Well, I am sitting here in my living room composing my first blog post on my new Dell Inspiron 2650. How does it make me feel? Inpironed!

This is my first notebook. It is a refurb. I am looking forward to breaking it in. I started it up and configured it for dial up. Connected to the Internet and it immediately frooze up. I restarted, connected again, some thing. So I let it rest and tried again. It seems to be working like a champ this time.

Look for more posts from the captain's chair in the future.

I miss you people too! I am going to school full time, working full time, and trying to alienate my friends and family full time this semester. So far I am succeeding only at the last one. I just ordered a new laptop, so hopefully I will have time to write to you in the next week or so. Thanks for not forgetting me.

Hello Betsy. It sure is nice to see you again. You look even prettier than I remember.
My name is Jimmy Lee Herringbone sir. It’s awful nice to meet you, seeing as how we are going to be in-laws and all.

I’m Willard McCord son, and my first impression of you is that you are not very bright.

Now why would you say that, Mr. Willard?

Because you could have gotten that thing out of there, but you had to let it soak.

Well sir, the truck got kicked out of gear, we rolled down and hit a tree and then there was also keg beer involved, I apologize Mr. Willard. I’m sure sorry about us meeting like this but I think we can make the best of it. I am a good, honest, hard working man and you strike me as the same. Anyone who raised up a daughter as fine as little Betsy here would have to be. Also I know for a fact that the Daleville McCords are good people and I know them to be your kin.

I ain’t the one on trial here son. You watch football?

Yessir.

Who is your team?

College or pro?

College first.

Arkansas.

What do you think of Frank Broyles?

He needs to retire and quit meddlin’, but he wont stop till he dies.

Pro?

Cowboys.

What do you think of Jerry Jones?

He needs to retire and quit meddlin’, but he wont stop till he dies.

What kind of music you like?

Country.

Who is you favorite singer?

Randy Travis.

What do you do for a livin'

I help my old man run his saw mill.

Did my daughter prep you on these questions?

No sir.

You wouldn’t lie to me would you boy?

No sir.

You gonna take good care of my daughter and teach my grandson to call them Hogs?

Yes sir.

Then welcome to the family, Jimmy Lee Herringbone. Where can we find this Pastor Ronnie?

When you get to the corner of Arkansas highways 186 and 183 you are in Daleville. There are no signs that tell you that. There is not evidence of a town right there at the intersection. Just two gas stations situated on opposite corners and a light hanging from wire that blinks yellow one direction and red the other. On Arkansas 186, the street where you don’t have to stop, the speed limit slows down to 45. You would have to be from Daleville to know that there is a school just down from the intersection where 1500 kids attend k-12. It seems like there is a dirt road every quarter of a mile on those main highways and those roads weave in and out of each other in those wooded Ouachita Mountains with thousands of houses spaced generously apart.

Jimmie Lee Herringbone had lived down one of those dirt roads, the Hickory Holler Road, for his entire life. His folks had an old three bedroom farm house on ten acres and the saw mill. When Jimmy Lee was in Jr. High and trying to make the Daleville Fighting Beavers football team he would run to the highway and back every afternoon after school. He had his mom check the distance on the odometer of her car and it was 3.2 miles one way. When his dad made him assistant manager of the saw mill (he was in charge of the three other employees besides himself and his old man) he brought in an old trailer house he bought out of the Sunday classifieds and set it up about half a football field from his folk’s house.

Betsy and her dad stopped at the Citgo down at the Daleville intersection and called for directions to Jimmy Lee’s trailer. After he got off the phone he walked out in the front yard in those Sunday best clothes of his and leaned up against his truck with his thumbs in his belt loops and a twig of sage grass sticking out of his mouth. It was not long before Betsy and her father pulled into the front yard. They were in an old pickup, not much different than Jimmy Lee’s. Betsy had on a pretty little sunflower dress and her dad had a chartreuse cowboy shirt, black leather vest, bolo tie, and a big black Stetson with silver Mexican conchos around the band. A brown Swisher Sweets Little Cigar hung from his lips and his hands were locked onto the steering wheel in the ten and two position. He did not smile, he did not say hello, and he did not even look over. Jimmy Lee climbed through the passenger side door and Betsy scooted to the middle of the truck.

