I like to write junk...

EARLY BIRD

“I told this story to several friends saying that the deli wouldn’t be open much longer, as its owner had evidently lost their drive, or fire, as I sometimes call it.”

As a young child, I often heard this phrase — “The early bird catches the worm.” My parents were ardent believers in this message as they were always up by five, although I don’t recall seeing them holding worms. It took a few years for me to learn precisely what this saying meant.

The ‘early bird’ statement originally came from a book of proverbs written in 1605, by author, historian, topographer, and herald, William Camden. William’s reference to this proverb was intended to dictate, that those folks having the most drive and initiative, generally go the farthest in life.

Extremely wise, William Camden died a wealthy man indicating that he’d definitely caught the financial worm along with literary and philosophy worms.

My father, during his business life, would unlock the door to his automotive parts store to people even before the business officially opened. He’d even stay late after closing hours, or drive back to the store if a shop called him at home. Within a few years, word-of-mouth advertising, along with this steadfastness towards customer service paid off dearly.

Here in Lake Havasu City, without mentioning any business names, I’ve come across the same service that my dad offered. A trailer hitch and welding shop located between Industrial and West Acoma in the Easy Street complex — bent over backward for me when I needed a last-minute adjustment on my hitch. I’ve sent them many customers since.

A car and truck dealership team stayed after hours to finalize paperwork on our new Jeep. They didn’t have to, because I mentioned to the salesman and finance manager that we’d come back early the following day. These two employees wouldn’t hear of such. Because of their sacrifice and commitment to their jobs, Joleen and I are now repeat customers.

Located on Swanson Boulevard, an Italian restaurant is always able to accommodate our unusual requests, such as allowing for both red sauce and white sauce on a pizza. They even go so far as to stick the leftover pieces in a box for us after we’re finished eating.

That might not seem like much, but when you’re sitting at a small table with a large box in hand it’s a big deal. We’re repeat customers there as well.

A Lake Havasu City towing service went out of their way, driving to Kingman to retrieve our truck, while two other companies wanted my complete personal history before even making a decision.

Easily over 100 degrees that July day, hot enough to make a camel sweat, we were able to ride safely back home in his wrecker with our little dog securely tucked in Joleen’s lap — although company insurance regulations allegedly discourage such. That act of kindness on the driver’s part netted him a $100 tip.

At one time on the south end of town, located close to where my wife and I live, was an Italian deli or sub shop. I patronized it many mornings for their biscuits and gravy or breakfast burritos, although they didn’t open until 8 AM which is a bit late for breakfast in my book. The employee would write down my order, and it was usually ten minutes before the take-home food was ready.

This was no problem because I could wait in my vehicle and listen to music. Their grub was good so it was well worth hanging around for. Initially, they were enthusiastic about my patronage, yet that seemed to wane over time.

One morning, I walked up to the outside counter to place an order, with the employee telling me that they wouldn’t be open for another five minutes. He was busy chitchatting with a woman standing outside the service window. I found that unusual because it would’ve taken the guy 15 seconds at the most to simply write down — cheese and egg burrito — or just remember it for that matter.

Being on a tight schedule, rather than sit and wait to order, I elected to head out of town to Kingman. Five minutes later I was wheeling through a popular fast-food restaurant on Swanson to get my food. I never went back to this Maricopa Avenue deli because a new convenience store opened up closer to my house, offering fresh breakfast burritos along with biscuits and gravy starting at 6 AM.

I told this story to several friends while informing them that the deli wouldn’t be open much longer, as its owner had evidently lost their drive, or fire, as I often call it. They needed to open earlier for the construction crowd, especially in this town.

One of these pals of mine disputed my analysis, saying that the establishment was doing a booming business, with them not needing my single order that day just to remain in operation. It was clear that he didn’t get the message.

“You’re exaggerating things because you were mad!” is how he ended the conversation. Ultimately, I turned out to be right, with this eatery closing less than 6 months later.

The early bird catches the worm still rings true, and new business owners should take heed of the powerful statement behind it. Those six words just might be the key to a successful business endeavor or a failure.

I’m sure the proverb originator, William Hayden, would wholeheartedly agree. It definitely worked for the better in his life!

NO BAD DAYS!

“It was fun being a part of them if only temporarily.”

When I think of “Rat Pack” — I immediately flash back to Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and Dean Martin. Those 3 well-known entertainers made up this famous group for its last few years, although before then, at least 11 others were part of the team, which included, Erol Flynn, Elizabeth Taylor, Mickey Rooney, and Lena Horne.

