Obama went out of the country this week and the whole world went with him, drunk on the heady scent of his every jot and tittle. Meanwhile, McCain lands the other day in New Hampshire and there’s, like, one reporter there to cover it. I kid you not. One guy from the New Hampshire Union Leader shows up to cover it. Man, that’s brutal. McCain got better treatment in the basement of the Hanoi Hilton than what he’s getting from the American media. And it don’t help he’s old, awkward and white.

Chinese restaurants have been told to stop serving dog meat over there while the Olympics is going on so other cultures won’t be offended. I know China’s all about building global bridges, hands across the water and all that, but I ain’t sure banning dog is a good idea. You know, China’s one of the only places left you can still get a good dogburger. “Would you like kibbles with that?” Ummm woof woof. No, just between you and me, folks ain’t going all the way to China for the Olympics … they can watch that on T.V. They’re going over there for the canid réchauffé and I think it’s a mistake to stop serving it. Hey, China, if it ain’t broke ~ you know what I’m saying? Now dish it up, péng youv. Expand our horizons, why don’t'cha?

You know, there’re some folks saying we’re running out of food. But I don’t think I buy it. I don’t think we got a shortage of stuff in the world to eat. It’s out there. Didn’t I just demonstrate how we got plenty of dog? We got dog, we got cat, got monkey, got insect, got root, got wild hickory nut, got tame hickory nut … come on, we got plenty to eat. We just got to be willing to eat it. That’s the problem. Most Americans probably won’t eat a doggie melt or a roasted monkey or a sautéed roachbug. I know I won’t. Unless, of course, it’s deep-fried and supersized! OMG, that sounds good. I think I do want some.

There’s another kind of eating going on, too. Some New York restaurants are going au naturel to quote, unquote, escape the summer heat. That might work in New York, but getting naked to eat down here in Tennessee is just a distraction. Eat naked with some of these folks down here, you won’t eat again for a month. You won’t be able to keep it down. I don’t even want to see em with their clothes on, let alone with their bare butt cheeks stuck to a plastic seat and their junk acting up. Or you’re at the buffet, “Uh, s’cuse me, ma’am, but your boob has fallen into my macaroni again.” No, I can’t see how eating naked with a bunch of strangers could ever be a good thing.

Unless, of course, Jessica Simpson came into the restaurant. I might could have a bite of that. (Did I just say that out loud?)

Remember those dour, plain-looking women in the ill-fitting, hand-sewn dresses out at that polygamy sect compound in Texas? Well, evidently somebody thought those dresses were marketable because they’ve released them as a clothing line. I’m serious. Of course, if the dresses don’t sell, they can always use them for potatoes sacks. I say, they can always use them for potatoes sacks. Hello? ~ tap! tap! ~ is this on? Can you hear me in the back?

No, see, ’cause in the old days country women used to make dresses out of potato sacks. So I turned it around, got em making potato sacks out of dresses. Get it? That’s what makes it a joke. Haha. S’good, huh? Uh, okay … let me take a minute and clarify something … I am not too proud to explain my punchlines, such as they are. And you shouldn’t be too proud to laugh at them. Or chuckle. Or at least maybe grin. I’ll grant you, the jury may still be out on whether this stuff can reasonably be considered “jokes,” but until there’s a definitive decision one way or the other I’m going to hold with the belief that my writing does, in fact, qualify as some form of humor. It’s maybe not on the level of Milton Berle or Red Skelton. Or even Waylon and Madame. Or even that freak Carrot Top. But I believe it does constitute some rudimentary form of humor, so let’s just go with that, okay? I don’t mean to break my comedic momentum here, I’m just trying to establish some ground rules. You know, I can’t do this all by myself, you gotta pitch in and do your part, too. Okay? We got a deal?

But really, not to belabor the point, 10-gallon garbage bags with neck holes cut in them and a milk bucket on their head would be more stylish than those polygamy sect dresses. Seriously … in the real world those are not dresses, those are birth control.

