an observer to this depraved spectacle. I was not the bunny!
I must say that most of the participants were in varying degrees of intoxication and rated a D.U.I. if motoring.
Geesh! I feel like a censorious old lady! Maybe the Methodists might take me in. Or the Four Square Gospel congregation.
*You occasionally get good info in this participatory web site. But not often.
Friday, December 20, 2019
Christmas Songs that Suck
In my opinion, here are a few:
1. Santa Baby
2. Little Drummer Boy
3. Christmas Song
4. Baby It's Cold Outside
1. Santa Baby
2. Little Drummer Boy
3. Christmas Song
4. Baby It's Cold Outside
Sunday, June 23, 2019
A Song With Heartbreaking Lyrics
Country music has a few of them to drink more beer to. Here's Tanya Tucker singing "What's Your Mama's Name." It turns out he wasn't so creepy after all.
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
Devushka
Well, the halcyon days of Spring finally came to Nashville; and Katarina had come back home after a year abroad working as a translator in Plovdiv, Bulgaria and Kyiv, Ukraine. Gosh, the winters there were cold! And the carefree Devushka styles she had worn the previous summer had been put away for the late fall and winter. The Nashvillian spring had a lot more warmth than she was used to; and she deliberately planned to underdress for the weather wearing her bold, flashy halter and bare midriff. (Even with a little muffin top.)
That went over like a lead balloon with her kinfolks in Davidson County.
"Scandalous," they exclaimed; and an affront to Tennessean righteousness. However, this is akin to the pot calling the kettle black. After all, Tennessee is really up there when it comes to opiate abuse and meth labs.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Stirring Up the Political Pot
We live in a hypersensitive era; so I want to say up front that this is a Heidi attempt to be satirical, or ironic, if you prefer.
In a later time of studied hypersensitivity, a number of the old ways were gradually phased out. The Confederate monuments were taken down, language was adjusted to different sensibilities, and people were generally playing nice. Part of this was the passing of Donald Trump and the Democratic reaction; and also to emotional fatigue. God Damn!
This posed a dilemma for Philbert Wilson, who needed a new p.c. to trumpet in order to establish his bonafides. But, damn! Everybody was acting pleasant, and no issue was apparent. But, for an issue-seeker, this was not good.
However, lo and behold! He found something. While Google surfings he found an old song entitled "Rebel Rouser" back from the 1950s or so. OMFG! Is this to rouse up some Neoconfederates? Anyway, Philbert got into action. He got up petitions and tried to get this musical work banned on the internet.
As a further inducement, this same musician did his version of "Dixie."
Too bad Philbert did not listen all the way through. "Rebel Rouser" was an instrumental.
In a later time of studied hypersensitivity, a number of the old ways were gradually phased out. The Confederate monuments were taken down, language was adjusted to different sensibilities, and people were generally playing nice. Part of this was the passing of Donald Trump and the Democratic reaction; and also to emotional fatigue. God Damn!
This posed a dilemma for Philbert Wilson, who needed a new p.c. to trumpet in order to establish his bonafides. But, damn! Everybody was acting pleasant, and no issue was apparent. But, for an issue-seeker, this was not good.
However, lo and behold! He found something. While Google surfings he found an old song entitled "Rebel Rouser" back from the 1950s or so. OMFG! Is this to rouse up some Neoconfederates? Anyway, Philbert got into action. He got up petitions and tried to get this musical work banned on the internet.
As a further inducement, this same musician did his version of "Dixie."
Too bad Philbert did not listen all the way through. "Rebel Rouser" was an instrumental.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
Excerpts from the Flathead Beacon Police Blotter
9:06 a.m. A Whitefish man reported that he got bitten during a disagreement with his dog.
9:37 a.m. A dog named Buster wandered into a Columbia Falls home.
3:25 p.m. A dog has been barking “non-stop” in Kalispell.
8:24 p.m. Lake County called to see if Flathead County had any room in its jail. It did not.
10:22 p.m. Someone was driving through a Bigfork neighborhood and slowly shining a light into various homes.
10:42 p.m. A TV reporter called to see if anyone wanted to chat about the avalanche reported on Big Mountain earlier in the day.
A single cow was running down Farm-to-Market Road. Seems the cow would want to run away from the market.
A Columbia Falls man said his neighbor covered his car in “beans and cereal.” The man said that if a sheriff’s deputy didn’t show up soon he would “take things into my own hands.”
