humor

You can feel the tension, even in The Trailerhood.

~ Ron Walker ~ 16 Comments

The coronavirus is the talk of the news, and everyone is on edge in some areas. Down the road a couple of miles, there was an argument Saturday that resulted in a standoff with an armed individual. It was resolved without injury. Today, someone called the County Sheriff to report the park manager. Seems they didn’t appreciate him “delineating” the edge of their lot, with car tires. Can’t say I blame them. Who wants old car tires lining the edge of their yard. I wonder how that turned out. I need to take a walk in the morning, and see if I can tell what they were fussing about.

Damn, that almost sounds like a country song

The chandelier has not reappeared so far in the front yard around the corner, maybe he’s saving it for a special occasion. There was a break in today just down the highway. Someone returned home, to find persons leaving with the family TV. Perhaps the burglars needed it, to swap for toilet paper? Anyway, if you live out this way, and see two white males in a brown Ford truck, with a brush-guard on the front, trying to swap for some “people paper” please report them. (damn, that almost sounds like a country song).

The last Trailerhood Bird Flu season.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting at home unless I have to go somewhere. Not sure how much hype all this is, but I’m not prone to running across an open field during hunting season, just to see if I get my butt shot. Besides, I don’t need to upset this heart monitor they have on me. No telling what other tortures they would think up.

Take care, stay safe, wash your hands, hold your breath, avoid crowds (and open fields). Don’t shake hands, not that they haven’t washed them, but I hear there is a horrible shortage of toilet paper!

Comments, always welcome.

Sunday in the South. (Trailerhood style)

~ Ron Walker ~ 15 Comments
Reboot, doing what she does best.

Sunday morning, the droning of what sounds like a large lawnmower stirs me from a wonderful night of slumber. It’s 8AM, everyone should be out testing their latest mode of travel, an ancient riding mower. Time for the first morning cup of coffee, and check out the noise-maker. Reboot couldn’t care less, she happily naps in the window and pretends the noise doesn’t exist. I just sit and watch for the guy to ride by, leaning outward from his seat, looking at each wheel as if he expects one to come off at any moment.

Sometimes, the weekends feel like a day from the movie, “Groundhog Day”. Cue the large menacing looking 4by4 pickup with oversized knobby tires, with the super loud muffler. He sounds like it’s doing 35 mph (ca. 56 kilometers per hour), but in reality maybe accomplishing 5 mph (8.05 km/h). Maybe the sound is to attract attention so that you notice the white 12-inch vinyl letters that are affixed to the front windshield, his last name. Hard to tell if he wants others to know it, or he can’t remember it and needs the visual prompt. I’d bet on the latter.

As I left for a trip to the store, I opted to drive through the park, instead of straight out onto the highway. Just to see what things looked like now. Neat, tidy, normal. Until, I was making the last corner and spotted the “yard light”. That is my closest guess at the function of the device. Some type of pipe/pole, about 10 feet (3.05 m) long, positioned at a 45-degree angle. Attached to this, was an indoor multi bulb chandelier. He removed it sometime in the last two days, leaving just the pole. Maybe we will get an actual picture later. Probably didn’t fair well in the last rain storm we had. I found a picture of the light fixture online at Lowes. He probably found it discarded somewhere and thought it would add some fancy ambience to the place at night.

Now, I think I will relax and enjoy the rest of this Sunday in the South. I might even find me a fancy fixture for our front yard!

Comments always welcome,

All the news, that is the news. Trailerhood style.

~ Ron Walker ~ 17 Comments

I felt it probably time, to give life to a few words for the blog. Trailer Park Life, has slowed somewhat. Quieter now. YouTube Boy, is spending his days in a lockup, awaiting his 18th birthday. We never did get a final report on the bug in his ear. So it’s up in the air, whether it vacated the ear, or died of starvation in the sparsely packed cranial cavity beyond the ear canal.

I can’t think of a more matched pair.

YouTube Mom, just finished a 48-hour stint in the psych ward I hear. I think there must be some friction, between her and her girlfriend she was supposed to be marrying. Strange, I can’t think of a more matched pair though, after bumping into them both. Check out How much weirdness, can one weekend hold. (Trailer Park Life) if you haven’t ever read it.

Popeye, is still strutting around maintaining things. I thought she was gone, but I looked up from the desk yesterday, and she was striding along, rigid spine, arms slightly bent at the elbows and held out slightly, like the stance of a Bulldog. Johnny Reb is still around, somewhere on the back street, confederate flag and all. His other camper, still sits empty, perhaps testament to another failed romance in the trailerhood.

Two recent pieces of news.
Apparently, I am still seen as the high-priest of a cult.
We finally paid off this abode. Now, if I can keep it from falling apart, and I get rich soon, we’ll move it, or sell it.

That’s it for tonight. “The moving finger writes, and having written moves on.” Comments always welcome.

Nothing Stinks, like a Traffic Citation.

~ Ron Walker ~ 8 Comments

The infamous citation book.

Okay, the attention getting title is just a pun, but these citations really stunk? Stank? Smelled bad. This morning I got a chuckle out of another blogger’s post at Views and Mews by Coffee Kat.  The subject was the smell left by dying pests in and around your home. Some animals are horrible, other smaller ones don’t stink as much after death. How is your olfactory sense. Good? Bad? Mine is okay. There was about a two-week time, when I could smell colors. Check out my post on that from 2014 The Old RedBull joke, is no longer funny. 

Many years ago, right after the invention of the wheel, I was a Police Motorcycle Officer. I loved it. Nothing better than getting paid to ride a massive Harley Davidson, and enjoy the ride. On one occasion I had a mystery odor that was shared unintentionally with many people.

On the right side of the Harley, as pictured below,  was a leather pouch that was attached to the front edge of the saddlebag. This carried the Citation book, which was a flip open aluminum type.  We kept our motorcycles immaculate, or as close as possible. Wiping them down each afternoon at the start of the shift. The pouch carried nothing but the citation book. The book was always removed at the end of the shift. Once in a while we blew it out with air to remove excess dust, or items that might have been picked up from the air. Nothing larger ever got in, due to it being protected by our leg in front, and the air-stream flowing around the bike.

 I was off for three days. Upon my return to work, I noticed a strange smell each time I would be filling out a citation. It was a light smell, even with putting my nose close enough to the paper to touch it,  but slightly repugnant. Thinking it must be the printing process or the paper. I continued to write citations, even getting a new book, the odor continued to haunt me. This continued for about a week. Then it got strong enough to resemble the odor of decomposition after death. Apparently, a small young bird had flown into the shed where we kept the motors, flew into the pouch and died. That, or by some million in one chance, it did get scooped into the pouch  while riding. And now the smell was permeating the paper of the book. 

I got ribbed by the others, but I reminded them they also had their nose to the book trying to identify the odor.  Not to mention, somewhere there were about 75 people that week, probably sitting around grumbling and sniffing the citations, trying to figure out why they had such an odor. No one complained, so that was a plus.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Comments welcome, (no sniffs please)