On March 18, my wife and I attended ‘Havasu Night Out’ as Captain and Co-Captain of our Neighborhood Watch group. After checking in we were presented envelopes with a table location based on the street where we lived. Unable to clearly see the number, Joleen and I were taken by an usher to table #1. It was only after being seated and having our food brought to us that I noticed we were supposed to be at table #7.

Soon after, those folks officially assigned to this location started showing up. After explaining our situation to them, one Amberjack Bay participant jokingly said that we had permission to stay. I mentioned that if all 8 chairs were needed, we’d move. By this time, I’d finished my BBQ sandwich and lemonade and could’ve easily done so. The group was a hoot, and I’m glad our mistake wasn’t fixed.

Lake Havasu City Councilmember, David Diaz, and his wife Trudy were part of the Amberjack team. As I always do in an attempt to remember names, a unique saying for them was quickly created — “The Amberjack Rat Pack.” I use this term respectfully as all members of this group were most gracious and friendly. It was fun being a part of them if only temporarily.

Our table turned out to be a lucky one where raffle drawings were concerned. Two out of seven wins with nearly a third isn’t bad. One of Joleen’s tickets was very close only being off by a few numbers. Of course, close only counts in horseshoes.

When Police Chief Troy Stirling asked attendees what the official Lake Havasu City Police Department slogan was, Councilman David Diaz answered, “No Bad Days.” David should’ve won the LHCPD commemorative coin for the most creative answer out of all.

We learned a lot that evening, with Animal Control Officer Seth Kemp saying that the department picked up 400 animals last year, with 70% of them returned to owners. That’s quite unbelievable to me. The amazing part is, how could responsible pet owners lose that many pets other than through carelessness alone.

Officer Robert Draper brought along his recently acquired K-9 German Shepherd named, “Echo.” Surprisingly enough, the narcotics-sniffing canine came all the way from Germany. Undoubtedly, Officer Draper had to learn some German to give his dog orders with “Achtung!” being one.

Our table was rather close to the speaker’s podium, with me sitting there and quietly chuckling. I visualized Echo detecting the Tylenol in my pants pocket and suddenly making a run for it. That tells you how much I know about these highly trained animals. For my bad back’s sake, I always carry a couple of Advil or Tylenol pills for emergency reasons, and they’ve come in handy numerous times.

Next to Echo, the coolest thing at this presentation in my opinion was Corporal Kevin Levine’s drone. As far as I know, it has no name, at least not yet, although a naming contest would be fun. This drone was quite large compared to mine and I’m sure has a lot more bells and whistles.

Corporal Levine said that he can fly rock steady in 30 MPH gusts. I’m sure his machine is a lot more expensive than my DJI Mavic. I’ve tried to use it in light winds with disastrous results.

Perhaps the most helpful information coming forth out of the whole night came from police dispatcher, Haley Monteith. Haley said that if you have to call 911, always remember the five W’s which are: where, when, who, what, and why. Out of all, the most important is where.

Neighborhood Watch Coordinator, Diane Seifert, is to be commended for putting together an excellent Havasu Night Out, in conjunction with Lake Havasu City Police Department and LHCPD Cadets. Joleen and I look forward to attending next year when perhaps I’ll actually get to fly their fancy drone.

I’m wondering if it can do a Loop-De-Loop? That tricky maneuver is what put mine into a state of disrepair, although it was no fault of the device. At 71 — my hand and eye coordination aren’t exactly the same as they used to be.

I truly wish that the motto for our police department was, “No Bad Days.” Unfortunately, although we live in paradise compared to other locales, that popular slogan seen on the back of vehicle windows is only reserved for residents of Heaven.

WEED THIS

“Most fellows don’t like to follow instructions — preferring to figure things out on their own by looking at pictures.”

Like many guys, I’m not one to read and then follow instructions. A 1963 elementary school report card that my Mom kept and then passed on to me, shows 4th grade teacher Mrs. Hagan penned the following negative information in the comments section, “Michael does not follow directions.”

Most fellows don’t like to follow instructions — preferring to figure things out on their own by looking at pictures. Our caveman ancestors did exactly the same finding it much simpler than reading.

I recently purchased a motorized weed sprayer from Amazon and it came without instructions — along with missing several 5/16 inch nuts. Taking the large shipping box apart, I placed it flat on the garage floor, and was able to successfully put things together going by picture alone.

This was only accomplished after driving to Ace Hardware to purchase the missing pieces. Thankfully, that store is a little more than a mile away. During any summer projects, I’ve been known to make 4 trips there in one day alone. Oftentimes, it’s not for parts — as they have an ice cream novelty cooler as you enter the front door.

