Sometimes you Gotta Walk Tall:    

Well, well, well, it seems that some of you blabbed and the lovely Avon has chosen to read my blog. Now I have to make the decision as to whether to go ahead have fun and face the consequences, or wimp out, pussy foot around, and live longer. I think hillbilly singer Faron Young. said it best in a song (circa 1949), which went, “I’m gonna live fast, love hard, die young, and leave a beautiful memory”. The memory may not be all that great, and dying young is out of the question, but I’m taking my chances.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts

Another true story:

            One Thursday evening (1960) the 4 amigos Bob, Bobby, Robert and yours truly took it into our heads to go to Terra Haut, Indiana for some cherry pie. The only thing wrong with that idea was we lived in Southern Illinois – the western part. Terra Haut was about 150 miles away. We went anyway, but the pie place was closed when we got there. Fortunately the bar next to it was open so we went in to see if they had any pie. As I remember they couldn’t find any, but we stayed there a long time while they looked. About closing time they concluded that they didn’t have any so we left feeling mighty blue and low except for Bobby and Robert who were in fine spirits. Robert was feeling so fine that we had to carry him to the car and let him stretch out in the back seat.

            With Robert hogging the whole back seat (he was a big boy) it meant that the 3 of us would have to share the front seat. Bob drove because he wore glasses and we figured he could see the best. I was in the middle because I never stopped talking (even then), so I could keep Tom awake. Bobby took the window because he was only slightly better off than Robert and might get sick. On through the night we went, with me talking, Robert snoring, Bob staring at the dark, and Bobby making some God-awful noises.

About daybreak we were nearing our home territory and Bobby had finally passed out half in the seat and half in the floor. When along the road came Mr. Jones, the bread truck driver and father of a friend of ours. As we passed and waved he gave us an unforgettable look of disbelief. We couldn’t figure what his problem was, until we realized that he could only see the two of us, and we were almost sitting on each other’s laps.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts

      The Morning Rush:

I’m always on the lookout for a better cup of coffee… the stronger the better. In the past decade (what I call the Starbuck’s Decade), the whole idea of coffee has changed dramatically. No longer is the morning cuppa Joe merely a 12 volt battery for your nervous system and a kick starter to your day, it’s become a morning ritual with a cacophony of flavors. After a few experimental sips of this or that blend and additive, I’ve gone back to thick black and bitter as my mainstay.

I’ve reverted to the old tried and true method of making “Cowboy Coffee or Campfire Coffee” with one slight alteration. Instead of a percolator use a pot with coffee dumped in by the tried and true method of measure… the hand full. Boil the hell out of it with a pinch of salt to keep the acid down. When it has the consistency of driveway sealer, strain it through a pair of pantyhose and enjoy.

Ladies, it would be advisable to vacate the pantyhose before pouring the coffee through.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts

You never out grow your need to read.

Is It Only a Game?

My St. Louis Cardinals have been having a hard time in the late innings, coughing up the lead in the 8^th, 9th, and extra innings. It’s bad enough that they struggle to get ahead in the early innings and cling to a minimal lead only to see it slip away late. Naughty words seem find their way into my vocabulary, which are generally addressed at the umpires, but I know that’s not really the problem.

The problem is that our guys don’t have that killer instinct. They don’t have that mindset that pushes them on to finish the hated Cubs, Reds, or Mets off. The mindset that says “when you get them down, stomp on them.” It has gotten so bad that the first thing I do in the morning after a win is check with ESPN to make sure they didn't lose it in the locker room after the game.

The "Two Heads are Better than None"  series was a pilot project that crashed on take off.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts

When I Looked Death in the Eye and Saw that It Was Brown:

The names have been changed, but not to protect anyone because none of us were innocent. (A true story as best I can remember it.)

My first summer out of high school I was pretty cocky and full of myself, and so were my friends. We got in the habit of going to East St. Louis on a regular basis. There were a couple of Rhythm & Blues joints there where we could get in for a nominal fee, i.e. there was a $5 cover charge, but if you were smart enough to put 2 of them together you were considered smart enough to be 21. We went whenever we could afford it. You had to bring your own refreshments – so we did, but you could get high from the fumes that came off whatever was being passed around almost every table except ours of course.