Financial experts are reporting that the big two American auto manufacturers, General Motors and Ford, are “on the verge of bankruptcy.” That smells like a government bail-out. We’re all the time bailing out some corporation or subsidizing some industry. If a company, corporation or industry can’t cut it profit-wise, they have to just shut it down, leave it to free enterprise. If there’s a public demand, somebody with a new vision and plenty of capital will come along, re-do it and make it work. That’s Capitalism. Subsidizing businesses that can’t turn a profit is not. You know, I’m on the verge of bankruptcy myself. Or at least I could be with very little effort. I don’t see no government rushing over here to bail me out. Why don’t Uncle Sam come over here and subsidize me? I wouldn’t cost near as much to bail out as Ford or GM. Hey ~ do it for one, do it for all, am I right? Unless this government is going to subsidize us, they should quit subsidizing them. Anyway, I’ve owned a Ford and, really, that company should go under.

But the financial crunch is everywhere. Over in England the royal family is down to their last $650 million.Those snooty medals and ermine robes and jeweled crowns and such don’t come cheap, even if you’re buying them at Wal Mart. You think I’m kidding, but poor ol’ Queen Elizabeth don’t even have enough money to redecorate the palace state rooms. You know when those staterooms were last redecorated? 1952, that’s when. Hard times, my queen, hard times.

Regarding the new ethical standards imposed on local elected officials by Nashville in the wake of Tennessee Waltz, the Bradley County Commission bristled a bit, passing their own resolution that Nashville should mind their own business. One of the commissioners said, “They are the ones who did it, not us.” But in my mind I’m hearing, “They are the ones who were caught, not us.”

Now I’m hearing voices.

A guy in Knoxville got so “consumed” with the Holy Spirit in church last Sunday that he fell down and bumped his noggin. Now he’s suing the church for $2.5 million. But if it was the Holy Spirit that made the guy fall down, shouldn’t he be suing God? Take God to court, sue him for 2.5 mill. Maybe throw in another 2.5 for punitive damages, send a message to God that His surrogates can’t go around making people fall down, making em bump their heads. See if the jury’s got the guts to return a judgment against God.

You know, God wrote the book on judgment.

Two old women in LA have been sentenced to two consecutive life terms each for taking out life insurance policies on homeless guys, running them down in a car to make it look like a hit-and-run and then collecting on the policies. Olga Rutterschmidt, age 77, and Helen Golay, age 75, showed no regret for their crimes, only for being caught. “All ve vant to do,” said Golay and Rutterschmidt, “is return to der old country, to our little gingerbread house in der voods vhere ve can live out our days in peace, eating children und vorshipping der devil.”

The Democratic National Convention’s coming to Denver and Denver would like to spare the visitors who will soon be arriving, the sight of the many homeless people who live there. So in the spirit of fun and frolic, the city will be shuttling the tired, the poor, the huddled masses off to the movies, the zoo, maybe a museum or two, you know, long as it’s dark. Denver’s homeless usually hunker down along the South Platte River (“For rent: cardboard box ~ waterfront view”), but that’s a little too close to the Pepsi Center and who wants to be reminded of broken humanity while folks’re in there cheering for Obama and “change” and all that good stuff? No, seriously, who wants that? Obama represents the future. Homeless people represent the past.

I read where Colin Powell is on the fence for Obama. Colin … dude, you better think about yourself. Let me run down the names of some Barack supporters: Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Hugo Chavez, Fidel Castro, Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Il, Hamas, Hezbollah, Michael Pfleger, William Ayers, Jeremiah Wright and his U.S. of KKK. And, oh yeah … Hillary. Personally, I think the president’s race would be a thousand times better if it was Colin Powell running against Barack Obama. Get two black guys in there, see what that does to the rhetoric. Obama goes, “Well, I’m this and I’m that and, oh yeah, I’m black.” And Colin goes, “Dude, so am I.” Where do you go with that? Seriously. That would be a race. That, my peeps, would be a race. They’d almost have to talk about the issues, huh?

