Growing Up With Verne
I was checking a spam folder on the World Wide Web and noticing a dearth of penis enlargement solicitations. I remember when spam was primarily meat in a can. And when no one had yet thought to solicit other people to enlarge their penises. That's right, I go way back. Today in North Carolina there was limited visibility. I was driving around listening to Elliot Gould read Raymond Chandler but I was thinking about the noise my dryer makes and wondering if the sun would come out. It never did and now it's night.
I sleep on an air mattress and I yell at my cat when she uses it as a scratching post. Get scratching post was on a list I never made.
I'm listening to Verne Lundquist in the background. He was a local sportscaster in Dallas while I was growing up there during a tiny piece of the fifties, all of the sixties, and 70 percent of the seventies. Verne is a good guy.
I think vultures are overrated. That thing about how valuable they are because they clean up the countryside of carrion doesn't wash with me. There has been in my backyard a dead cat which turned out to be a dead raccoon for going on two months now and the resident vulture is taking forever to deal with it. I was all about delegating the work out here but this vulture thing doesn't seem like it's working out.
Verne says was it a goal tend? Yes. And a foul.
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