I ran calculations through my brain on how much weed preemergent is required for 31 gallons of water. One gallon came out as more than enough liquid. Making a 20-mile roundtrip to Tractor Supply for the product, I was all set until I decided to read tiny instructions barely legible on the gallon jug. Turns out I needed 184 ounces of juice, and of course, a gallon is only 128 ounces.

Back to the store I went, trading in this jug for a two-and-a-half gallon version, along with handing the cashier another $75.32. My wife suggested that I read the sprayer instructions on how to “dial in” the flow control before doing any spraying. I started to do so before becoming confused and giving up.

Attaching this towable spraying apparatus to the trailer receiver behind our Jeep, a switch was flipped on allowing the precious liquid to begin flowing. Having calculated in my head that 32 1/2 gallons of the mixture would easily cover 13,000 square feet of ground, I began driving circles, gradually moving towards the heart or center of this property. With 3/4 of the job complete, no more juice was hitting the ground.

With this taking place in Kingman, and my not wanting to go back before the job was complete, I decided to use up the leftover gallon of weed killer. It was mixed with another 20 gallons of water making for a total of 52 1/2 gallons of preemergent. Driving a bit faster this time there was barely any left in the tank when finished.

Once we were back home in Havasu, I took time to carefully scrutinize the mixture control instructions for my sprayer, finding that it was set way too high. Turns out I was putting down twice the weed killer recommended by the manufacturer.

With my wife giving me grief after hearing this regarding wasted money, in the back of my mind, I was okay with the mistake if you can even call it that. In the male way of viewing these simple miscalculations, more is always better.

More food, more drink, more horsepower, more solar panels, etc., are prime examples. I didn’t tell Joleen that I generally use the same formula when adding soap to our washing machine. When Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup is added to a glass of milk I go strictly by color alone. My wife doesn’t understand this madness because it’s a male trait although I could be wrong!

DR. HANKINS

“While he was in elementary school, Steve Jobs collaborated with a friend, printing off flyer sheets saying that the following Friday was “Bring a Pet to Class Day.”

I’ve always been one to have fun and still get my work done. This principle of mine goes back to the earliest years. Class clown wasn’t to my liking, as other boys generally took on that uncelebrated role. Those students often got in trouble for their antics, especially if a teacher didn’t have the slightest sense of humor.

I always chose behind-the-scenes pranks or comedic acts, such as secretly placing Greenie Stik-M-Caps on the bottom of desk chair legs. Those green paper dots were designed to make toy guns go “Pop” whenever the trigger was pulled. The caps contained red phosphorous, potassium chlorate, and sometimes sulfur.

Greenie Stik-M-Caps stuck on the leg of a chair after a student plopped down made the cap explode, never failing to have the whole class laughing, except for maybe one oddball classmate. Those caps were absolutely harmless other than leaving tiny black marks on linoleum tile floors.

Eventually, snitched on by a typical Judy Hensler, I spent an hour after school—working under the close supervision of our school custodian—scrubbing those marks off. The amount of “elbow grease” used was well worth it. My selfless act turned a normally boring day into just the opposite.

For those wondering what a typical Judy Hensler is, Judy was a fictitious character on the popular television show, “Leave it to Beaver.” A classmate of Beaver, the ponytailed girl constantly ratted him out to the teacher, Mrs. Landers. The stereotypical name of Judy has since been replaced with Karen as being problematic females.

After 40 successful years of working for a living, using the same school guidelines to make things fun, my tasks were always completed with no lapse in time or quality. For the most part, supervisors were okay with things unless safety protocol was breached.

I was smart enough to know when not to cross the line, as were “most” others. On occasion, someone would do something stupid, but I was never part of their blunders. My pranks were always well planned out so that no inherent danger or harm to coworkers was involved.

The list of pranks is way too long to list, yet one innocent joke was to place a dollop of shaving cream on the receiver of our office secretary’s telephone before she came to work.

That harmless prank worked to perfection, and to this day, Susan still doesn’t know who punked her. For those wondering what happened afterward, the woman couldn’t hear with shaving cream in her ear. The thick cream made for a temporary earplug.

The main culprit in this prank wasn’t me. This act was mostly performed by my supervisor at the time, Keith Steiner. My job was to simply call the woman after she arrived that morning. I was told that she took the ruse in good spirit.

Smart people and athletes are known to be pranksters, with Abraham Lincoln, Steve Jobs, Steve Wozniak, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Leonardo Da Vinci, Ben Franklin, Samuel Clemens, Virginia Woolf, Willie Harper, John F. Kennedy, Eli Manning, Marie Curie, and even Thomas Edison — all known for their wicked sense of humor.

