A Little Bird's Story

My father told me this story many years ago. Where he heard it, I don’t know.


A little bird decided not to fly south for the winter with his other little bird friends. He wanted to see the snowfall that he had heard so much about.
He huddled in his nest as it grew colder and colder. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, it started to snow.
Big, beautiful flakes of crystalline snow. The little bird had finally seen snow, but it was just too cold, he decided it was time to leave.
He started flying south as fast as he could, but the snow and the cold proved to be too much for him. He finally had to land. He spotted a cow pasture and dropped exhausted to the ground. Sitting on top of all that snow was freezing his poor little feet off. The wind was howling and the snow was falling even faster. The little bird was cold and alone and as miserable as he could be. Not knowing what else to do, he started chirping. He chirped and he chirped. He chirped louder and louder.
A nearby cow heard the little bird and came over to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing the little bird was slowly freezing to death, the cow took pity on him, backed up to him and took a great big dump.
Well, the little bird was now covered in cow dung up to his nose. It was kind of smelly, but it was keeping him warm. As the little bird thawed out, it occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten in several days. He didn’t know what else to do, so he started to chirp again. He chirped and he chirped. He chirped louder and louder.
Finally, he attracted the attention of a wolf. The wolf came over to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing the little bird in all that cow dung momentarily discouraged the wolf. But, the wolf hadn’t eaten in several days and his belly was growling at the site of the little bird sticking out of the cow dung. He pulled the little bird out of the cow dung, brushed him off, popped him into his mouth and swallowed him whole.

Now there are several lessons to be learned here.
Lesson number 1) Someone who craps on you is not necessarily trying to do you harm.
Lesson number 2) Someone who pulls you out of the crap is not necessarily trying to help you.

Now, the last and most important lesson here is this:
When you’re up to your nose in crap, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!

Texas Chili Cook-Off Story

A few years ago, my sister sent me this story about the misadventures of someone roped into judging a Chili Cook-Off in Texas. To this day, it's still the one of the funniest things I've ever read.

Enjoy.


Texas Chili Cook-Off

For those of you who have lived in Texas, you know how true this is. They actually have a Chili cook-off about the time the rodeo comes to town. It takes up a major portion of the parking lot at the Astrodome. These notes are from an inexperienced chili taster named Frank, who was visiting Texas from the East Coast:

"Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking directions to the Budweiser truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, So I accepted. Here are the scorecards from the event:

Chili # 1 Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili:
Judge # 1-- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2-- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild
Judge # 3-- (Frank) Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy.

Chili # 2 Arthur's Afterburner Chili:
Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

Chili # 3 Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili:
Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick. Needs more beans.
Judge # 2 -- A bean-less chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers
Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting shit-faced from all of the beer.

Chili # 4 Bubba's Black Magic:
Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. That 300-lb.bitch is starting to look HOT -- just like this nuclear waste I'm eating. Is chili an aphrodisiac?

Chili # 5 Linda's Legal Lip Remover:
Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw those rednecks.

Chili # 6 Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety:
Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I shit on myself when I farted and I'm worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that slut Sally. She must be kinkier than I thought. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone.

Chili # 7 Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili:
Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should take note that I am worried about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili which slides unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava like shit to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing, its too painful. Screw it, I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

Chili #8 Tommy's Toe-Nail Curling Chili:
Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge # 3 passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor dude, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili.

How Not to Spend Your Boating Summer

This is an article that I published several years ago in a local boating group's member letter.

I hope you enjoy it.

How Not to Spend Your Boating Summer

This is a tale, kind of along the lines of “How I Spent My Summer Vacation”. You know those silly stories you wrote in grade school to give the teachers some time to gather their thoughts about what to do with you for the rest of the school year. Well hopefully by putting this down in print, I can prepare some of you (you notice I said prepare and not spare), intrepid boater, for the inevitable repair nightmare. And just like a nightmare it does end. Sorta ... The names of dealers and individuals have been omitted to protect the innocent and the guilty alike, but mostly to avoid having to take calls from lawyers at my home.

It all started innocently enough, the Admiral (Lisa) and I had been talking about getting a boat for coastal water cruising. We had purchased a deck boat for lake boating, but learned pretty quickly that it wasn’t built for coastal cruising.

Flashback – severe thunderstorm warning, a mad dash back up the Neuse river for New Bern, water crashing over the bow, kids screaming hysterically (or was that me?), finally making port ….What? Where was I? Oh yeah.

So back to the boat show we went. The Admiral and I perused the cornucopia of boat offerings and settled on a nice Cabin Cruiser model that fit our budget. I dutifully signed where it said, “Sucker” and the boat changed ownership to us. Well, the bank and us.

As with anything built by the hand of man, it wasn’t perfect and required a few minor repairs. One of the minor problems was an annoying leak into the aft berth. The dealership tried off and on that first summer (2001) to find it and fix it. Since they weren’t able to duplicate the problem with a water hose, problem fixed, right? Not exactly!

Now we enter summer 2002, where we find our Captain “Without a clue” (me) and the Admiral deep into the planning stages of our summer of fun with the local Power Squadron. On re-commissioning our boat for the upcoming boating season, the Admiral noticed a little dampness on the cushions in the aft berth. I suggested that it was probably just some moisture build up from the winter layover. The Admiral decided to keep an eye (eagle eye?) on the problem. On our very first outing of the season, it rained kittens and puppies. Of course, the leak into the aft berth made itself known. The Admiral notified the Captain immediately that our ship was not up to bristol condition and demanded he do something about it. I made a command decision on the spot and asked (begged?) her nicely to speak to the dealership to schedule repairs. Repairs were scheduled and plans were made to drop off the boat over the Memorial Holiday weekend.