One Saturday night when we left the Blue Note Club we decided to get something to eat at an all night B-B-Q place down the street. We had been there before during the daytime and never had any trouble. Anyway we were 4 bad assed white boys from up over the hill. We placed our order and were sitting at the counter… Bob, Bobby, Robert, and me. The rest of the place was empty except for a couple of workers and their guests in the back and the boss at the cash register. Passing the time just looking around I checked out the workers and friends in the back and saw that they were checking us out as well. I saw one cook running his thumb over his knife, which was about as long as a Samarra sword, reading his lips I saw him say, “That white headed mother (something or other) is mine.” I was the only sun bleached fair-haired one in the place. Nudging Bob, I drew his attention to the back room. It took him a few seconds to get the drift, but he acted smoothly and with dispatch saying to the cash register man, “Could we get those sandwiches to go?” The man said,” Good idea!”

We got em and we did go, in fact we went so fast we broke the sound barrier getting our bad assed little white boy selves back up and over that hill.

The two heads series was prepared all on one page for a Mad Magazine spread. It was part of several concepts I sent back in the 70s.. They sent them back. Mad was a hard nut to crack.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts

What is a Cob?

            I have always heard the terms corncob and cobwebs. I have never been able to put the 2 together. Mr. Webster tells us that a cob is a lump and a web is a net made of very thin thread by a poisoness spider. One of the nicest people I have ever known was born a Cobb; I can say for certain that she is neither a lump nor a spider. I believe she could give you a lump or two if you got on her wrong side, but I doubt that you would die if she bit you.

In the Far Distant Future:

Imaging that the year was 2508 and a team of archeologist was digging up the remains of Springfield, Missouri: specifically the pond area on the old Syler’s Golf Course. Think of the excitement when they found what must have been a communal brooding area of a highly intelligent species of reptile. They were so far advanced that they marked and labeled their eggs for identification. The scholars would marvel over eggs with markings that read Titelist 3, Callaway 2, Nike 4, and Top Flite 1.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts

And yet Another True Story:  (Those who have read my book A Fine Kettle of Fish will find this familiar.)

            Many years ago a good friend, whom I’ll call Bob, from long ago and I took a road trip. We took off for Centralia, Illinois in my lime green 49 Ford coupe on a summer evening. There was a big party going on, Centralia was only 50 miles away, and a lot of the guys and girls we knew were going. To make a long story short the party was in a honky-tonk dive and a real bust. We met up with a couple of girls (whose names I have contemptuously forgotten) who were looking for a ride back to town – done deal. Somewhere along the Oakaw River bottoms we ran out of gas – how convenient can it get? But we really were out of gas.

            Since poor old Bob was driving at the time he had to go for gas (road trip rule #77) while I stayed to protect the girls – he-he-he. After watching Bob disappear into the darkness the girls told me they were scared and that I should get a tire tool or something out of the trunk – which I did. When I opened the trunk they locked the doors; it dawned on me what they were scared of. No amount of begging, whining, or promising could get those doors opened. I told them that it was cold (80 degrees) and that I would freeze to death; one of them said something about a fate worse than death.

Meanwhile Bob was having some problems of his own; a couple picked picked him up and when he piled into the back seat he found it full of guns. The man turned around and said, “Don’t worry about those they’re not loaded… but this one is.” And he stuck a cannon under Bob’s nose. I’ll wager that my friend was real close to having an accident about then. It seems that there had been some break-ins in some of the fishing cabins in the area and these folks were cleaning theirs out. They took Bob to a station, got the owner to open up, and brought him back safe and sound. He received a hero’s welcome from the girls and I was allowed back into my own car. I have lived happily ever after, I’m pretty sure Bob has as well, and I really don’t give a rip about the happiness or everafterness of those two heartless and selfish girls.

Books by Lou Bradshaw available on Amazon Kindle

 A Fine Kettle of Fish – Hickory Jack – Blue – Ace High…and now… Blue Norther

Visit me on Facebook Lou Bradshaw Artist – Author or www.facebook.com/loubradshawarts