While in elementary school, Steve Jobs collaborated with a friend, printing off flyer sheets proclaiming that the following Friday was “Bring a Pet to Class Day.” These sheets were then passed out to students at the end of school.

On that day, teachers had to deal with dogs chasing cats, with many students participating in the unscheduled event. This prank was planned to perfection, especially on having the notices given out as students left for the afternoon. There was no chance at that point for any Karen’s or Judys to step in and ruin things.

Years ago, on a commercial building lot my wife and I owned in the London Bridge Shopping Center, I had a sizable professional banner made that read – “Coming Soon – Oliver Garden.” The sign was highly visible from Highway 95 and the parking lot road alongside it. The word Oliver was intentionally used in place of Olive to avoid any possible lawsuits.

That message had people talking, as pretty much everyone in town wanted an Olive Garden, and some now believed they were going to get one. After several weeks, I took that banner down and put up another that read “Buy Loco!” Folks were more confused than ever, not knowing what to think here.

After a year passed, I borrowed another saying from the Lake Havasu Tourism Bureau – “Play Like You Mean It!” This sign came down numerous times, either by the wind or protestors, yet never by me. Some folks took a dislike to the phrase back then, taking out their frustration on my banner.

I’m proud to be associated with those famous pranksters mentioned earlier, if only by having a keen sense of humor like theirs. There was a time when I wanted to be like someone else, yet that thought no longer enters my mind.

I thoroughly enjoy being me because that’s what God intends. Everyone should be happy with who they are, although spiritual growth inside of us is always good. Psalm 139:14

On a parting note, if laughter truly is the best medicine, shouldn’t those folks making people laugh have Dr. in front of their names?

TOAB

“There’s nothing more insulting in my book than having to watch advertisements for certain feminine products, or even worse, hemorrhoid relief.”

Initially, I didn’t know how to safely approach this subject, as most certainly, only my farming relatives, friends, and acquaintances would view a certain statement contained within as being non-offensive.

Those people not raised on farms or ranches, nor around cows and bulls, undoubtedly, would see the wisdom from such an unusual expression as being totally vulgar. After thinking things over for several days, I decided to cut to the chase, realizing that more despicable statements, at least to me, are now heard daily on television commercials.

There’s nothing more insulting in my book than having to watch advertisements for certain feminine products, or even worse, hemorrhoid relief. Why do they have to go into such detail and always seemingly pop up when I’m eating? If the remote is close at hand, our TV quickly goes off.

It was in 1975 when I first visited Kansas with my girlfriend, now my spouse. Joleen’s uncles and aunts were farmers, with her cousins helping perform the necessary chores. One evening, we were visiting with Joleen’s cousin and his wife, Melvin and Debbie Mills.

The conversation quickly turned to trucks which is quite common amongst farmers everywhere. When I mentioned that my father used a small Ford Courier pickup to run parts for his automotive part’s store, Melvin, in a matter-of-fact voice responded, “Those pickups are worthless as tits on a bull around here!” From this point on, out of respect to those easily offended, I’ll use my recently created acronym, TOAB.

I’d never heard Melvin’s statement before, and it caused me to chuckle at first — then think about what he just said, and chuckle even louder. It was just a normal figure of speech to Melvin and not one to garner laughs.

Farmers do have a vocabulary of their own, with me once hearing Joleen’s Uncle Lee mention something about, “Milo.” I thought he was referring to a hired hand. Turned out that Milo is a grain or sorghum grown as feed for cattle.

Since that time now 50 years ago, I probably hear TOAB at least once a year during some conversations, always with male counterparts and never female. I’d relate hearing this to my junior high shop teacher abruptly using the term “bastard file.”

That got the class’s attention like right now, with most of us believing he was mad at a certain metal file held in his hand. The instructor went on to explain that’s the normal name for it and has been for over 200 years.

Students got a good laugh out of this, and I’m sure our instructor had that in mind. Had I used this crude-sounding term around my mother, she would’ve immediately made me wash my mouth out with soap.

Deciding to do a bit of research on TOAB, I first came across the statement in the March 12, 1896, “Kansas Farmer” newspaper. That wasn’t unexpected. From the year 2000 on, there are many newspapers throughout the country having printed it in one way or the other, with the majority being editorials.

Some products this worthless TOAB namesake applies to are: banana slicers, banana holders, pet rocks, air in a can, diet water, DVD rewinder, shoe umbrella, mechanical pet petter, and my favorite, a fake gun.