A single cow was running down Farm-to-Market Road. Seems the cow would want to run away from the market.
A Columbia Falls man said his neighbor covered his car in “beans and cereal.” The man said that if a sheriff’s deputy didn’t show up soon he would “take things into my own hands.”
Thursday, April 11, 2019
Monday, April 8, 2019
Overreaching to Be Indignant About Something
Call me insensitive, but maybe some people are too easily prone to wax indignant.
I read in the Washington Post that a group of high school students in Chevy Chase, MD* got upset because a student-generated list rated a number of the girls on looks. And the power of authority came down hard, assigning one boy to detention. But, more to the point, this rated a story in the WaPo!
Is Tuesday now a slow news day? Has The Donald been that inactive and suddenly laconic so as to not fill that newspaper? Is Washington so crime-free and Arcadian so that nothing newsworthy ever happens. Has Congress collectively taken a vow of silence?
We live in strange times; but this takes the cake.
A reminiscence: when I was in h.s., I was on another list. Assessing the endowments of various students. I was nicknamed Heidi Without Alps.
My point is, there is a lot of big-time sexual harassment going on out there. For Christ's sake, go for that; and don't waste time on piddling things! This is nothing more than lazy journalism surfing on a superficial problem while ignoring big-time problems.
*I didn't know he was that important to rate a town being named after him!
I read in the Washington Post that a group of high school students in Chevy Chase, MD* got upset because a student-generated list rated a number of the girls on looks. And the power of authority came down hard, assigning one boy to detention. But, more to the point, this rated a story in the WaPo!
Is Tuesday now a slow news day? Has The Donald been that inactive and suddenly laconic so as to not fill that newspaper? Is Washington so crime-free and Arcadian so that nothing newsworthy ever happens. Has Congress collectively taken a vow of silence?
We live in strange times; but this takes the cake.
A reminiscence: when I was in h.s., I was on another list. Assessing the endowments of various students. I was nicknamed Heidi Without Alps.
My point is, there is a lot of big-time sexual harassment going on out there. For Christ's sake, go for that; and don't waste time on piddling things! This is nothing more than lazy journalism surfing on a superficial problem while ignoring big-time problems.
*I didn't know he was that important to rate a town being named after him!
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
A Ban on Plastic Bag Bans
Now we have another example of governmental meddlesome: a ban on plastic ban bans. You read that right: the Tennessee General Assembly is now considering a preemptory strike on two cities' moves to outlaw plastic bags. Okay, what's wrong with this picture?
Well, maybe banning one-use plastic bags is a good environmental move. Okay. And apparently Memphis and Nashville are looking into doing so. But here's the rub: some legislators from smaller towns are looking to overrule local control. Jesse, is there some lack of adherence to principle going on?
Oh local control, where is thy sting?
Oh principle, where is thy victory?
[A tip of the hat to that old grouch, St. Paul.]
It would seem to me that the principle of butting out of other peoples' business should apply on the state level, too. Why should someone in a jerkwater town presume to have a say on what happens in Davidson (Nashville) or Shelby (Memphis) counties? Doing otherwise is exactly the same as out-of-state people butting into what happens here or in Tennessee.
There's a sin of presumption involved. Or what the ancient Greeks called hubris ὕβρις.
Well, maybe banning one-use plastic bags is a good environmental move. Okay. And apparently Memphis and Nashville are looking into doing so. But here's the rub: some legislators from smaller towns are looking to overrule local control. Jesse, is there some lack of adherence to principle going on?
Oh local control, where is thy sting?
Oh principle, where is thy victory?
[A tip of the hat to that old grouch, St. Paul.]
It would seem to me that the principle of butting out of other peoples' business should apply on the state level, too. Why should someone in a jerkwater town presume to have a say on what happens in Davidson (Nashville) or Shelby (Memphis) counties? Doing otherwise is exactly the same as out-of-state people butting into what happens here or in Tennessee.
There's a sin of presumption involved. Or what the ancient Greeks called hubris ὕβρις.
Friday, March 8, 2019
A Non-Issue in Montana
One of those anxieties back in my Tennessee days was enduring the Walk of Shame (should it be capitalized?). Now the WOS involved appearing in the morning while wearing evening-appropriate clothes. Yes, decidedly on the sexy side. I favored the devushka look after my days in Eastern Europe. [Fun times, I might add.]