“I done called Brother Ronnie. He’s the one what baptized me when I’s 12 down at the 3rd Missionary Baptist Church of Daleville. My folks still go there most Sundays and I reckon I would if’n I could get up that early.”

Jimmy Lee’s new father in-law just grunted.

Jimmy Lee noticed for the first time that Betsy’s eyes were red and puffy from crying.

Jimmy Lee Herringbone lived in a small town in the Ouachita National Forest. He cut lumber for a living. To entertain others he cut the cheese. Jimmy Lee was thirty years old and never did finish high school. He didn’t drop out; he just kind of stopped going his senior year around March. When graduation rolled around he figured there was no sense in going. He found out later at the after party that they had called out his name and even had a diploma for him. At this point he was too embarrassed to go up to the High School Principal’s office and collect that diploma. He couldn’t imagine that they would graduate someone that had not been to class in eight weeks. But they did.

Jimmy Lee took a job at the sawmill that his old man ran. They made wood shavings that were used in the chicken houses that were springing up all over those hills. On good days his old man would let him drive the big delivery truck through the woods to some chicken house that needed them. This meant that Jimmy Lee got to get out of the mill and listen to his Randy Travis tape and daydream about moving away to a far away exotic town like Mena or Russellville.

At a party one night he met a girl from LA . . . Lower Arkansas that is. Her name was Betsy McCord and she was from down around Camden She was visiting her cousin Betty. Jimmy Lee liked Betsy. She wasn’t that pretty, but she was nice. She was so nice in fact that Jimmy Lee kept her plastic cup full of keg beer all night. About 11:30 they consummated their relationship on the bench seat in the cab of his 1987 full-size Chevy pick-up. While they were going at it, Jimmy Lee accidentally kicked the gear shift and it slipped into neutral. They had no idea that the old truck was moving until it hit a tree. They were parked out in the woods and it only rolled about twenty yards, but that was enough to put a nice dent in the front bumper. Right in the center, no less.

As it turned out, that dent was not the only souvenir that Jimmy Lee would have from that night. About a month later Betsy called him up and informed that she and her Daddy were headed north and they intended to pick up Jimmy Lee and go find a nice Missionary Baptist preacher that would marry the two of them because her daddy said he weren’t going to have no bastard grandchildren. Jimmy Lee just played it cool. When they got there he had on his cleanest black jeans, a short sleeve while button down shirt, and a paisley tie. Hell, he even shined up his boots. He liked Betsy, after all. He couldn’t think of any reason why the two of them and a little rug rat could not live happily ever after.

Hiku for Lunch

Saffron rice in my gut
Thank you Dan for taking me
Star of India


Sitting here at work
Drinking an afternoon coke
With each belch I ‘m back

Laney Elisabeth Barber was born at 4:44 PM today! She was 7 lbs, 8 oz and 18 inches long. Mother and baby are both very healthy. Everything went extremely well!
You can find Laney's old man Here
And her sweet momma Here
Special thanks to Ms. J for hosting

Suddenly, in the spot where comments go it will sometimes say, "Poseurs" rather than "Comments." I just wanted to say that I don't know how that happened, I don't know how to fix it, I did not do it, and I don't feel that way about you all at all!

State employees be smokin’. No kidding. Every time I enter or leave the building, the same ten or so people are standing by the doorway, toking up like Keith Richards in the morning. Today I had to leave mid-morning to go pick up the boy and take him to his new Mother’s Day Out. When I left, state employees be smokin’. When I returned, state employees be smokin’. That makes me wonder, is that their job description? They could not possibly be accomplishing much else. How do you get such a job? Where do I sign up? I can see the ad in the paper:

Wanted: A highly motivated person with experience in local, federal, or state government to stand in front of a government building a smoke. Must be able to complete at least three packs a day, Basic or Price Saver preferred but Camel or Marlboro also acceptable. Benefits include Health Insurance and 63 paid vacation and holidays a year.