For a short time, I labeled one of those crazy looking Tesla pickups as being worthless as TOAB, but I have now changed my mind. I see them pulling heavy boats around Lake Havasu City on an almost daily basis.

Melvin Mills claimed that my dad’s little Ford Courier would be worthless on a farm because of its limited weight-carrying capability. Joleen’s younger cousin, Randy Mills, having visited our city three years ago, went even further after having spotted one of the overly lifted diesel pickups driving around town all decked out with chrome and lights.

“What a waste of a perfectly good truck. That feller made it worthless as TOAB.”

How could I argue with Randy, as he was perfectly correct in his analysis!

POETIC LICENSE

“Trying to lasso Columbus into these same devious actions wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, at least not one presided over by a nonactivist judge.”

I’m sure most everyone has watched television shows or Hollywood movies where court scenes play out. As a witness rambles on and on about what they seemingly know about a specific case, an attorney suddenly blurts out for the judge to hear, “I object, your honor…. this is merely hearsay!”

If this fictitious TV judge rules that the lawyer is correct, “Objection sustained!” is immediately heard from the bench. One of my favorite such shows is “Perry Mason.” I still watch the reruns, especially loving the comedic interaction between Perry Mason and Los Angeles City Attorney, Hamilton Burger.

If hearsay was allowed in court, can you imagine the case outcome? All a witness would have to do is interject a bit of “poetic license” on their testimony to make things appear as if it happened instead of using proven facts. A case could suddenly turn into “Days of Our Lives” with both sides resorting to storytelling.

There seem to be two venues where this sometimes holds true — the 6:00 news and history books. I’ll stick to history books as my main point here because history is my favorite subject, and one where poetic license runs free like a raging river.

Before continuing on, for those not knowing what the term, poetic license, means, according to Miss Purdy, my artificial intelligence (AI) helpmate, it’s the freedom to depart from the facts of a matter or from the conventional rules of language when speaking or writing to create an effect.

In layman’s terms, where history is concerned, “Anything goes as long as it seems believable to the masses!”

Hollywood uses poetic license more than anyone. My wife and I watched “Field of Missing Shoes” the other evening. It’s a movie about a group of mostly teenage Virginia Military Academy students being used as soldiers during the American Civil War.

At the beginning of this historical film, the five words “Based Upon A True Story” slowly rolls across the screen. To some viewers, “based upon” automatically means everything in this movie is factual when, in fact, it’s not. Some things, such as romantic scenes, were undoubtedly added to give the film more viewing pleasure as I like to call it. Regardless, it was an excellent movie.

History books as a whole don’t have these five words anywhere in them. Readers are taught, especially elementary school students, that the contents inside are all real. I had no problem with that growing up, yet now I’m seeing this information attacked by activist groups using different truths or unadulterated hearsay to back up their changes.

It’s almost guaranteed that if I told someone a story about a 12-inch fish I caught in 1900, with that story being repeated over the years by 12 different people, now 125 years later, that fish story wouldn’t be close to the same.

Let’s take things back even further, with me telling it 600 years ago, with 125 different storytellers repeating it. That 12-inch fish would now grow even larger — perhaps being over 30 feet long.

Much of our history is based on passed-down stories, folklore, rumors, fables, and the like, with written documentation to back things up not always available. Christopher Columbus is a prime example. I was taught in grade school that he was a good man.

Some of his crew are known to have been filled with evil, based upon written records, yet trying to lasso Columbus into these same devious actions wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, at least not one presided over by a nonactivist judge. Much of this erroneous information against Christopher Columbus has been thoroughly debunked based upon Columbus’s own writings.

Saying that Christopher Columbus is guilty of atrocious acts because of what a few members of his crew possibly did is no different than holding President Joe Biden responsible for his son, Hunter Biden, and this younger man’s numerous illegal activities.

Mount McKinley, in Alaska, has been named that since 1895, as records prove. In 2015, President Barack Hussein Obama used hearsay in changing it to Denali, claiming that Denali is what the Alaskan Indians had originally called the mountain.

Obama’s statement is called spinning the truth, and even worse things, outside of Washington D.C. circles by those having done the research. Stories or folklore passed down via word of mouth have been proven countless times to be remarkably inaccurate.

Archived newspapers from the late 1800s, along with other documented records, show that Mt. McKinley was called “Bulshaia” by Alaska Natives and Russians way before 1895. It’s right there in black and white.

The Dena’ina Athabaskan Indians didn’t start phonetically recording their language until the 1970s. Denali would not have been one of their words five centuries ago, as their communication was strictly an oral language at that point, including simple drawings.

