BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yeah, I know… Not exactly patriotic sounding given that this is July 4th and all. But, don’t read anything into that title. I’m NOT unpatriotic. I just don’t like parades.

I used to. Well… Sorta…

I mean, I watched the parades on Thanksgiving Day when I was a kid. We still turn them on in the morning while I am doing the last minute cooking before heading out to visit family. Or, as will be the case this November, the ton of cooking here at home because it’s the everyone goes elsewhere year. Since I have little family left, E K, the O-spring and I do it up big time here at the house. This allows for E K to have leftover turkey, which is one of her all time favorite things, surpassed only by leftover corned beef and leftover “Aunt Ida’s Stew.”

But, I’m getting off track, aren’t I?

When I was a kid my parents took me to see parades. I guess back then, as a child, they held a different kind of meaning, because I didn’t hate them. I wasn’t particularly fond of them, mind you, but I didn’t abhor them as I do these days.

In one case I actually enjoyed a parade. It was sometime around the late 60’s and it was the Christmas parade in “downtown” Fulton, Kentucky. For those of you who aren’t aware, Fulton, Kentucky is from whence I hail. Well, I was born in Fulton. I lived in the neighboring farm community of Water Valley. Of course, then we moved to Saint Louis and… well, there I go getting off track again.

So, the thing is, it was the late 60’s in Fulton, Kentucky. We were standing there watching the parade go past us and along came a contingent of ROTC types, led by a Majorette of sorts.

Now, obviously the picture to the left isn’t her. I mean, after all, that’s a doll in the pic. Not that the Majorette in question wasn’t a doll, because trust me, she was.

However, in this case, since she was leading a bunch of ROTC types, she was dressed in a skimpily “Majorettified” military uniform, complete with the black, vinyl go-go boots of the era. I suspect you could find something that closely approximates her attire by surfing the adult “costume” (wink wink) websites. But, I figured I shouldn’t grab any pics from there. I already get enough porn seeking traffic through here because I write about EKay’s dominatrixishness.

Anywho, on with the show… The doll in question was pretty, wearing a uniform, and man could she twirl that rubber tipped metal stick. Moreover, the baton twirling beauty smiled at me. Granted, she had a parade smile stapled to her face the entire time, but I’m relatively certain she smiled right at me. That’s the way I intend to remember it, at least.

But, after a moment or two she was gone, and the rest of the parade filed by, brought up in the rear by the jolly elf riding a firetruck. As usual,  Santa Claus  was tossing individually wrapped circus peanuts to the crowd. (They tended to survive the fall better than candy canes).

I didn’t get one though.

As the confections showered the onlookers, pelting us in the heads and bouncing onto the streets, bigger kids than me scrambled to collect them. My mom purposely stepped on one so she could save it for me, almost taking out the fingers of some man who had been reaching for it. But, the minute she moved her foot some twelve-year old vulture swooped in and took it. The little bastard.

But, that’s not why I hate parades.

Nope… I hate them because they are long, generally boring when you get right down to it, and they always involve crowds. I don’t do crowds.

But, it doesn’t really matter. I still have my fond memories of that parade all those years ago. Maybe I didn’t get a smashed circus peanut, but I did get a  sandwich at The Whistlin’ Pig (a Fulton, Kentucky institution). And guess what? My uniform wearing, smiling, baton twirling beauty of a Majorette was sitting at the table right next to ours.

More to come…

Murv

I’ve got a question…

Do any of you know what the statute of limitations is on produce thievery? I only ask because I think I must be in some kind of serious trouble. Especially if the sins of the parents are visited upon the offspring.

I know, doesn’t make much sense, does it? Well, maybe I can explain.

You see, my parents were Murvel Sellars Sr. and Sonja Sellars. Now, I realize those names are in no way synonymous with Bonnie & Clyde, but bear with me, because I think the Federales could be kicking down my door at any moment and I want to make sure the world hears this story before “the man” shuts me up…

Wayyyyyy, wayyyy back when… And, I say wayyyy, wayyyy back because it was when I was a kid, so you know it has to have been a long time ago (think 40 plus years.)

Anywho, way back when, my parents and their friends, would go out camping and such. Of course, we kids would come along too. We’d cook over the campfire, hike, and do all sorts of relaxing, fun, camping things. Well, it wasn’t unusual for us to camp within a short distance – maybe nearby, maybe even a couple of miles – of farmland. Said farmland would often times be planted with sweet corn.

I think maybe you can see where I’m headed here?

Well, I suppose some of you city folks might not… So, by way of explanation, we were occasionally known to “raid a corn field.” As in, go out in the middle of the night and help ourselves to a dozen or so ears of fresh sweet corn right out of the field, under cover of darkness… Clandestine Cob Coppage…  Kernel Kleptomania… Golden Grain Grabbage…  Starch Stealing… you get the idea…

From there we would often boil, roast, grill, and even BBQ the ill gotten gains. Now, I need to point out that this wasn’t a nightly occurence by any stretch, but hey, it happened a time or two during the summer months.

And now, I think that thievery has come back to haunt me. SWAT teams and such will probably be surrounding my house and launching tear gas in through the windows very soon.

Why would I think that?

Well, like I said, my parents were Murvel Sellars Sr. and Sonja Sellars… And, I’m Murvel Sellars Jr.

Still not understanding? Well, I don’t blame you… So, here’s the kernel of the story:

I checked my site logs the other day and discovered that Murvel and Sonja  Sellars are being searched out on the internet. Of course, the searches have lead the Federales straight to me, because my parents are both deceased and I don’t exactly hide out in the shadows if you know what I mean.

And, what makes me think it’s the Federales? Easy… I tracked the IP address right back to the offices of the US Department of Agriculture in Fort Collins, Colorado.

As I recall, that was some pretty good corn. Not worth prison time, but still pretty good.

Wonder if I should just call my attorney and turn myself in. Shucks, maybe I can butter someone up and work out a sweet deal…

More to come…

Murv