Tag Archives: Wes’ BYGAWD Virginny

Dear Sweet Mama Never Learns

Our lovely and talented Minister of Finance, LeeAnn, recently regaled us with the tale of her heroic rescue of one of the inbred waterhead kittens she has living under her house.  So I have no choice but to relate…

The Legend(s) of Dear Sweet Mama

vs. the Snapping Turtle(s)


We begin our tale long ago (shut up!) when Hoody was but a wee slip of a lass (shut UP!) still living in her Childhood Home with Dear Sweet Mama (yes, the same Childhood Home with the bottomless bucket of poop in the yard).  DSM and Young Hoody were going out somewhere, and as they passed the fence post that butted up against the side of the house, they beheld a strange sight:

A snapping turtle, apparently emerging from hibernation in the mud, had somehow managed to get itself wedged between the fence and the house.  Vertically, so it was a-waving all its little legs helplessly.  And DSM and Hoody swung into action.

Now, a brief note for those of you who do NOT hail from out the holler, a snapping turtle looks like this:

And yes, if he appears angry to you, imagine how angry he would be if he was covered in mud and trapped between the fence and the house, balanced upright on his wee turtle tail.  And hissing.  And snapping.  But DSM and Hoody were undeterred in their mission of mercy.

So they got a stick.

And they tried to use the stick to poke the turtle sideways so that he would slide out of the gap he was stuck in and go upon his way.

Turtle don’t play dat.

That damn thing whipped his big ol’ angry head around on his freakishly long neck… AND BIT THE STICK IN HALF.

So DSM and Hoody repaired to the house to find something more durable to poke the turtle with (i.e., something a turtle could not, at least theoretically, bite through)… but when they emerged a short time later, the turtle appeared to have solved his own problems and gotten free on his own.

So DSM and Hoody repaired back into the house again… because that meant the turtle was LOOSE.  And they had POKED it.

You’d think that would be enough to teach DSM that snapping turtles do not appreciate the kindness of strangers.  But no!  Stay tuned for Part II tomorrow!


Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Getchore LEARN on!, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, Reality Bites, SCIENCE!, The Royal Court, Youse Guys

Can’t Make It Up

Cleanin’ out the ol’ C.T. … just a few inexplicable situations in which I’ve found myself lately:

1.  HUGE Brass Balls

Scene:  Hoody Hoo is attempting to ascertain why her cable/phone/internet are all out, so she calls the company.  Following the automatic prompts, this happens:
HH:  *enters home phone number*

HH:  *enters last 4 digits of SSN*

HH:  *presses “5” to “report a problem”*

HH:  *presses “1” for phone outage, because although EVERYTHING is out, there’s no option for that*

Cable Company Recording:  “If you are in the ((hugely long list of pretty much every town in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny)) areas and are experiencing problems, please be aware our technicians are working to restore your service… If you would like to make a payment, please visit us at stupidcableassholes-dot-com.”


2.  Sharpen Those Skills

Scene:  Hoody Hoo is in the checkout line at Walmart, and the manager-looking types nearby are discussing an inventory issue.

Manager-Type # 1: “Well, it looks like they sent half a case of this and half a case of that but marked it down as a full case of that…”

Checkout Girl (muttering):  “Which is what I just said, a little bit ago, but you weren’t listening then and you’re not listening now…”

Hoody Hoo:  “Oh, you’re just practicing talking.”

Checkout Girl erupts in surprised cackle of laughter.  Manager-Types are not amused.

3.  Do You Know Who You Called?

Hoody Hoo is on the phone to Pizza Joint.

Pizza Joint Gal:  “Hello, thank you for calling Pizza Joint, can you hold please?”

HH:  “Sure, no problem.”

Phone is laid down on counter BUT NOT put on hold, so we still hear:

PJG (to another customer on the phone):  “No sir, we don’t do paninis. <pause> No, we don’t do that either. “<pause> PJG yells to the kitchen: “Hey!  Is there a calzone special?” Back to phone: “I’m sorry, we don’t have that either. <very long pause> “Okay, that’ll be $85.”

PJG comes back to Hoody’s phone:

HH:  “Did you just get an order for $85 from somebody who doesn’t even know what you serve?”

PJG: “I KNOW, right?  We’re on the damn internet!”