So I got back from taking the boy to class and I am now sitting at my desk enjoying a Del Monte Fruit Cup. Because I took an early lunch to deliver the boy, my sweet Ms. J made a sack lunch for me to bring back to work and eat at my desk. Since I am Fatnathan, I am eating it immediately. I realize that it is only 9:30 and I will be hungry by the end of the day, but I am hungry now too. Also they have a snack bar upstairs. Don’t tell Ms. J.

Wylie was very excited about his new school. He has been talking all week about making new friends. When we got there he ran to his new teacher and jumped in her arms and gave her a big hug. All of the kids gathered around him to say hello to the new boy. Then they had dry Cheerios and red cool aid. I went out to the truck to get his stuff and when I got back I heard Wylie tell his teacher, “I’ll be right back real soon. I have to go play with some of these toys.”

I said, “See you later Wylie, I have to go back to work.”

Without looking up he said, “Otay Dadoe. See you soon.” Then he looked up at his new teacher and said, “Dadoe has to go to work.”

I hope it goes this smooth all semester. Last fall mother’s day out was a disaster. His teacher was a real b-with-an-itch and he hated going. We can not afford the one he is going to now, and it is thirty minutes from our house, but the program and teacher are so much better. It really is no comparison.

The Circle of Life According to Wylie Allman Greer (2 1/2 Years Old)

1) Lions Eat grass
2) Tigers Eat crackers
3) Horses like water
4) Cows like milk
5) Hippo and Rhino eat nuts and juice
6) Giraffes eat reefs
7) Chicken eat popcorn
8) Fish eat catfish
9) Snakes eat snake food
10) Lizards eat bugs
11) Frogs eat bugs
12) Bugs eat smaller bugs
13) We eat chicken

I do believe that I have a case of what the medical community refers to as Influenza. Down here in the hood, we call it Dem Flewbugz, Y’all.

The symptoms: Snotty head; coughing up lung biscuits; sore neck and back; stomach cramps; headache; blurry vision; fever chills; bad hair; bad breath; zitty chin; bad BO; decreased will to live; increased sense of whininess; no ambition; no friends; no happiness; no tenderness; nobody loves me but my momma, and she could be jiving too.

Don’t tell me to go home from work, because I have frittered away all of my sick leave for the year on lesser illnesses. I do have 16 hours of vacation time, but I am saving it so I can take off work the 26th and 27th to be with family for the holidays.

How sick am I? All the Fatboy has had to eat this morning is a can of sprite, which I drank very, very slowly. That is extraordinary! As I am sure that you are aware, sprite does not contain caffeine, alcohol, or pork. Those are the three criteria for something to be ingested by me.

The War on Drugs is a Failure

Federal drug laws should be repealed and currently illegal drugs should be regulated by the states

Prohibition is an awful flop.
We like it.
It can’t stop what it’s meant to stop.
We like it.
It left a trail of graft and slime,
It don’t prohibit worth a dime,
It’s filled our land with vice and crime.
Nevertheless, we’re for it.
Franklin P. Adams (1931)

“There is only one basic human right, the right to do as you damn well please. And with it comes the only basic human duty, the duty to take the consequences.” P.J. O’Rourke (1993)


The federal government’s war on drugs is a misguided failure. Currently there are 400,000 non-violent drug offenders in jails and prisons. More than sixty percent of the federal prison population consists of drug offenders. An estimated 1.2 million suspected drug offenders are arrested each year, most for simple possession or petty sale. The government spends 19 Billion dollars every year to enforce its drug laws, more than the Commerce, Interior, and State Departments put together. In spite of all of this, according to the US department of Health and Human Services, 26.7 million Americans used an illicit drug last month. Every year from 1975-1995, at least 82 percent of high school seniors said that they found marijuana “fairly easy” or “very easy” to obtain.

