The Old Cowhand, From The Rio Grande

Tom and Ken Chilton, a couple of real cowboys

Photo by A.E. Araiza,
The Arizona Daily Star

Sometimes I amaze myself. I read this headline today.
Study: On-the-job naps might help heart. Not to brag or anything but I have been extolling the virtues of cubicle napping for some time now, so it is nice to be validated.

You know, if you live in the great American southwest most of your life, you learn to recognize a real cowboy when you see one. I'm not talking about the local car dealer dressed up in his cowboy get-up, but a real cowpoke. In southern Arizona where we live there are still quite a few ranchers living the cowboy way. In fact I saw a bunch of them earlier, just not where I expected that they would be.

I stopped at my usual Circle K on the way home today to get a Diet Coke and exchange my scratch lottery winner for a new ticket. I am very close to winning big money in the state lottery, but that's another story.

This Circle K is in a pretty tough area, about a mile from Casa Sneed. Our neighborhood is a little enclave, tucked in among quite a bit of seediness. We are more of less in the geographic center of a metro area of a million people, so you can imagine what I mean.

As I left the Circle K and walked to my truck, a limo pulled into the parking lot which the Circle K shares with one of our many fine nudie bars. The driver jumped out of his limo, opened the back door and a parade of old cowboys began to climb out. There were about ten of them, the youngest of whom I judged to be about 60 years-old. Why they were headed to a nudie bar in a limo baffles me. Maybe a birthday party?

Of course, I don't get the whole nudie bar attraction. As a nearly 60 year-old guy myself (is that possible?) I really don't get it. I see the girls from the nudie bar at the Circle K from time to time and I have two words to describe them, Skank Eee.

On the Randall "Bada" Bing front there is no news. He has left word that he will be doing our evaluations on Thursday. Good luck with that, he has 20 left to do. At least my meaningless evaluation won't be a long dragged-out affair. Sort of corporate speed-dating.

Also, the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I just came back from the grocery store where Valentine's Day preparations are in full swing. Many fine gift ideas were on display. I'm wondering who gives their loved one a dozen pink grocery store cupcakes? Or the, and I am not making this up, polyester rose arrangement? They did have a fine assortment of mylar balloons to choose from. I love Valentine's Day because it gives me the opportunity to use the word garish.

Speaking of Valentine's Day, our building will be crammed full of tasteless tributes tomorrow. Dozens of clueless dopes will send a variety tacky of crap to the object of their love, or at least lust, and I will have to witness it. Yuck.

If the lovely Mrs. Sneed were ever to be struck down by a falling object, only to awaken and believe she was actually Minnie Pearl, thus sending me a giant balloon bouquet at work, I would have to kill myself. Fortunately, like most folks, the lovely Mrs. Sneed isn't that crazy about me.

And finally, know I vowed to maintain silence on the matter of Anna Nicole Smith but I cannot let this pass without comment. Another lying liar says that he may be the baby's father. This time it is one of her bodyguards. How many men was she sleeping with? I'm beginning to think she might have been a little crazy.

Merle.






Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky


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