Then, as those of you who follow me on teh Twitter may have noticed, what can only be termed “The Pizza Wars” began as the not-quite-right delivery dude fucked up my order so many times I almost went to burn the building down… but it all worked out in the end!  In fact, it may be time for another order…



Filed under I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

Don’t Know Whatcha Got…

‘Til it’s gone, ya know.  And since my poor car is currently on the list of things that are gone (damn transmission!), I thought I’d offer y’all a little gem I made up for The Book of Face ages ago (reworked slightly, of course!).  I present:



  1. Central Heat may in fact be the thing I miss absolutely the most.  I freakin’ HATE to be cold and a fire just don’t cut it.
  2. Liquor/wine/beer I don’t have to make for myself.  Check out my high school chemistry grades if you think me trying my hand at moonshinin’ won’t end in blood.
  3. This one got tooken from me already (thanks, pancreas!): The freedom to eat whatever I want, whenever I want.  Still, I figure I’ll look back at chicken and rice FONDLY when all there is to eat is looter-meat.
  4. Being able to go places . Walking sucks and horses can be assholes, so it’s really not worth it.
  5. Water I don’t have to boil or filter… wait, I live in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny, I don’t have that NOW.  How about, water I don’t have to CARRY?
  6. Hate to say it, but I will miss the hell outta TV.  Oh, idiot box, we hardly knew ye.
  7. Books, especially new books.  Stephen King ain’t gonna be cranking out the next bestseller when the crops need a-sowin’.
  8. The ease of communication.  Even with Kevin Costner delivering the mail, he still can’t beat the phone and the interwebz.
  9. STORES!  Much as I hate to shop, if I need a new outfit, I go out and buy it.  If Laura Ingalls wanted a new outfit, she freakin’ MADE IT.  Suffice it to say, when the End Times come I’ll be wearing a potato sack.
  10. Meat I don’t have to catch, raise or kill.
  11. Antibiotics — sometimes you really gotta hand it to the White Man’s Medicine.
  12. Strangely enough, the government.  It was nice having someone to blame.
  13. The ability to be SURPRISED by the weather (“well, hot damn, it’s snowin’!”).  An agrarian society won’t have that luxury.
  14. Speaking of luxuries, how about safety, security and just general fuckin’ around time… say bye-bye to all that!
  15. Toilet paper, and while I’m at it, Kotex… and while I’m at THAT, Monistat.
  16. PAPER… FUCKING… TOWELS.  You think it’s funny, but you know how pissed off you get when you’re out?  Now imagine that’s FOREVER.
  17. Music I don’t have to make myself.  All I play is clarinet, and that badly.
  18. Vitamin tablets.  Gonna get the scurvy.

And because I couldn’t leave y’all without some serious deep thoughts to ponder all weekend..

19.  The way it feels to live your life NOT having ever had to kill someone.

20.  The ineffable luxury of being able to feel pity.

So that’s it — time to get one of those Australian dogs and attach knives to our hubcaps.  THUNDERDOME!!!!!!!!!!!


Filed under At the Movies, GENIUS!, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, Weep for Humanity, White Man's Medicine

I Might Be a Redneck…

… okay, there’s really no “might” about it.  But I do know I’ve been working in country radio for too. damn. long.  And here’s how I know:

Yesterday was Chuckweasel’s first day riding the bus, and I asked him how it went.  Then this happened.

Chuckweasel:  Oh, it was fine.  I didn’t realize how expansive —

HoodyHoo (interrupting):  I thought it was a dollar?

CW:  What’s a dollar?

HH:  The bus.

CW:  It is.

HH:  But you said it was expensive…

CW (incredulously):  Um, honey… I said “exPANsive”… I was talking about the office complex where the bus turns around, I didn’t know it was that big…”

To CW’s credit, he DID NOT end that sentence with, “you ignorant stump-jumpin’ hillbilly.”

HH:  Oh.

CW:  You been working with them yay-hoos too long.

And he’s right, but they’ve already got me, so I might as well stick around!

PS:  Today I said someone set something on “far.”  But I meant to, to be funny.  I think.


Filed under Chuckweasel, GENIUS!, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s)

“C” Is for Cookie

Laws, yes, I was so caught up in ChristmaHannuKwanzaa I completely forgot to tell y’all about the latest Adventure in DJing:

We did a Sweet 16 on Friday, the idea of which initially makes me cringe — Miley Cyrus and no booze, PARTY FAIL.  But these kids were fucking cool — they danced every dance, sang along and even did the gawddamn Macarena (by REQUEST, no less!), which I have never before seen done by sober people.  Plus, these were my “peeps,” as Chuckweasel called them — gotta love the band geeks!