Not only are drugs still widely available, evidence shows that we could be making the problem worse. In 1985, 5.5 percent of American high school seniors used marijuana daily, but in the Netherlands (where marijuana is legal) the rate was only 0.5 percent. Indeed, a national survey found that only 1.7 percent of people who currently do not use drugs said that they would try drugs if they were made legal.

Even police officers agree that we are mismanaging the problem. In 2001 David Klinger, a professor of criminology at the University of Missouri and a former officer in the Los Angeles Police Department, stated that as he worked as an officer he, “started to view most people involved with drugs either as broken souls who made self-destructive choices or as harmless people who indulged their appetites in moderation—not as crooks who needed to be punished.” Hollywood director Steven Soderbergh says that while he was working on the movie Traffic, he made a point of interviewing police officers about their work. Soderbergh posed one question to each cop: "If your daughter had a drug problem, would you involve the police department?" Without exception, the answer was "no."

Prohibition of drugs has created the exact same problems that prohibition of alcohol created in the early twentieth century. Before alcohol prohibition, safe and regulated alcohol was readily available from reputable sources. After Prohibition, alcohol was still readily available, but in unregulated condition and from disreputable sources only. This spawned violence and crime. The murder rate rose with the start of Prohibition, remained high throughout Prohibition, and declined for eleven consecutive years after the repeal of Prohibition.

Likewise, before drug prohibition opium, morphine, and cocaine were legally and cheaply available without a prescription at drugstores and grocery stores and through the mail. (Marijuana, of course, is an opportunistic native weed and will grow up through the cracks in a concrete parking lot if left unattended.) Cutting off these safe and reputable sources has forced these substances to be controlled by criminals, but made them only marginally less available. Most, if not all, “drug-related murders” are the result of drugs being forced into the black market and would likely never have happened without prohibition.

Also it is important to note that the federal drug laws are constitutionally dubious. The Tenth Amendment states that any powers not given to the federal government in the constitution are reserved for the states. Alcohol was only prohibited federally by an amendment to the constitution. However, Congress never asked the American people for additional constitutional powers to declare a war on drug users. The Controlled Substances Act of 1970 is considered by many to be the most far-reaching federal statute ever passed. It asserts federal jurisdiction over every drug offense in the United States, no matter how small or local its scope.

Further evidence of the federal government’s slapdash attitude about the constitution can be found in their retort to statewide medical marijuana initiatives. A recent survey found that more than 70 percent of U.S. cancer specialists said they would prescribe marijuana if it were legal; nearly half said they had urged patients to break the law to acquire the drug. The British Medical Association reported that nearly 70 percent of its members believe marijuana should be available for therapeutic use. In 1996 voters in California and Arizona responded to this by authorizing physicians to recommend the use of marijuana to seriously ill patients residing in those states. The Clinton administration quickly announced that any physician recommending or prescribing medical marijuana and patients who use marijuana under state law would be prosecuted in federal courts.

The bureaucracy that enforces drug laws is a perfect example of self-perpetuating big government. When drug use goes up, taxpayers are told that the government needs more money to fight against the rising tide of abuse. When drug use goes down, taxpayers are told that it would be a big mistake to cut spending just when progress is being made. Whatever the news, spending levels must be increased. The history of the drug war plainly shows us that spending levels have little to do with drug use, and likely has an adverse effect.

The best solution for the liberty-thieving problem that is the U.S. war on drugs was spelled out by the libertarian think-tank, the Cato Institute, in their Handbook for the 107th Congress. I would lessen its impact if I tried to restate it, so I will close with the same paragraphs that they did:

Congress should repeal the Controlled Substances Act of 1970, shut down the Drug Enforcement Administration, and let the states set their own policies with regard to currently illegal drugs. They would do well to treat marijuana, cocaine, and heroin the way most states now treat alcohol: It should be legal for licensed stores to sell such drugs to adults. Drug sales to children, like alcohol sales to children, should remain illegal. Driving under the influence of drugs should be illegal.