Fast forward almost two weeks. Thursday afternoon, I have voice mail from the dealership asking me to give them a call. Excellent! Our boat must be ready. I place the call with a little warm glow (must be the scotch. Single malt?) for the people who’ve labored over my boat for almost two weeks.

“Leak fixed?” I asked.

The polite young man on the other end of the phone replies, “Where’d you say that leak was again?” I can tell by the sounds emanating from the phone that bubba has just moved his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other while patiently waiting for his answer.

Now, in my mind, I’m screaming expletives that would peel rust from the USS North Carolina. I quickly gather those unspoken thoughts and cram them back into Pandora’s box, then take a deep breath and to the polite young man on the phone I say, “It’s in the aft berth area, near the entrance.”

“Well, we couldn’t get it to leak with a water hose test. Are you sure you got a leak?” To be damn sure, that’s not scratching noises coming through my phone. I snatch the phone away from my ear and stare hard at the receiver. Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me? Does anyone have fuses for a 42 year old, 175 pound adult male? I think he’s about to blow one or possibly a gasket.

With as little growling as I can possibly manage, I reply, “Yes! I’m sure! Check the cushions. If you’ve had any rain down there lately, they’ll be wet.” More toothpick noises.

Please Ma Bell, just let me reach out and …

“Okay, we’ll check it out.” Click.

Uh oh! What do I tell the Admiral?! I let her know about the conversation with the polite young man from the boat dealership, to which she replies, “I want him stripped of his rank, flogged and keel hauled! Then he can get his butt busy FIXING MY BOAT!” I try to calm the Admiral by suggesting we wait a week and call back for a status update. She reluctantly agrees to rescind the order for a flogging and keel haul.

Fast forward one week. Time to make that call. No warm glow this time (must be the lack of scotch, single malt or otherwise).

“Hello? This is Brian. Can you give me an update on the repairs to my boat? Sure, I’ll hang on.”

Eventually, a nice lady picks up the phone and says, “Brian? Sir, we had to order you a new door. It’s going to take about two weeks for it to be sent here from the manufacturer in Florida. Is that okay?”

Like I have a choice! “I guess so. Is replacing the door going to fix the leak? Is that where the water’s coming in from?”

“Oh, yes sir! When we get this door in, you won’t have any more problems!”

“Great! Thanks.”

I tell the Admiral what the nice lady said. Unfortunately, the Admiral’s response isn’t suitable to print here.

Fast forward another week. A phone call from the dealership, “Brian? Hi. Uh sir, the door is in, but it’s the wrong color. It’s white and should be beige. We’re going to have to order this door again.”

It’s looking dicey for the Cape Lookout Rendezvous. The Admiral is about ready to order a full broadside on them for effect. After much yelling and screaming, wailing and gnashing of teeth (most of it coming from the Admiral), I tell them to forget the door repair, I want to use the boat over the weekend.

“No problem. We’ll have it put in the water on our dock and plugged into power and water.”

The Admiral and I head for the coast Friday June, 21st and load up the boat with everything we need for the weekend. We arrive too late Friday to make the 4 hour run to Cape Lookout, so we spend the night on the dealership’s docks. Anyone who spent the weekend of June 21, 22 and 23 on the coast knows that it rained buckets Friday night (Saturday too, but that’s another story involving lights drifting past the hatch, torrential rain, howling wind, boats dragging anchor, a life jacket, thunder and lightning and a mad dash for the safety of the cabin while the Admiral blissfully slept off the warm glow produced by a nice bottle of wine).

Saturday morning, June 22nd, dawns bright with sunshine and blue skies. After the required caffeine consumption has brought our systems up to operating temperature, we check on the aft berth leak. It appears to us that this leak has gotten worse and we decide to wait for Service Manager guy to get in to show him the problem. After looking at the evidence for a while and with much head scratching, he agrees that replacing the door is not the solution for this leak, although it still needs replacing. I also remind him that this is the same leak he chased the previous boating season and that the Admiral is getting miffed. “Not a good thing.” (a la Martha Stewart)

After agreeing to leave the boat tied up to their dock on Sunday, June 23rd , we proceed with our plans for the Cape Lookout Rendezvous. The rendezvous was a blast (nicely chronicled by Ed) and all to soon we found ourselves headed back home, minus our boat.

Fast forward two more weeks. For those of you keeping score this should be about mid July, the boat was dropped off over the Memorial Weekend in May. The Admiral gets an e-mail from Service Manager guy, they think they’ve found the source of the leak. In a seat cushion that’s bolted to the forward bulk head, left of the door. They’ve removed the cushion and cut the bolts out of the bulk head that held it in place. Now all that remains is re-ordering the cushion, fiberglassing over the original bolt holes, drilling new holes and installing new bolts in the bulk head and finally re-installing the new cushion. Piece of cake, right?

By the end of July they’ve completed the work and even delivered the boat to our home.

As of right now the entire state of North Carolina is in a drought and we haven’t had enough rain to know if the leak’s been fixed.

Oh well. There’s always next year’s repair …. I mean boating season.