Speaking of O, late night comics and other assorted comedians ain’t cracking too many Obama jokes. This is interesting because they evidently think Obama possesses no buffoonish qualities, that he’s pretty much perfect in his form and there’s just nothing there to satirize. They can find punch lines for the war in Iraq, high gas prices, the mortgage collapse, teen pregnancy, homeless kittens, Mother Teresa and Jesus (“Christians are so Jesusy.”) … but they can’t find a punch line for Obama? I have an idea, comedy guys … why don’t you go back into your little comedy closets and give it another try. Maybe start with the fact that Obama’s got thinner skin than an onion and work from there. Here … let me get you started …

Why did Obama cross the road? To get away from Hillary. (Cue laughter)

See? How hard is that? You just throw something out there and cue the laughter, the applause. That’s all there is to it. Here’s some more …

If Obama becomes president, Mt. Rushmore will be reconfigured. The faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln will be replaced with the faces of Obama, JKF, Malcom X and Meadowlark Lemon (Meadowlark’s face was included at the last minute to replace Jesse Jackson’s). Cue laughter.

See? And I’m just pulling these things out my ear right here on the spot, so don’t tell me it wouldn’t be a snap for a real life joke writer to do …

When Obama becomes president, the inaugural dance will be him and Michelle fist bumping to the tune of “Play That Funky Music, White Boy.” Cue laughter.

How many Baracks does it take to screw in a light bulb? None. Michelle does that. Cue laughter.

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Barack. Barack who? Barack Obama. (run screaming from the room) Cue laughter, cue applause.

Seriously, how hard is that? And I ain’t even a joke writer, I’m just some flunky works in a office. If I can toss out this kind of comedy gold right off the top of my head, imagine what a professional could do. I just don’t think they’re motivated.

And I Quote: “I think some of us were maybe too quick to caricature Al Gore and John Kerry and there’s maybe some reluctance to do the same thing to (Obama).” ~ comedy writer Mike Barry

See? They’re not motivated.

Hey, but you know what? Ol’ Robert Redford got off a pretty good one the other day. He said if Barack Obama doesn’t win in November, we could all “kiss the Democratic Party goodbye.” Ha! Get it? Kiss the Democratic Party goodbye. As if the Democratic Party is going anywhere. That’s a good one. Cue laughter ~ annnnnd … we’re out.

(This story orginally ran on April 28, 2006. We are moving it to the front page again as this case is currently back in the news. Remember to look in our archives for all our back stories.)

About three months into her eleventh year, Maylena left her childhood behind and entered a nightmare that has haunted her for over a decade. It began in January of 1994, when she found herself alone night after night with her mother’s 21-year-old live-in boyfriend.

“At first, he would come around my dad’s,” Maylena told us. “He would constantly hang around me, always stayed near me, wanted to talk with me and nobody else. At the time, I didn’t have anyone else ~ my dad wasn’t around, my mom was always off somewhere. I really didn’t have anyone else. So he befriended me. He said he was my friend. And that friendship led up to touching and kissing and stuff like that.

“At that time, before anything major happened, I really didn’t know what to think about it. I just thought I had somebody that was my friend. He told me that he loved me and that one day he might marry me. And I believed him at the time, at first. I wanted to believe that he really did care about me and that I had somebody to talk to and somebody to be with. Because he did literally spend more time with me than he did with my mother. He said several times that he was there because of me, not her.”

Maylena said the kissing soon became fondling and the fondling became much, much more. She said he began touching her private area around March of that year.

“I guess I felt embarrassed,” she admitted. “But I didn’t know what to do. My mother was always gone.”

We will forego further details of what Maylena said her mother’s boyfriend forced her to do. Needless to say, she left her childhood behind at age eleven and entered her long nightmare. In fact, some details that Maylena shared with us in confidence are so odious that they would haunt your minds, dear reader, if we shared them with you.

