When in hospital gun that "pale horse" down...

******

I am just back from overnight in hospital emergency room.

Doing some follow up work on symptoms from a min-stroke last February.

Turns out the problems may be wonderfully manageable, a result of sleep deprivation -- in part from lots of study, writing, working on these blogs.

There was no pale horse this time, no end times...but I always carry a big imaginary gun in case that pale horse doth approach.

Gun it down...

"The Preacher...
and Hell followed with him"

******

Nice to have a bit of Christian fundamentalism raising its head.

Got tired of those Islamic folks having a monopoly on this stuff?

When dealing with scenes of the Christian Apocalypse, it is always nice to have Wikipedia to fall back upon.

Many of you will enjoy this ecclesiastical portrayal of the End Times.

How's about a little "Christian profiling?" Careful, you may have to shoot a pale horse.

When you see that pale horse coming,

that's death itself: open fire with
.45 cal. cap and ball horse killers!
But wait, what if it's a white horse?
That could be evil, the anti-Christ --
or it could be Christ himself.
Careful you don't shoot
the wrong horse.

******
Check your Wikipedia to see just
how hard it is to tell.

Taking on the pale horse with
something really big

Giant version Remington .44 cal Model 1863

Holy Passages: when a donkey becomes a Baptist

Take me home to R.I.P.

*******

A pig named Curly has been dead several weeks.

There's still no funeral in sight.

For his preacher owner the grief has subsided...yet lingers.

Yes, Curly was his only pig....

And it's not every day that a caring master is forced to shoot his pig between the eyes.

The alternative was unacceptable.

And so old Curly lies a mouldering in his grave.

*******

"I called a preacher friend to preside at Curly's funeral," explains Curly's owner.

"But he's too busy with his wife. She's sick with cancer.

"Perhaps I should call the Methodist Memorial folks. They work with animals."

********

It's not as though Curly's grieving master is any stranger to good works.

"A few days back I got a call from a man who wanted a service for his dear deceased, long time companion, Pat.

"I drove out to help and asked where the casket was ....He led me to the barn..."



"Pat was a donkey.....

"I asked him if Pat were a Baptist.

"'No,' he replied.

"I guess it didn't matter, 'cause he offered me five hundred dollars. I did the service.

"That donkey's now a Baptist."

********

So Pat the Baptist donkey is home with God.

May Curly someday find a similar peace.

R.I.P., dear Curly.

You are missed.

*******

Remember: keep cool when under fire

It's wise to be prepared.

In North Carolina you never know what you'll face.



'Nuff said.

A new "hookup" -- or is this "true love?"

Let us rejoice.



Now that the cats, the TV, and the woman are back at home with her fiance, his trailer is almost empty.....

Just a man and his beer.....

And a new girlfriend...a new "hookup?" Or is it true love?

But this time it is different.......

"She has her own place...her own job...her own money...and she doesn't want me to buy her anything..."

Can this be a dream?????

The American dream?

For now, he says, there is no drama....

Keeping his fingers crossed.....

The trailer is almost empty now:
the new lady has her own place

Hey -- what's a little strain on family values?

I got something on my mind.



What to do?

When your girlfriend moves her cats and TV into your trailer...then criticizes your father for drinking.

-- Just because he broke into your trailer to steal your beer.

And if your brother and his girlfriend move out in anger.

-- Just because your girlfriend got angry because his girlfriend called her the "N word."

And if your girlfriend, after a week, moves out to go back to her "fiancee."

Leaving her cats and her TV behind.

Ah, "hooking up is easy."

But "breaking up is hard to do."

No one I know

Grieving when you're forced to shoot your pig

I had just dropped in "to have a cup of coffee, friend."

*******

"Yesterday I lost everything I owned on the stock market," my somewhat distraught evangelical preacher friend confided.

-- with a sad twinkle in his eye.

"What happened," I inquired.

"I had to shoot Curly, my pig."

We had talked his pig for many a month. Me with my Maltese doggy and he with his swine.

My friend lives alone in a small rural town.

He had only one pig to his name.

Now he has none.

Many was the time we joked about his pinning a sign "humans stay away" on his pig to protect him from humans bearing "swine flu."

Seems the pig had gotten himself a spell of acting out, pushing through the fence door.

Out through the front yard toward the road -- misbehaving a bit like so many humans do.

The prospect of a law suit from an angry motorist grieving over his totaled vehicle sealed that pig's fate.

So choosing between the duty of officiating over a wedding for which he had to leave immediately -- and coddling an errant pig, my buddy of the cloth rushed in for his .22 caliber rifle.

Shot his pig right between the eyes.


Now Curly's owner is in quiet grief.

We are still talking about when the services will be held and who will officiate.

My dog "Taz" is worried.

And behaving very well.