I enjoyed appearing in my European finery at night; but there was the morning after. (Not always preceded by premarital coitus, if I might be frank.) However, sliding into Starbuck's for my morning caffeine fix would draw some stares if I'm dressed for The Night Before.
In Missoula, no problem here. First of all, mores have changed in the past five years or so; it's assumed that you're sexually active and no one gives a damn anyway. Having little in the way of Fundamentalists around helps.
But, more to the point: sexy evening wear is a non-starter in Missoula, especially in the winter. Right now, it's 33F; it's going to make mid-teens by midnight or so. So, as they say in NYC, fuggediaboutit when it comes to sexy wear associated with the WOS.
I enjoyed appearing in my European finery at night; but there was the morning after. (Not always preceded by premarital coitus, if I might be frank.) However, sliding into Starbuck's for my morning caffeine fix would draw some stares if I'm dressed for The Night Before.
In Missoula, no problem here. First of all, mores have changed in the past five years or so; it's assumed that you're sexually active and no one gives a damn anyway. Having little in the way of Fundamentalists around helps.
But, more to the point: sexy evening wear is a non-starter in Missoula, especially in the winter. Right now, it's 33F; it's going to make mid-teens by midnight or so. So, as they say in NYC, fuggediaboutit when it comes to sexy wear associated with the WOS.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
A Sweet Oldie Song
I'd Like to Teach the World
It bums me out that they made this song into a commercial.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Bubbaland
Reynard Wilson was trying to come up with a new concept in theme parks to attract those sparse tourist dollars remaining during the recession times. Let's face it: Disney, Six Flags, Graceland, Beulahland, and others of their ilk are drawing in the dollars. But south Middle Tennessee was one of those blah locales, other than the Jack Daniel Distillery at Lynchburg (strangely, in a dry county).
It was in the south; but not particularly Southern. The one attraction in that region was called, embarassingly enough, the Boobie Bungalow: a 'gentlemen's' club just north of the Alabama line.
Mr. Wilson had an inspiration. Most of the travelers on I-65 were Northerners going to the South in search of beaches, good weather, and experiencing the Southernness of the situation.
Now Alabama and Mississippi don't have to try hard to be Southern. Georgia screws it up around Atlanta, but is otherwise a good Southern experience. Louisiana: too exotic, not a consistent Southern theme. And, in Wilson's mind, southern Tennessee was a good locale. Far enough away from Nashville so that people would get restive by then, but a good site for a faux Southern experience.
So he fleshed out the concept. "Let's see: Cute girls in Daisy Dukes, louts running stills that dispense root beer, mountain crafts . . . . "
"Er, Reynard, those are jest hills south of the Duck River."
"Hell, Clyde, some jasper from Michigan ain't going to know diddly-squat the difference."
And so they built it. And it had moonshiners. And car chases. And Tennessee gals almost wearin' shorts (or damned little of them at that), and banjo music . . . .
The Yankee tourists came in droves. They bought stuffed coon dogs and raccoons, t-shirts featuring hillbillies, Confederate flags, grits, Moon Pies, and ate passels of hush puppies and barbecue. And drank RCs, that's for sure. And listened to country music.
And all came away with The True Southern Experience. And talked about how they just barely got out alive before the inbreds shot them!
Did you expect truthiness? Truthiness died sometime back in the 90's.
It was in the south; but not particularly Southern. The one attraction in that region was called, embarassingly enough, the Boobie Bungalow: a 'gentlemen's' club just north of the Alabama line.
Mr. Wilson had an inspiration. Most of the travelers on I-65 were Northerners going to the South in search of beaches, good weather, and experiencing the Southernness of the situation.
Now Alabama and Mississippi don't have to try hard to be Southern. Georgia screws it up around Atlanta, but is otherwise a good Southern experience. Louisiana: too exotic, not a consistent Southern theme. And, in Wilson's mind, southern Tennessee was a good locale. Far enough away from Nashville so that people would get restive by then, but a good site for a faux Southern experience.
So he fleshed out the concept. "Let's see: Cute girls in Daisy Dukes, louts running stills that dispense root beer, mountain crafts . . . . "
"Er, Reynard, those are jest hills south of the Duck River."
"Hell, Clyde, some jasper from Michigan ain't going to know diddly-squat the difference."