“Listen, nobody knows,” Maylena said. “Not even the police know most of the stuff. I’ve never told anybody most of it ~ not an attorney, not the psychiatrist, not the counselors ~ the mental things that he literally embedded in my brain. Up until now I’ve been too ashamed. I haven’t even told my husband most of the things he convinced me of ~ I’ve only told my mother-in-law, and now you. I’ve lived with this for 12 years. But you know what? I’m at peace with talking about this now. God has given me true peace.”

We asked Maylena if she would be willing to take a polygraph test.

“I would gladly take a polygraph. He did, and he failed it. I know that for a fact. (Cleveland Police Detective) John Dailey came to my house and told me he failed his polygraph. Failed it. And I trust John Dailey.”

At this point, we explained to Maylena that, according to what we have learned, the CPD did everything right. They completed their investigation and had the case bound over to the grand jury. The fault couldn’t be laid at the feet of the CPD. It was when the case reached the office of Attorney General Jerry Estes that everything went away. Continue Reading

Good news … Operation Lion’s Roar, led by the Iraqi Army and America’s 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment, reports that Al-Qaeda has been driven almost completely out of Iraq.

More good news … Operation Cat’s Paw, led by Nancy Pelosi, reports that fatty foods have been driven almost completely out of the Capitol commissary.

Look, before I continue, I probably need to clear something up. Folks have told me they regularly find typos and misspellings and other such grammatical errors in my writing. Well, it’s not necessarily what you think. I do that for a reason. I’m trying to conserve letters. Letters are like corn and gasoline, just getting more and more expensive. For a writer, that can add up to a lot of money real quick. If I’m going to stay competitive, I got to tighten up where I can. For example, I may use a word … oh, any word … let’s say I use the word “force,” but I want to put it in the past tense. I might still spell it f-o-r-c-e, you know, and save the D for another time. That’s not a typo, that’s being prudent. Those D’s come in handy. An extra S or two doesn’t hurt either. Actually pretty much any letter can help, especially when I’m on deadline and running low, so I try and keep a scrap jar of letters near by. Sometimes I might need a T or an M for a word, but if I don’t have any on hand I might just stick an R or a P in there instead. The word might be spelled a little differently than you’re used to, but I think you know what I mean and that’s the important thing, am I righh?

Also, in a pinch I can get by without vowels if I have to. You can pretty much read a sentence that’s all consonants if it comes to that. I don’t recommend it, of course, but … What’s that you say? You want me to write a sentence just using consonants? Well … you know, you’re missing the point. And I don’t want to do that now. Anyway, why am I explaining myself to you? That’s annoying. I say something and you gotta come back with a lot of crap, can’t just take my word for it. Anyway, what about all the typos and grammatical screw-ups on the Internet? Even the mainstream news services, they spell like middle schoolers. Reuters is the worst. So what are you breaking my back for? Go bother Reuters. It’s because you know Reuters won’t put up with your crap, that’s why. You’re really annoying. Why do I waste my time trying to tell you anything? Every one of you suck.

Okay, okay … that was out of line. I apologize. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. You ain’t done nothing, I’m just tense is all. It’s the economy, the global warming, it’s got me on edge. I’m afraid we’re all gonna die or something. Plus, I’m a little scared of Obama because of his lack of experience. But I shouldn’t take it out on you. I know most of you are scared of Obama, too. What? You’re not? Well, you should be. What? You’re voting for him? What on earth is wrong with you? I don’t even know why I bother, you’re such a bunch of idiots. You know what? You really do suck.

Yeah, I know … the alternative is McCain. How about we try four years without a president for once. See how that works.