New Age historians are slyly trying to use the terms folklore or hearsay to substantiate their viewpoint here. That falls perfectly in line with my fish story example.

A good example of passed-down hearsay in Lake Havasu City is the rumor that an Olive Garden restaurant is coming to town. I’ve heard that story repeated over the years from many different people. Some of them still swear that their information came from reliable sources, with these people continuing to believe their own message.

It’s been some 30 years now, and no ground has been broken. In another 100 years, some citizens will erroneously report that Olive Garden was once located on Swanson Boulevard, yet has closed after being forced to by city leaders, with a good many future residents buying into this fable.

One of my favorite songs by the music group, Moody Blues, is “Knights in White Satin.” At the end of this popular 1970s song is a mind-provoking poem. In the poem, Late Lament, written by Graeme Edge, three ending lines sum up best how I now look at the truth, especially where certain manuscripts, books, movies, and television news channels are concerned.

“Red is grey and yellow white.

But we decide which is right.

And which is an illusion.”

That poem definitely applies to history books. The only book that I’ve found to tell the absolute truth, without reservation, is the Holy Bible.

If Christopher Columbus or any of my childhood heroes are guilty of atrocities against Indigenous people, as some now claim, all they need to have done afterward is ask Jesus for forgiveness, and those sins were washed away.

It’ll make no difference what history Professor Ima Knowitall or Dr. P.C. Leftist have to say about them in future history books, including me, or anyone else for that matter.

God is the ultimate and final judge here, with folklore, poetic license, and hearsay not admittable as evidence in His court of Absolute Truth!

John 17:17

DOGEBALL

“During one contest, Jeff hit a smaller student square in the face, and this guy instantly wanted to fight.”

One of my favorite activities during school PE was dodgeball. I wasn’t accurate at throwing the ball, but I was a pro at not getting hit — and that’s what counts most.

The way I did this was duck behind others until the ranks thinned, and then constantly run football stop-and-go patterns. I remember several times being the last one standing. Some classmates claimed I cheated, yet I’d never seen any official rules for playing the game.

My friend, Jeff Thimsen, was deadly with a dodgeball, nailing me more than once. Jeff hit a smaller student square in the face during one contest, and this fellow instantly wanted to fight. The guy should’ve ducked, but he was already the shortest person in class. I’d love to mention this person’s name, yet won’t out of respect because the 71-year-old man is now quite well known in music circles.

Coach Chuck White would often join in, and he didn’t cut us any slack in letting a ball fly. I was smacked in the leg by Coach White, leaving a big red whelp. Payback time eventually came my way. After PE was over, I hit him on back of the head with a ball when no one was watching. The coach never suspected me, with the angry instructor screaming at another student instead.

I haven’t played dodgeball in years, but should the Havasu Senior Center start a league with seniors only, count me in. I’m sure those watching us play would get a hoot out of this harmless activity. As long as the balls aren’t fully inflated, no one should get seriously hurt. It’s a different story when those round weapons are fully pumped up with air.

Elon Musk is an excellent dogeball player. The game he plays is a bit different than the one I know. Elon finds a target, then hurls his invisible ball, seemingly never missing. For each agency his dogeball strikes, a bundle of cash rolls out, much like a Piñata stuffed with candy.

Sometimes, a politicized judge steps out of nowhere and rules that Elon cheated, taking this prize money away from him. Then, out of nowhere, another judge pops up, ruling that Musk and team are privy to it.

It’s sort of like tennis — only much different. I enjoy watching Elon’s game play out on the 6:00 news, especially when those on the losing end throw temper tantrums.

Some politicians are now calling Elon Musk a cheater at dogeball, claiming that Elon’s not playing fair with “their” money. I was always under the impression that tax money belonged to the citizens of this country. Have the rules changed here?

I know precisely how Mr. Musk feels in being labeled unsportsmanlike while playing dogeball, having incurred the same wrath in dodgeball.

Researching things for about three seconds, I couldn’t find any defining guidelines for dogeball. It appears to me that whatever way Elon wants to play his game is okay with the majority of citizens in this country.

One thing that hasn’t changed in our country since 1789 is that a majority still rules. That’s how things are supposed to work in a democracy, with the United States Constitution dictating this under Article VI.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it!

This saying goes way back in time.

ALASKA KEMOSABE

“My ultimate goal was to create the best, funniest, and most creative book ever written on the 49th State, and I feel as if I’ve accomplished that.”

Over 30 years ago, a reporter from the Anchorage Daily News told me you sometimes have to toot your own horn to get noticed.