And so they built it. And it had moonshiners. And car chases. And Tennessee gals almost wearin' shorts (or damned little of them at that), and banjo music . . . .
The Yankee tourists came in droves. They bought stuffed coon dogs and raccoons, t-shirts featuring hillbillies, Confederate flags, grits, Moon Pies, and ate passels of hush puppies and barbecue. And drank RCs, that's for sure. And listened to country music.
And all came away with The True Southern Experience. And talked about how they just barely got out alive before the inbreds shot them!
Did you expect truthiness? Truthiness died sometime back in the 90's.
Thursday, December 27, 2018
A Salute to Dry-Humping!
How about a rap song about dry-humping? The pause that refreshes with no stains on my panties or a bun in the oven:
Dry-humping is the official sport of Montana. Especially during the winter,
Dry-humping is the official sport of Montana. Especially during the winter,
Friday, October 19, 2018
Overused States or Cities
I suppose that the United States could have been an experiment in which fifty different entities engaged in their individual visions as to what constitutes the ideal government, within the judicious confines of the Constitution, of course. Unfortunately, this didn't happen: some states seem to have more impact on the collective vision than others.
And I know full well that it would have been totally unlikely that Tennessee or Montana would be among those. At least Illinois or New Jersey didn't make it either, thank God!
Unfortunately, the three that seem most influential from my perspective are New York, California, and Massachusetts. It's understandable when those three places disproportionately influence the media, weigh heavily in Congress, is where the money is, and carry a mystique about them. So does Seattle, which I'm visiting. Going from Elliot Bay to downtown is steep uphill. They have fine art, and interesting food. But no detective shows and only one hospital show is set there.
Did anyone ever perform a song, "Wisconsin Girls"? Did anyone leave his heart in Omaha? Did anyone sing that if you could make it in Dallas you could make it anywhere? But no one, absolutely no one, was called a Tennhole. At least that's something. Let's have some variety for a change: set a detective show in glorious Tallahassee or a sitcom in Little Rock. Now that would be something to see!
And I know full well that it would have been totally unlikely that Tennessee or Montana would be among those. At least Illinois or New Jersey didn't make it either, thank God!
Unfortunately, the three that seem most influential from my perspective are New York, California, and Massachusetts. It's understandable when those three places disproportionately influence the media, weigh heavily in Congress, is where the money is, and carry a mystique about them. So does Seattle, which I'm visiting. Going from Elliot Bay to downtown is steep uphill. They have fine art, and interesting food. But no detective shows and only one hospital show is set there.
Did anyone ever perform a song, "Wisconsin Girls"? Did anyone leave his heart in Omaha? Did anyone sing that if you could make it in Dallas you could make it anywhere? But no one, absolutely no one, was called a Tennhole. At least that's something. Let's have some variety for a change: set a detective show in glorious Tallahassee or a sitcom in Little Rock. Now that would be something to see!
Sunday, October 7, 2018
Staging Your Early Background and Childhood for Future Fame
One of the things that differentiates the great masses of us from our betters (at least in terms of fame and/or accomplishments) is the relative haphazardness of our earlier lives. Let's face it: we've now smartened up enough now to realize that possible employers or human relations directors do scrutinize Facebook to look for signs of a non-corporate mentality in what we thought we were sharing solely with our friends. (Not to mention the less discreet bikini poses that we had meant solely to appeal to our b.f.'s dejour.)
And, of course, any drinking or other violations of the laws of God or man might be seen by law enforcement personnel. No, the problem is more than that. Most of us, even if we live our livesInteger vitae, we still have those less-than-sterling residues to come up and bite us in our increasingly padded butts as we reach the heights of fame or fortune. After all, say you're running for the U.S. Senate in Massachusetts (a sign in itself of moral questionability), and it is revealed that your seventh-grade report card has mostly C's and D's. The Dons of Hah-vard will go "tut," and make an unjoyful noise that you are unworthy! Or, let's say that you are the hottest of the hot supermodels, and your tween picture of you with braces comes out? Or what about that dubious dress that you wore to the prom, or that sweet but impossibly outréboy who you went with?
Or even more so, your membership in that kooky cult that wore those silly outfits and acted like Young Republicans off the reservation? We're talking Situation Damage Control here! Doing repair work on the ol' image.