According to Kinky: “If you’re patient and you wait long enough, something will usually happen and it’ll usually be something you don’t like.” ~ Kinky Friedman

Talk about Freudian slips. The other day, Rev. Jesse Jackson was going to tell Barack Obama that he supported him in a “wide, deep and unequivocal” manner and that he cherished “the redemptive and historical moment” that Barack’s campaign represented. But what he actually said was, “I wanna cut your nuts out.” Don’t you hate when that happens.

But dang, Jesse … talk about acting white. How about white, KKK and 1950. I guess the whole castration thing is like the “N-word” … it’s okay as long as it’s a black guy talking to another black guy. Evidently, the reverend Jackson said a lot more, but so far it hasn’t made the airwaves. The question has been floated as to whether it should. Well, I kind of think if it were someone else who expressed a desire to remove Obama’s “boys” … for instance, Bush, Cheney, Karl Rove, Imus, McCain, me, you … I promise the tape would be looping on CNN, MSNBC, all the networks, Comedy Central and the Times Tower. I’m just sayin’.

In closing, ladies and gentlemen … in the time-honored tradition of Rene Marie, I will recite the Lord’s Prayer …

“The preacher man says it’s the end of time
and the Mississippi River she’s a going dry.
The interest is up and the stock market’s down
and you only get mugged if you go downtown.
I live back in the woods you see,
my woman and the kids and the dogs and me.
I got a shotgun, a rifle and a four wheel drive
and a country boy can survive. Country folks can survive.”

… in Hank Jr.’s name, amen.

What? Who’s Rene Marie? Oh, Google her and leave me alone.

Hope everyone had a pleasant, safe and appropriately gluttonous Fourth of July. I trust no one blew their crotch out mishandling a Roman candle or lost a foot to a Black Cat megabanger. If you did, well, I guess that must of been rough. And, of course, happy, happy birthday, America. You’re 232 years old, but ~ and I’m not just saying this ~ you don’t look a day over 150.

Michael Pfleger, that priest, pastor, activist guy up in Chicago with the Dr. Zaius robes and the spot-on Hillary impersonation, has promised the Catholic honchos that he will crank it back a notch or two with the wild political rhetoric. But then he qualified his promise with, “The church … has to speak to politics and the policies and the politicians and to raise those questions, or we’re not faithful to what our mission is.” Now, in light of that, my question to moveon.org and the ACLU and all the windy pundits on cable and on and on ad nauseam is ~ why the heck aren’t y’all kicking and screaming about our treasured “separation of church and state”? Please don’t tell me it’s because Pfleger is far left and our church-and-state rule only applies to the far right. Because that would just be hypocritical …

… and ladies and gentlemen, I give you ~ the sounds of silence.

What’s that you say? Who is Dr. Zaius? What’s the matter with you? You never saw Planet of the Apes?

You know, I never would have thought it possible, but studies now show Australians are actually fatter than Americans. How did that happen? How did we lose our fat title to the freakin’ Aussies? That’s humiliating. My fellow Americans, by working together, we can surely eat our way back to prominence upon the world stage. I implore all burger joints to crank up the grill, pile on the bacon and cheese, smother it in gravy and yes, add a half-gallon of ice cream. And for God’s sake supersize it!

No, seriously … I think it’s a goal we can achieve.

A pro-marijuana group calling itself “Safer Alternative for Enjoyable Recreation” is pressuring legislators to legalize pot in airport smoking lounges across the country. They claim that if folks are allowed to toke up before boarding a flight it will cut down on disorderly in-flight behavior. Mainly because, depending on the in-flight movie and what snacks are served, they’ll forget they’re on a plane.

In a related story, the pro-crackhead group, “Bingers Are Victims, Too,” want the government to legalize freebasing on public sidewalks, back alleys and deserted tenements. And, of course, the pro-alcohol faction, “I’m Not A Bum, I Just Got A Bad Gene” would like a quarter; ostensibly, for something to eat.