He mentioned this when I called his newspaper to see about getting a certain story published, with it ending up front and center, along with an awesome color photo.

That was the first and last time I’ve ever brought attention to myself where journalism credit is concerned. I prefer to remain in the shadows, not soliciting ribbons, awards, or trophies. The finished product is gratitude enough.

Two years ago, I set off on a writing project unlike anything I’ve ever attempted. It was a grueling undertaking, with me spending countless hours late at night and into the morning sunrise, tediously putting things together.

There were nights I wondered what was I doing as my wife and our parrots slept peacefully in the next room. During this time, I also kept busy composing articles for our local Lake Havasu City newspaper, Today’s News–Herald. I’d venture out in the garage between writing sessions to tinker on my old truck and garner needed sanctity — or pray.

A total of 50 entertaining and unique stories on Alaska, as well as creating 51 photos with help from AI, was, for me, a monumental task. As a car nut, I’d say it’s akin to sanding a vehicle down to bare metal, performing all the priming and sanding, and then spraying on a custom paint job. The book will be around 400 pages, making it the largest I’ve composed.

My ultimate goal was to create the best, funniest, and most creative book ever written on the 49th State, and I feel as if I’ve accomplished that.

Over 10 years, six books later, and a blog with almost 500 submissions, my work has been read in 104 countries and all 50 states, including Puerto Rico. I find that totally amazing. ALASKA KEMOSABE will be featured via several yet-to-be-scheduled podcasts. Thankfully, those can be done from home.

I’ve always been careful to not cross the line where language or humor is concerned in my writing. I know that what I compose is always being scrutinized by the Man upstairs, including those non-believers that I dare not lead astray.

ALASKA KEMOSABE is unlike anything ever placed on the market. Not holding back one iota in putting things together, creatively speaking, there will never be another book like it. I say this because I’d have to be the one composing a sequel. My publisher is pushing me here, although I’ve yet to agree.

Neither an inflated ego nor bravado has anything to do with the above comments; it’s based entirely upon my thought train instead.

Everyone on this planet thinks differently, and there’s no counterfeiting our uniqueness, especially where writing is concerned — unless, of course, plagiarism comes into play.

God is responsible for us being different, with him blessing me with an outrageous and creative mind. It’s gotten me in trouble more than once when I crossed the line, so to speak.

The Choctaw Indians of North America are known as perhaps the best storytellers of all the tribes. They were able to paint a vivid picture by using their hands and gestures, along with artwork, to convey messages.

Their stories often incorporated life lessons passed down from elders, along with moral and religious teachings. Having no written language, they sometimes relied upon animal characters to get their point across.

My Great-Great Grandmother Minnie Pearl Redus-Hankins was half Choctaw, and undoubtedly, a tiny portion of her blood is in my veins. I give God first credit, and then Minnie Pearl for providing me the ability to relay tales of my own, both verbally and in print.

A friend that I personally never met, other than on the phone and email, Jeff Maddox, coaxed me into writing books more than anyone. Jeff was on another writing project when he was suddenly taken to Heaven before finishing.

ALASKA KEMOSABE may never make The New York Times bestsellers list, yet that wasn’t the reason for writing it. If only one person finds the finished manuscript a hoot as I do, all of that time and work was well worth the effort.

I laugh each time I see the cover alone, and I’d love to share it, but the publisher wants things kept totally under wraps until release time.

*ALASKA KEMOSABE will be available by late July 1 through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and via eBook.

THE WRONG STAND

“Volodymyr Zelenskyy is unable to account for where all of these funds went — yet he pleads for more.”

I’m sorry, Ukraine, but had Americans sent the right man to Washington, D.C., back in 2020, you folks wouldn’t be in the mess you’re in. Russia would’ve never invaded your country to begin with!

Unfortunately, that major blunder is now water under the bridge, and nothing can be done to repair the damage that Democratic voters did other than for your leader, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, to accept conditions for a ceasefire.

Unlike former United States President Joe Biden, President Donald Trump is working hard for a truce between both countries, yet it’s evident the Ukraine leader doesn’t want peace.

Unfortunately, “small man syndrome” seems to have taken over all logic with this person — the same was as it did French leader Napoleon Bonaparte some 200 years ago.

The United States has sent Ukraine money and weapons to help fight this unwinnable war to the tune of billions of dollars. President Zelenskyy is unable to account for where all of these funds went — yet he pleads for more.

During the last United States election, Zelenskyy attended a rally for Kamala Harris, so it’s obvious where his real loyalty lies. Unfortunately, he took the wrong stand there as well.