A big source of damaging information is everyday official records, such as school or police reports. Some are supposed to be closed; but persistent journalists or papparazzis can dig up dirt if there's dirt to be found. Unfortunately, the only ultimate solutions are sort of illegal; such as hacking into records of varying types and making them sound better or discreetly bribing your way to civic virginity!
Photographs are easier, provided you also destroy the negatives or memory cards. Keep the ones marking major life events, such as graduations, honor society memberships, or worthy school activities, provided the pictures are flattering. A tip: get some professionally-taken ones; no glam shots and, above all, no boudoir poses! Obviously, destroy all souvenir detention slips.
And bribe your old high school assistant principal to silence. Actually, if he is like most, he is all-too-willing to support yourpersona: after all, not many of his charges amounted to anything.
Personal possessions should be culled from time to time. Having a single, charming stuffed animal left over from your childhood is desirable; having a cabinet full is -- whoa! -- a little too much disclosure! Clothing should be deliberately culled, lest they seem dowdy, bizarre, or too intrusive. Imagine yourself being famous; and having a museum of your childhood home. And what is on display? A bra that you wore back as a freshman will be studied by all, and your size checked and commented on. And, for God's sake, lose those cute hats! No one looks good in a hat!
On the plus size, purchase a few faux trophies and certificates to indicate your showing early promise. No one will look further into them.
And have a few tantalizing items that are incompletely accounted for to add a touch of mystery. After all, you want them to continue to look, you know. Maybe a baton, or a cheerleader's outfit or a gavel. Or a notebook of poetry. Copy neatly only your best efforts, though. And try to appear both open and modest if enquired.
Look at my advice not as a suggestion to be dishonest, but rather to be strategically revisionist. After all, even newspapers have editors. Why not edit your life to make it more in line with your present accomplishments?
And, of course, any drinking or other violations of the laws of God or man might be seen by law enforcement personnel. No, the problem is more than that. Most of us, even if we live our livesInteger vitae, we still have those less-than-sterling residues to come up and bite us in our increasingly padded butts as we reach the heights of fame or fortune. After all, say you're running for the U.S. Senate in Massachusetts (a sign in itself of moral questionability), and it is revealed that your seventh-grade report card has mostly C's and D's. The Dons of Hah-vard will go "tut," and make an unjoyful noise that you are unworthy! Or, let's say that you are the hottest of the hot supermodels, and your tween picture of you with braces comes out? Or what about that dubious dress that you wore to the prom, or that sweet but impossibly outréboy who you went with?
Or even more so, your membership in that kooky cult that wore those silly outfits and acted like Young Republicans off the reservation? We're talking Situation Damage Control here! Doing repair work on the ol' image.
A big source of damaging information is everyday official records, such as school or police reports. Some are supposed to be closed; but persistent journalists or papparazzis can dig up dirt if there's dirt to be found. Unfortunately, the only ultimate solutions are sort of illegal; such as hacking into records of varying types and making them sound better or discreetly bribing your way to civic virginity!
Photographs are easier, provided you also destroy the negatives or memory cards. Keep the ones marking major life events, such as graduations, honor society memberships, or worthy school activities, provided the pictures are flattering. A tip: get some professionally-taken ones; no glam shots and, above all, no boudoir poses! Obviously, destroy all souvenir detention slips.
And bribe your old high school assistant principal to silence. Actually, if he is like most, he is all-too-willing to support yourpersona: after all, not many of his charges amounted to anything.
Personal possessions should be culled from time to time. Having a single, charming stuffed animal left over from your childhood is desirable; having a cabinet full is -- whoa! -- a little too much disclosure! Clothing should be deliberately culled, lest they seem dowdy, bizarre, or too intrusive. Imagine yourself being famous; and having a museum of your childhood home. And what is on display? A bra that you wore back as a freshman will be studied by all, and your size checked and commented on. And, for God's sake, lose those cute hats! No one looks good in a hat!
On the plus size, purchase a few faux trophies and certificates to indicate your showing early promise. No one will look further into them.
And have a few tantalizing items that are incompletely accounted for to add a touch of mystery. After all, you want them to continue to look, you know. Maybe a baton, or a cheerleader's outfit or a gavel. Or a notebook of poetry. Copy neatly only your best efforts, though. And try to appear both open and modest if enquired.
Look at my advice not as a suggestion to be dishonest, but rather to be strategically revisionist. After all, even newspapers have editors. Why not edit your life to make it more in line with your present accomplishments?
