Please Buy My Book and Other New Year’s Wishes


So. Here we all are in 2012! Happy New Year everyone. We Johnsons somehow managed to survive last night with nothing broken—no broken stemware, teeth and no broken hearts.

The broken hearts part was the break I most feared as we approached this new year. It was a toss-up at to whether it would be my heart broken by either a screw up on my part or if SAC Ellen would be called out to emergency Special Agent duty. Homeland Security is a touchy federal agency at New Years, and Special Agents their most sensitive digits.

OK, that was about as screwy a metaphor as ever I’ve seen. I wanted to start this bloggie of mine off to the right foot to begin 2012. And there would be another grammatical blunder because to the right is nowhere I choose to start any fucking thing. I’m so sick of right wing political bullshit I could scream.

Fuck it, I’m gonna scream. “Arrrrrrggggggh!!!”

But I somehow managed to make it through the entire day yesterday without a major screw up, and SAC Ellen’s Red Alert ring tone never sounded on her cell. So we sexed a little in the late afternoon, and then got down to serious business at something approximating 12:02 am. It had been awhile since we employed the stunner gun as a part of foreplay, and I’m still a little weak-kneed. Scrape-kneed as well.

Carpet-burned knees are one of life’s dichotomies, don’t you agree? Same as those little sore spots you can get on your pecker sometimes after extended sexing. I’ve got this great lotion made from hemp oil that we make over to the hemp factory that is great for carpet-burned knees.

Bottom line, my heart remained intact and that left the worry to those hearts beating coquettishly in the breasts of the ladies of Johnson Manor. Mr. Dave’s dance card was way overbooked after dinner Friday night as preparations were made for yesterday’s festivities. Gram had been hogging his giant-sized manhood because, as she so eloquently put it, “I fuckin’ found ‘im an’ I ain’t tired of ‘im yet.”

But I knew that was a ruse as soon as she asked me to detail her hot red Ferrari. I was wiping the last of the Turtlewax Finishing Lotion off the hood when she came outside to inspect my work. “Yer a good boy, Mooner. I ain’t gonna ask ya fer nothin’ elst exceptin’ don’t tell that gaggle a chickens I’m a heading ta Houston.”

It took me a minute to connect the dots on that one. “Oh, yea,” I said. “Texas A&M has their bowl game down there this morning. You’ll have some prime pickings after the ball game.”

“At’s right. If’n they lose I’ll git a couple a down to their lucksters what I can git all healed up. If’n they win that game, I’ll need me a trailer ta haul my trophies home.” My randy old grandmother thought for a minute. “Tha Aggies are favored, ain’t they. Ya think I outta take the flatbed?”

“No, Gram, I don’t. If you leave Mr. Dave to the other girls, two college boys in the house will be plenty. Now you drive careful and remember to watch your speed when you get near Columbus, they’ve got a traffic sting down there this weekend.”

Gram left and returned just before dinner with two very happy Aggie cadets—both band members. One plays the tuba and the other the trombone, and somehow my grandmother managed to bring boys and musical instruments both home in the Ferrari. When I asked her how, all she said was, “Call Chris tha welder an’ tell ‘im ta pop by Monday mornin’.”

The only people out of bed yet are the Squirt, Yoda, Honor the fucking cat and myself. Not that the house is quiet, if you know what I mean, but it’s just us up and working on breakfast. We’re having cinnamon rolls, apple smoked bacon and the black-eyed peas I cooked yesterday. I cook them with a little of the smoked bacon, onion and jalapeño. I start them with pepper only—no salt—and after softening the veggies a touch with the bacon, I cover them with hot water. Leaving out the salt and starting with hot water keeps the skins soft and the beans intact.

I hate when beans turn into a pot of mush with chewy skins.

I’m cracking an icy-cold Carta Blanca now, and I’m drinking a salute to all of you. Cheers, my friends. May 2012 be a really good one for you. Manana, y’all.

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5 Responses to “Please Buy My Book and Other New Year’s Wishes”

  1. Q says:

    Hilarious! Gram has it going on. Happy 2012 to you, Mooner!

  2. admin says:

    Q. And a very happy 2012 to you and yours Sir Q.

  3. Happy New Year, Mooner! I enjoyed some black eyed peas and collard greens yesterday as well. I’m hoping it takes – the whole “good luck” part for this new year. I’m over 2011, for real.

  4. mel says:

    Goooooood times! So glad there were no major catastrophes. I am also proud to report that after a day and a half in, no major drama on this end either! I ALSO enjoyed some black eyed peas…not the ones from my blog that my friend John served me years ago, but the little recipe that Reck suggested!! HAPPY 2012!!

  5. admin says:

    Reck. MMMMMM, beans and greens!!!! That’s what I doing with the leftover black-eyed peas. Best only for my future 13th. I really enjoyed your post today.

    Mel. You deserve to have the best ever year this year. I’m not saying we have avoided catastrophes. Gram has managed to “misplace” the trombone player from Texas A&M. Personally, I think we’ve got waaaay too many Aggies in the World. But we don’t need them to go missing on my watch.

    Everyone***** Go to Squatlo’s place and find the Penn Jillette post. Crack a beer and watch the entire thing. Then thank Squat for posting it and go buy my fucking book to show your appreciation.

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