Recent Observations By The Hillbilly

I just have to share a couple of classic, and hilarious things I have witnessed in the past few days. Thankfully, none of them are involve me, beer, and mud. So here they are:

Meth Head Broad riding a multiple speed bike, in first gear peddling a hundred miles wearing sweat pants, tank top, and no shoes. Oh, and she was riding down an overpass, so top speed was about 30 mph. In tweaker miles, it was a 108 mph!

Yellow hat, bright orange shirt, shorts, and shoes. This is what a guy was wearing yesterday on the driving range at the golf course. A couple of thoughts here: Gramps realizes he is of the age he can wear, and do anything he pleases. Two: He is in the California Department of Transportation Hall of Fame. ( These workers wear bright orange uniforms for those of you who are not living in Cali.) Three; he has been so emasculated that his wife now dresses him from head to toe. Thing is, Neon Gramps could pound whitey pretty good. He has a decent swing, so us fellow golfers won’t give him the business about his duds, just give him grief over the fact his wife does not allow him to wear his testicles anymore.

Cain And Able: B.W. And BillWilly

Unflippin believable!, just a few days after getting my boys home from the extended vet visit, the “Fight” lands BillWilly back in the hospital. No, BillWilly, all 10 pounds of him, was not fighting off intruders, no was he attacked by a rabid postman. Nope, that would be fine, but he picks a fight with B.W., and gets torn up. Really, torn up! B.W. tore his fur from his muscle! A perfect “V” shape of now flapping fur and skin hanging off of BillWilly’s front shoulder. As soon as I sent a photo to Dr. Rob via cellphone, yes, us 80’s guys are pretty tech savvy, he said to bring him in to get stitched up. Great, more of my money being spent on these boys.

It all started over them jockeying for seat position next to me during our weekend beer and bbq bash in the backyard. I was able to break that one up, without spilling my beer mind you. This past Monday, while lying on the floor watching Man vs Food, The Brother’s Brawl began. BillWilly started it by growling at B.W. over cushion position. It is always first come first serve, and if you move you lose. Well, BillWilly was giving B.W. the business because he felt B.W. was too close to his spot. B.W. was having none of this mess, and the brawl was on. By the time I pried B.W.’s choppers off of BillWilly, the damage was done. B.W. was spitting fur, and BillWilly was gushing blood. It was kind of “country music songesque”. All my years at my current occupation, and my college years bouncing, this fight ranks right up there with the best and messiest of them all.

So as I write this, BillWilly is laying in the hospital awaiting the surgical skills of D. Rob to patch him up. There ain’t a doubt in my dome, that he will be coming home and wearing the darn “Doggie Cone.” That stupid inverted lampshade that keeps a pup from licking their wounds. I think I need to wear one to keep me from licking my back pocket where I keep my money, because my bank account is about to flat-line:)