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
News from Flathead County
Here's the police blotter from the Flathead Beacon. These sorts of things make the news in Flathead County, Montana.
9:24 a.m. A local man was upset that someone flipped the bird at him so he called 911.
10:26 a.m. A Martin City woman who lives between the town’s two bars said she was sick and tired of people fighting each other in front of her house.
10:57 a.m. A local resident’s phone was stolen in East Glacier Park.
11:01 a.m. A local man found his bike that had been stolen from McDonald’s the previous night.
11:21 a.m. A motorhome in Bigfork burst into flames.
12:13 p.m. A dog was reportedly locked in a hot Jeep parked “in the middle of nowhere.”
12:28 p.m. A landlord-tenant dispute was getting “aggressive” in Columbia Falls.
12:42 p.m. A Hungry Horse man found his stolen bike.
2:14 p.m. A man running heavy equipment called 911. The dispatcher couldn’t hear what the man was saying and eventually the guy just hung up, leading the dispatcher to believe it was probably a pocket dial.
3:25 p.m. A Columbia Falls man reported that his ex-wife was causing trouble.
Apparently, crime is not a big priority here.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Three Sizes
One time a young fellow was going to marry a girl up on Panther Creek, but they hadn’t done no screwing yet. The girl seen him taking a leak out behind the barn, so then she begun to holler that the wedding will have to be called off. “You’re a-carrying more than I can take,” she says, “that thing is too big for a little girl like me!” But the young fellow just laughed. “I’ve got three of ’em,” says he. “One is lady size, another’n is whore size, and the third is mare size. I always use the mare size to piss with.”
So the girl says all right, and they got married right away. The first night she tried the lady size, and everything went fine. The second night she latched onto the whore size, and that was wonderful, too. The third night she called for the mare size, and it was the best of all. Him and her both had a good time, and you’d think they would live happy ever after.
About three weeks after the wedding, the girl woke up one morning, and she just laid there and yawned. “Honey,” she says, “fetch me one of the garters that is hanging on the chair.” The young fellow just grinned at her. “You ain’t got no stockings on,” says he. “What do you want with a garter?” The girl yawned again, and snuggled up against him. “I just thought of something,” she says. “If we can tie all three of them pricks together, maybe I could get some good fucking for a change!”
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
Helping a Choking Woman
Two southerners stop in for a bite to eat, while discussing their moonshine operation. A woman at another table begins to cough. Pretty soon she is choking. One southerner says to her "Can yer breathe?" She shakes her head..no. He asks: "Can yer talk?" She shakes her head..No. He gets up, walks over to her, lifts up her dress, pulls down her panties and licks her on one butt cheek. The woman is so shocked by this, she coughs up the food she had been choking on. The southerner slowly walks back to the table to join his partner. The other southerner says "I done heard about that there HIND LICK manuver, but I've never seen it done."
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Have You Ever Been Diddled?
One time there was a town girl and a country girl got to talking about the boys they had went with. The town girl told what kind of car her boyfriends used to drive, and how much money their folks has got. But the country girl didn't take no interest in things like that, and she says the fellows are always trying to get into her pants.
So finally the town girl says, "Have you ever been diddled?" The country girl giggled, and she says yes, a little bit.
"How much?" says the town girl. "Oh, about like that," says the country girl, and she held up her finger to show an inch, or maybe an inch and a half.
The town girl just laughed, and pretty soon the country girl says, "Have you ever been diddled?"
The town girl says of course she has, lots of times. "How much?" says the country girl. "Oh, about like that," says the town girl, and she marked off about eight inches, or maybe nine.
The country girl just sat there goggle-eyed, and she drawed a big smile and said, "Wow, girl! That's not being diddled; that's being gloriously laiiiid!"
So finally the town girl says, "Have you ever been diddled?" The country girl giggled, and she says yes, a little bit.
"How much?" says the town girl. "Oh, about like that," says the country girl, and she held up her finger to show an inch, or maybe an inch and a half.
The town girl just laughed, and pretty soon the country girl says, "Have you ever been diddled?"
The town girl says of course she has, lots of times. "How much?" says the country girl. "Oh, about like that," says the town girl, and she marked off about eight inches, or maybe nine.
The country girl just sat there goggle-eyed, and she drawed a big smile and said, "Wow, girl! That's not being diddled; that's being gloriously laiiiid!"
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