Those countries claiming they stand with Ukraine haven’t done a thing to help Ukrainian people fight, yet they now want to ignorantly criticize our country and our president. Such cheap talk is running wild in the streets.

If someone in this country says they stand with Ukraine while criticizing President Trump at the same time, they need to back their words up by jeting over to Ukraine and helping fight this war. Airplane tickets are available to get there. As I mentioned previously, talk is cheap.

It’s no different than me publicly stating, “I stand with my good friend Charlie!,” this as he gets his butt creamed by three thugs while I sit in an easy chair watching — while eating a bag of popcorn.

Zelenskyy needs to hang up his weapons, as some battles can’t be won! Those uninformed souls who think that tossing more money in Ukraine’s direction will help win this war are the same “uninformed ones” who believe that handing public schools more money will result in better education for children. It’s obvious how that has turned out.

I’m sympathetic to the Ukrainian people’s plight, but continuing this war isn’t going to do anything for them other than kill off countless more of their troops and innocent citizens. Anyone with a peapod of common sense should be able to see that!

CHOICES

“Joleen and I were told years ago that this eatery was a well-kept secret, and we eventually found out why.”

There are plenty of good places to eat in Lake Havasu —with my wife and I patronizing a good many. Some might say there’s absolutely no reason to drive out of town to dine out, yet sometimes it’s nice to leave paradise behind and check out nearby towns.

On occasion, we journey west on I-40 across the border to California and eat at the Wagon Wheel Restaurant in Needles. I was first taken there by the late John Ballard for a Lion’s Club meeting. It was lunchtime, and John recommended their pot roast sandwich.

There’s nothing close to it here in Havasu, as the restaurant has been making this acclaimed delicacy with their secret recipe since 1955. When friends are in town, Wagon Wheel is one of our stops. The history of the business goes back to Route 66 days when diners would turn off The Mother Road just to eat there.

Chicken fried steak for breakfast is a once-a-month delight for me, and the best I’ve found out of all eateries is at Crossroads Café in Parker, Arizona. Their steaks are tenderized and hand-breaded each morning, with one steak filling a large plate. I’ve never been able to finish one. For the most part, they’re tender enough to not need a knife.

We were told of this place by Jim and Pat Brownfield ten years go. The Brownfield and their river friends have been eating there since the mid-70s. Several restaurants in Havasu have tasty country-style breakfast steaks, yet nothing quite tops Crossroads, where my taste buds are concerned. The drive to and from Parker along the Colorado River adds a bit of ambiance to such a meal.

I love eating at airports, and Hanger 24 in Havasu is a great place for lunch. You just never know what airplanes or helicopters you’ll see while there. Private jets are often parked on the tarmac, with my often checking N numbers to try and find out who owns them.

Many of them are registered under corporations, thus, it takes a bit of sleuthing to uncover their owners, most often with me failing. Military aircraft are always unique to see at Lake Havasu City Airport, with the Boeing V-22 Osprey combination helicopter/airplane being my favorite.

Last on my list, and our favorite place to journey to for breakfast or lunch at least once a month, is the Airport Café in Kingman. Joleen and I were told years ago that this eatery was a well-kept secret, and we eventually found out why. Their food is tops — and the price is right.

The scenery outside the cafe windows takes me back in time to when this airport was known as the Kingman Army Air Corp Base. Four-engine B-17 bombers once called this place home until they were cut up and sold as scrap aluminum

Locals in Kingman definitely know of it, and the smart ones travel there rather than go to Cracker Barrel. This café is decorated with all aviation memorabilia, including authentic WWII artifacts. A control tower out front dates to 1941. I’ve asked to go up the steps, but so far, no offers have been made. Perhaps one day I’ll succeed.

Pilots travel from throughout the west to Kingman Airport merely to have breakfast or lunch. I’ve talked to a good many of them, curiously wanting to know more about the airplanes and helicopters they flew than anything. All were very informative in their replies.

One fellow, owner of a heavy equipment manufacturing plant in Vegas, was piloting an amphibious turbine-powered airplane that was worth well over $2,000,000. The man was down-to-earth and more than happy to talk about his unique plane. I told him I’d seen several in Alaska, with him agreeing that was the place to definitely own one.

I love the selection of restaurants in our town, yet I also enjoy taking road trips to those eateries down the road. Poet William Cowper said in his poem, The Task, “Variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor!” William Cowper had to be definitely be talking about different places to eat!

A B-17 named “Alabama Gal” at Kingman in 1947 destined for scrap.