LC News, At Your Service

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, tootling on my nose flute, drinking champagne, tinkling in the dust, admiring the dark sky of night, and wishing you were here, so that I could leave but yet know, for certain, that someone true would carry on. And now a fart. Ahhh.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, whose name is whispered only by a dark night wind, and once, once only, by a lopsided owl.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, too tall for my boots, too short for a zoot suit. Maybe I'll bake a few pies by candle light and hum a solo tune to the sky.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I carry my name written on a card in my pocket, on the off chance that, being alone for so long I might forget it, or, still less likely, that you or someone resembling you will ask for it one day. And so it quietly resides with me until that moment, if ever.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Don't got no notches on my gun, just on my belt, cuz I'm a skinny critter. Like to hide behind bushes too, so's I usually stick to brush country, and travel a lot by night to remain unseen, playing my lonesome kazoo to keep me company, but only in the veriest most empty of places, though sing me a happy tune and I'll find someone who can give you a kiss in sincerest exchange.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Today might be Tuesday, but in my world all days have the same name: The First of Emptiness. It's just me and my pocket lint. If it weren't for my fuzzy pals in there, life would be pointless. So they do their best to bring me cheer, reliably as always.

 

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Me? Pondering the issues of banking while disguised as a hamster. Thoughts?

Please To Take Good Advice

Mwambe Twambo can help your fine self too, sir!

I saw this question and answer recently on an internet newsletter. It must be accurate and true because it was on the internet. And in a newletter. And written by a guy whose whole name has only two (but two very manly) syllables.

Another guy, 65 had just retired with limited money. How could he get by on it?

The Expert: "If all I had was $100,000 in an IRA, and I was worried that America could no longer give me the comfortable retirement I wanted, I would invest in gold, move some of my assets overseas, and work on creating a second active income. If you are in this situation, I recommend you consider a plan such as this."

Lessee, the plan in a nutshell is, take the $100,000 and:

• Buy $40,000 of gold coins
• Buy an empty $40,000 lot in Nicaragua
• Create an internet business with the other $20,000 and hope to make money

Let's call this the Position Of Sensibility or POS Plan, for short.

Sounds great but I couldn't do all of it in one go, so here's where I'm at.

I did buy several bags of gold coins recently. I wanted to hurry up and get in before the price crashed through the floor.

And you know? It turned out better than I could ever have expected. Here's the deal.

I thought the coins were kind of light, several bags full and all, and when I got home from the supermarket (where I bought them) I discovered that each and every one of these coins has chocolate inside. Talk about a deal!

So as long as I keep them cool (preferably frozen to preserve freshness) I'm in Cocoa Butter Fat City. I can buy things with them, take them out of the freezer and play with them, or if the global situation gets truly desperate and nobody wants gold anymore (Hard to believe, right?), I can always eat them and get a pleasant sugar rush.

I'm trying to negotiate for a piece of dirt in Nicaragua so I can bury my IRA statements there, and meanwhile I found this really helpful guy in Nigeria who is willing to get me started with an internet business for only $20,000. Very neat.

So good advice there, Mr. Financial Expert Man. I guess this is why you rate a logo with curlicues and such.

Well, gotta go and massage the cramps in my leg for a while. See y'all.

Captain A? Is that you over there?

Captain Anonymous, the singleton's hero, was today awarded the Nobel Prize for contributions to Unnamed Achievements, and actually did attend the awards ceremony, but no one could recognize him so they gave his medal to the cat.

Captain Anonymous, a friend in need. Of recognition, but no one can find him.

I once knew Captain Anonymous, before he became unknown. Now I don't, of course, not any more.

If Captain Anonymous were to become your pen pal, he'd sign his letters with a slight, tired exhalation.

Captain Anonymous, standing tall for nothing in particular. Ever vigilant, outside of nap time. Mostly quiet and unassuming. Never seen alone, or with others.

If Captain Anonymous were real, he'd be made of marshmallow, and covered in chocolate sauce, and good to lick, but you probably wouldn't want to even then.

If I were Captain Anonymous, I wouldn't tell you, preferring to let you guess, though you'd probably never think to try.

 

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Me? Don't know yet. Check back in another decade or two.

Straight Up News From Bushbunnyland

Hey. I can drag my own peanut.

Brought home a box. Had a cat in it. Must have been on short rations. First thing was to eat all the neighbors, but we get along just fine. Thursday is pizza and beer night, and we watch TV, Bengal T. and me.

I remain handy with tweezers but seldom say so, you know. Well — until next Thursday, that's all for now.

I haven't seen Professor Schmidt lately. I think she may be out running with the wolves. Or the ants got her.

Fuzzy Bob ate my monkey. Leastways he says he did. Someone did, even the monkey says so. Who am I to judge?

Ants are notoriously bad at keeping secrets. An ant told me that. It was supposed to be a secret, but now I know too. See?

Got fuzz stuck up my nose again. Looks like giraffe this time. Odd to be sure, since we haven't had one come through the house for at least a month.

 

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Me? Found another ransom note in my underwear drawer.

It Wont Hurt At All

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I often amble the nighttime streets looking for kitties to tickle, just because.

Never tickle a TRex, even a dead one. My sister can tell you all about it. No, wait. Not any more. Come back some other time.

Tickle your nipples every now and then. You might be surprised at what happens among your bystanders.

My cousin Randolph played Left Tickle on the high school team. She was a year younger, but quite a bit beefier, and no one ever messed with her, so much more true now since she turned pro.

I'm working on a new crypto-currency that I'm calling "TiklBits", and it isn't virtual, as you might expect these days, just cryptic. You put a few into your pants pocket and wait for things to happen.

Chef Tooth le Tooth is now accepting new clients. Will brush your hair and give you a good tickling before cooking and eating you. Will also provide a postmortem review if you need something like that on your headstone.

 

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Me? Still yawning from my nap last year.

Tommy

I used to have a friend named Tommy Tourniquet. His mother was the former Sister Torquemada. Some called her twisted, but she got things done.

Had spider webs for breakfast. Sugar-frosted spider webs. I have the spiders in a jar for later. Right at the moment I'm on a low-protein, bug-free diet. Can't wait until it's over, and I don't have to sit and talk to the spiders any more.

Leafy greens were never my friends. Friends don't make you shit like a crazy dog. I hate dogs. Don't even like dog food any more.

Why do shoes have tongues? Pretty kinky, don't you think? (This thought brought to you by Melvin Mortvedt.)

High School cafeteria food — just found some on the sole of my shoe. I believe it's been there since 1967, I do.

The woman of my dreams knows how to lick her glass like she means it. And maybe drink beer through a straw stuck up her nose. If she can handle that, she might be able to handle me. And then there's the licking part to consider.

 

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Me? Tried the whole "I'm a little teapot, short and stout" thing — not really for me yet.