Researchers have discovered several groups of long-tailed macaque monkeys over in Indonesia that like to fish. That in itself isn’t so unusual, but evidently these monkeys use spin reels and bass boats. Then, after, they all go over to the East Kalimantan VFW and get hammered on Cuervo and pickled eggs. Weeeird monkey. Very funky.

What’s with all these political correctoids we got everywhere, huh? Whiny little green this-and-thats, hyphenated-Americans, climate fusspots, Chicken Littles, all those don’t-hurt-my-feelings guys. You know, more and more I find myself thinking, You know what? Let the ice caps melt. I’m not that far from the mountains, I can get to high ground and maybe the rising sea levels will drown off some of these correctoids. They ain’t the boss of me. And you shouldn’t let em be the boss of you.

And while you’re at it, I think it’s unfair to keep calling Obama “inexperienced.” Ease up, why don’t’cha? He’s got plenty of experience. He’s been in the Senate for … well, this is his first term. He’s been there, what? A couple years? Okay. And most of that’s been spent campaigning for president. But never mind that right now. We need to focus more on his managerial and foreign policy skills. For example he … well, he … uhmmm. Okay. Okay, well, since he’s been a senator, he was able to, uh … he got the … he did the thing where they … Obama did … Obama did … wait a minute ~ what has Obama did?

(A brief aside, entitled: “How The Race Card Has Affected Me As A Writer”) … In the Obama bit I just did, instead of, “what has Obama did?” I was going to say, “What has the boy did?” If I was talking about anybody else but a man of color, that’s how I would have written it. But if I had said, “What has the boy did,” that would have been racially insensitive because “boy” is a derogatory term when used by a white guy referencing a black guy. So that’s one way the race card has affected me as a writer. I have to think more before I speak.)

But somebody tell me ~ what has the boy did?

And I Quote: “And guess what this liberal will be all about? This liberal will be all about socializing … will be about basically taking over and the government running all your businesses.” ~ U.S. Representative (D-Calif.) Maxine Waters

Can’t happen, you say? Think again. Some Socialists … uh, I mean, some Democrats are already calling for the nationalization of oil. Ostensibly, this is for the benefit of the American people. However, as someone smarter than me once said, “There are so many red herrings out there they might as well construct an aquarium.”

And yes, I did use “ostensibly” twice in this column. But due to the soaring cost of words, I’m being forced to recycle.

by The Texas Trouble Maker

Now that the passing of my high school buddy, Benny, has jogged my memory, I harken or hearken back to the days when I was a high school student. Yeah, at good old Munhall High, on the slopes of a hill that faced the Munhall/Homestead Steel works.

Munhall High and the surrounding neighborhood were three steps up the social ladder from Homestead High and its neighborhood. That was because the middle managers, superintendents and the Administrative Staff of the steelworks lived in Munhall.

The high school was typical, being constructed in three levels on the hillside and looking like a federal prison for maximum custody inmates. It was block stone, cobbled driveways, poured cement and rusting iron ornamentation. Nearby houses were large, in some communities they would be called mansions. Three and four storied, surrounded by lawns and situated on streets that ran straight and mostly clean, they surrounded a Carnegie Library, a Catholic Church, Mill Offices and a few business offices.

I went to Munhall High because my community of Homeville did not have a high school and Munhall had a reputation for being clean, well staffed and a place where a youngster could get a good education.

While in school, I joined a gang that was comprised of kids from my neighborhood, mostly to have someone familiar to talk with and to give me a bit of support when I got in a conflict with one of the guys from another neighborhood. We were not a bad gang as gangs go but we weren’t a flock of angels either. We did do questionable things.

We did not steal and we did not engage in destructive activities except on Halloween when we painted or destroyed property of people who had angered us the other 363 days of the year. No, we weren’t really bad and we did not get involved in shootings, cuttings or toilet mouthed arguments. In fact, we created and used a new and most polite lingo, just to show other students that we were super couth. Yeah, we used words like couth, recited lines from Shakespeare, Bobby Burns and Mark Twain. It flummoxed the other kids and irrigated the bile out of our teachers.