With such a policy, Congress would acknowledge that our current drug policies have failed. It would restore authority to the states, as the Founders envisioned. It would save taxpayers’ money. And it would give the states the power to experiment with drug policies and perhaps devise more successful rules.

The war on drugs has lasted longer than Prohibition, longer than the Vietnam War. But there is no light at the end of this tunnel. Prohibition has failed, again, and should be repealed, again.

Did you hear that the new Secretary of the Treasury gave up his membership in Augusta National because of the recent non-scandal concerning female club members? This is what Jay Nordlinger said on NRO's the Corner about it, and he could not be more right.

"Anyone who would give up a membership in Augusta National to be Treasury secretary is absurd. In fact, anyone who would do so is too misguided to hold high public office."

Time out from conversations with the Naked Cowby to bring you the beautiful baby Amanda Grace Yielding

Born: 12-02-2002
Birth Time: 6:10 pm
@ St. Vincent Doctors Hospital
Weight: 6 lbs 7 oz
Length: 19 in
She is as pretty as her momma.
God bless her.

Welcome back Naked Cowboy!

Thanks, Fatnathan.

Man you are welcome on my blog anytime. Can I ask you a few questions?

Certainly, Shoot! I mean, draw!

Why do the chicks love you so much?

Well Fatboy, for a variety of reasons. First there is my Euro-Jesus hair. Then there is my voice of pure testosterone. Also, you might not realize this, but Naked Cowboy works up quite a sweat singing ballads of the western prairie and Slow Ride for the sweet ladies of New York City, and the Naked Cowboy’s sweat sends out pheromones that are an aphrodisiac on a par with pure rhinoceros horn.

Wow that is great! So when you get the ladies all turned on, do you take them back to the old Cowboy shack for a little private performance?

Don’t be ridiculous, Fatso. I’ve got the Naked Cowgirl waiting for me back home. When the ladies get all turned on and out of control, I just encourage them to turn their love into money and place it in the Naked Cowboy Boots. That is how I make my living.

Is it a good living?

I do alright. I certainly ain’t complaining. I am able to work in New York and make ends meet without having to rustle up money with my naked six gun.

You mean to tell me that you are packing heat?

Why do you think that the Naked Cowboy keeps his tighty whities on?

Modesty, I assumed

Don’t be ridiculous. Want to hear some Blue Oyster Cult?

Nah, How about some Marty Robbins?

Who the hell is that? Some kind of queer cowboy poseur?

Let’s change the subject.

No problem. Let's talk about why you are ripping off Tony Pierce.

Let's talk about how he has no link for me, even though I have him linked right at the top of my blog!

Let's go get some beer with this stinky boot money of mine and get tore up!

Let's not. Goodbye Convertible Cowboy/Star Guy

Later Lunchbox

Ray-Ray just admitted that the Mimes dream was not his at all . . .

I just got the following email from my old buddy Ray-Ray "Dr. Earl" Baser. Grad school must be more stressful than I had imagined.

I had a dream last night; it was about mimes. I saw myself surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of mimes. All of them pointing and laughing at me. Mocking me. Pretending to sip tea. With their smug grins and painted faces. WHO ARE THEY TO LAUGH AT ME? Suddenly it started to rain knives from the sky. The mimes got pierced and maimed. Blood was everywhere. One of the mimes caught a knife in the side of his head. He screamed and cried, but all the other mimes were being impaled and couldn't help him. He looked at me and exploded. It seemed the hell I was in was turning into heaven. After it stopped raining, only pieces of the mimes remained. They could no longer torment me. I was free from hell. Or so I thought. I don't remember what happened next, but suddenly that bitch was there. I hate her. Then I was at a park, with more mimes. This time they were juggling and balancing chainsaws. I ran over to one of the mimes and took his chainsaw, saying "Oh, it seems I have your chainsaw. How do you like that, bitch?" The mime shrugged, so I chopped off his legs. Then I woke up.