The weird part was the food.

It was, after all, a birthday party, so they had one of those “cakes” made out of cupcakes on a tier thing.  Great, love it, plus it eliminates the need to give the snowflakes knives.

They also had cookies… I guess it’s Christmas Eve-Eve, motherfuckers be bakin’, yo.

They also had fudge and other assorted candy.

To be fair, they did have pretzels… They were chocolate-covered, but still probably the healthiest food available!  Canna sistah get a chicken wing?

Seriously, y’all know I try damn hard to avoid breeding, but if I ever DO, and y’all invite my kid to your kid’s party (during prime dinner-eating hours, I might add) and then feed it a menu comprised solely of SUGAR… do not expect me to come get that kid at 10 o’clock.  S/he’s YOUR kid ’til the shakes wear off, bitches!

But at least I got to feel virtuous about eating chocolate-covered pretzels.

Plus, I coined a new phrase — upon seeing there were no little meatballs or franks-in-blankets or NOTHING good to eat, I said, “This ain’t worth wasting my pig enzymes on.”  ‘Cause that’s how Hoody rolls (mmm, rolls…).


Filed under Chuckweasel, He's the DJ I'm the Rapper, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, WTF???

Happy HOlidays!

No, that isn’t a case of stupid-finger-syndrome (SFS) up there… I really do mean to emphasize the “HO’ part.  Here’s why:

One of the clans of Redneck Hillfolk up at Ye Olde Apartment Complex has put a red light bulb in their porch light.  And I think they mean it as a Christmas decoration, but I’m not sure.  Let’s apply some Non-Stick Science, shall we?


1.  There are no OTHER decorations visible.  This would seem to indicate either it’s NOT for Christmas or these particular Hillfolk are unusually lazy.

2.  The porch itself is home to a disproportionately large number of chairs.  Like, I live alone, so I have one chair and a little patio bench on my porch.  This particular batch of Hillfolk (whose apartment is exactly the same size as mine, remember) have at least 7 or 8 of those cheap-ass white plastic chairs.  And no tables.  This leads me to believe the light means what I always THOUGHT red lights meant and they’re using their porch as a waiting room.

(Wait.  Do hookers have waiting rooms?  That’s gotta be uncomfortable.  And sticky.)

3.  Hookers operating out of Ye Olde Apartment Complex wouldn’t even be all that illegal by the current standards of illegal immigrants and drug deals.  In fact, it wouldn’t even be the most illegal thing I’ve seen this WEEK.

So, what do y’all think?  Hookers or lazy trash? Or both, don’t wanna exclude the most likely possibility!


Filed under GENIUS!, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, SCIENCE!, Ye Olde Apartment Complex

The Collar Conundrum

It only took a little over a year, but Chuckweasel and I learned a VERY IMPORTANT DJ LESSON this weekend… it involves what I like to call “The Collar Conundrum” (damn I love that word!).

The thing is this:  When you have an office party, you’re fine as long as you’re all — basically — the same thing.  Like, you’re all nurses and nurses’ aides and other nurse-related jobs… or you’re all teachers and principals and what have you.  You’re all likely to be around the same age and have REASONABLY similar tastes in music, so PARTY ON, MOTHERFUCKERS!

The problem arises when your business is more on the manual labor side of the equation. That’s when your office party divides into 2 diametrically-opposite sides — the workers and the bosses.  The blue-collar, laborer-type folks will want to get real drunk and sing along to country music (especially “Take This Job and Shove It”), while the white-collar administrative folks will want to get real drunk WITHOUT ANYONE NOTICING and do the White Guy Shuffle to disco and Eric Clapton.

We shoulda known there was gonna be trouble when half the party-goers showed up wearing sport coats and slacks and the other half came in wearing biker jackets and thigh-high boots (note to that lady — just because your boots come up to your ass does not mean they are pants).  We REALLY knew it was gonna get weird when the Really Big Boss asked us to play some dance music instead of — and I quote — “country AND western.”

Next year, they have to give us a song list… or a water pistol.  Preferably full of tequila.


Filed under Chuckweasel, He's the DJ I'm the Rapper, La Vida Loca