“James! Will you lead us this morning in the Pledge of Allegiance?”

“Yes my super tutor! I hereby put my body and soul on the line for my flag of red, white and blue – which is the honored banner of these here 48 states and some territories – and the form of government we claim is a republic, but according to Mrs. Olmers, the history teacher, is closer to a wild confederation of ignorant immigrants – still hanging together since the war caused by Abraham Lincoln – and we are still working on that business about liberty and justice for all,”

“Ohhhh my God. That was sacrilegious – where did you get such an idea?”

“Here at Munhall high where standards are also high.”

“Out! Go to the principal’s office. Immediately.”

“Fair-thee-well, I am away! To perdition I hie my soul.”

What? You think kids didn’t talk that way at Munhall High? Ha, on you, unbeliever. We kids spent hours learning how to speak couth, with an educated mien and with cogent aphorisms etched on daily events.

Yeah. Like Regis The Magician did in Social Studies one day when he was asked his opinion about the local steelworkers going on strike for the 93rd time in one year,”

“Slaves often revolt. History records many such events. Rome fell because of a vast slave network. Our own southern states and the cotton economy fell because of slaves – so, why can’t the dumbass hunky immigrants employed by US Steel also revolt?”

Or, the way our gang members spoke, one upon the other, even when we were engaged in a game of strip poker:

“Aahhhhh, finally, I have been blessed with a winning hand, albeit one of scant winnings – what have I here? A pair of grimy shorts, a pair of toeless socks, an ancient pair of plus fours and a necktie? I am mortified by these paltry winnings.”

“Rueben! It is your turn to delve out the pasteboards. Please, present me with five cards of value – I shall kiss your hand should you send three or four queens my way.”

“Gaaa Clifford. Kissing the hand of another male, no matter the importance of the occasion, denotes a most queer bit of conduct. Pray tell me that your words were made in pure jest and did not convey some sort of invitation to Reuben.”

“Then please explain to me the custom of bishops and cardinals of the church kissing the hand of the Pope in Rome?”

“Nay, they do not kiss the hand – they kiss a ring – a sign of fealty and subservience.”

“I have a ring you may kiss.”

“Oohhhh John, a most uncouth utterance. I am deeply disappointed in thee. Wherefore doth thee dredge such dreaded drivel?”

Yeah, that was the way we talked when we played poker, baseball or knife games under a streetlight. It were fun.

If you think kids talking like that might have been strange – then you would be amazed to hear members of the local mob speaking in similar fashion. Like the day someone heisted the bag of a bagman who had come to town to collect number bets. The mob sent ambassadors into the neighborhoods to perhaps get an idea as to who had done the deed. Naturally, the mobsters spoke with kids – who knew everything.

Such was the case one day when the gang was gathered on the steps of the high school, eating lunch.

“Aaahhh, everyone harken to the arrival of a sedan conveying a mob ambassador, no doubt to our local enclave.”

“Why yes, it appears to be the same fellow who came last week to speak to Benny our gambling friend; doth thee suppose the hierarchy of the Mafioso has dispatched the ambassador to do more talking upon Benny?”

“We shall soon see. Please note, my comrades, that the ambassador is smiling – which can only mean he has come in friendly attitude to speak with us.”

“Hi dere, youse guys. No, no, do not stop partaking of your luncheon. I have come to ask of youse a series of friendly questions.”

“Speak away my good man. We are in an attentive mood and mode.”

“Surely youse has hoid of the recent incident wherein a bag of family valuables was purloined from the auto of a family worker.”

“Ahhh yes, a bag of loot snitched from the boot of a Packard by a Pecker.”

“For the name of the thief I am authorized to lay out 100 big ones.”

“A paltry sum, considering that the bag contained a brace of grands.”

Of course, we stalwart fellows would never release the name of anyone to anyone. To do so would have been ultra uncouth.