Mimes are worthless. If they'd get real jobs, we wouldn't be harassed by them everywhere we go. I'm sure there are mimes in hell. Mimes and all things shitty. What the hell is wrong with people when mimes can still make a living?? Don't they understand that mimes are evil and should be shot? Greedy bastards, always stealing my candy and throwing rocks at me. Throw rocks at me will you? I'll burn your house down. HAHAH. I'll laugh and laugh like you did so many times before. And then it will be my turn to not invite you to my birthday party. How do you like that, asshole? HAHAH.

Mimes torture me with their existence

Look out because I will rock you. Stand still and I will rock you. Move and I will rock you. I am the Naked Cowboy and I am here for one reason, heavy freaking rock. Heavy Metal. Hard rock. Acid Rock. Naked Cowboy R-O-C-K! My guitar is like a laser beam. My hair is like the golden locks of Euro-Jesus. My voice is like a beautiful kitten that has been thrown into a food processor. That’s right, a food processor. That is how rock-and-freaking-roll I am. I will throw your kittens into the blender. I will steal your girlfriend. I will outrun your fastest car. I will break your momma’s heart. But I will not mess with your boyfriend if you are gay, because I ain’t like that. The Naked Cowboy is NOT gay. Get it. I am rock and roll in the Aerosmith way, not the Boy George way. I am rock and roll in the Foghat way, not the Pet Shop Boys way. I will rock you up one side and down the other. Do you see this guitar? Don’t look too closely because it is a lethal weapon. Do you see these boots? They are for stomping weaklings like you. Do you see this hat? Is it too much, because my ex girlfriend said that it made my nose look big. I like it. Do you? When you see the Naked Cowboy coming, better step aside. Hide the booze, cause I will drink it. Hide the drugs, cause I will take them. Hide the women, cause they will be mine. Don’t worry about hiding the dice, because the Naked Cowboy does not gamble. I don’t gamble because I am a sure bet. Put your money on me, because I am going places. The Naked Cowboy is going places fast. Right now, I am going inside, because it is as cold as a mother out here! But first, do you have some spare change or something, because the Naked Cowboy is hungry and the naked cattledriving business just ain't what it used to be.

This is Canadia writer David Warren's take on Christian/Muslim relations and attitudes. (Via David Frum)

“It is a commonplace today that Christians in the West have lost their faith, whereas Muslims in the East are still believers; that what we now have is a confrontation between decadent post-Christian secularists, and sincere if possibly misguided Muslims. The first part of this proposition often seems true enough, especially of contemporary Europe. But I really think the second proposition is false. I think one of the reasons Islamism has erupted with such gale force in the Muslim world is indeed the very loss of faith, and the fear that comes from this. ...

“It is in moments of doubt that one often makes the wildest, most desperate, professions of faith; and in a way Osama bin Laden is doing this within his own person, and calling to fellow Muslims who are experiencing the same dark night of the soul. It is as if they were confronting not us, but instead Allah, and saying, ‘Show us! Prove to us you still exist; because, if you don't, we will give up on you entirely.’

“At the edges of that Muslim world today, there is much, chiefly anti-Christian violence: in the Philippines, Indonesia, in Nigeria, Sudan, and across Africa, in the Trans-Caucasus and elsewhere. But part of the reason for this, I have come to realize, is the very success of the new Christian missionaries. They are coming today not from Europe and America as they once did, but from churches now indigenous to Africa and Asia. For in the grand statistical overview of the present day world, Islam is expanding by its birth-rate alone, it is not making many converts; whereas, paradoxically, it is Christianity that is now spreading like wildfires from many different centres in the Third World, both by birth-rate and by conversion.”

Just when I thought that my job could not be any more insufferable, there has been a sewer leak on the floor above my office and now the air is rife with the nose hair singeing bouquet of poopoo. The walls must be flowing with crap. My eyes are watering and my chest burns. Yuck! To top it all off, time appears to be standing still.