Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
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It’s time once more for a horoscope analysis from Dr. Zodiac to help you survive global warming, killer bees and evil stuff like that. All you need is your date of birth, which you may not remember because you’ve kept it well hidden for so many years. (If you truly can’t remember, a random date will be provided for a minimal charge along with an autographed color photo of Dr. Zodiac. No CODs please.) So lean back, relax and let Dr. Zodiac dictate what will happen to you in the coming year. He’s really good at this stuff a...
Here at the Lazy Syntax Library we’re perusing a couple columns we wrote about terms used to describe groups of animals — you know, like a pride of lions and a gaggle of geese. The seed for this research was the behavior of news reporters in Washington, D.C., a few years back when they described animals in that city’s annual pet parade. Avoiding the correct terminology, they used such sentences as: • “They were followed by a batch of pet pigs.” • “On the float was a bunch of monkeys.” • “All that was missing was a mess of...
Here at the Appalling Malady Institute, we’re studying really important stuff about human behavior, such as why folks say bizarre things when they wake up at night to answer the phone. For a moment they’re not themselves but lost souls lingering in a la-la land between George W. Bushisms and quips from sportscasters posing as scholars. Take this friend of mine in Santa Fe. One time I woke him at night and apologized, whereupon he replied, “That’s OK. I had to answer the phone anyway.” Another time I called a citified...
Here at the Old Reporters’ Retirement Home, I’m spicing up each day by writing a horror story. It’s a TV documentary inspired by an actual event. Hollywood will love it. It’ll star Arnold Schwarzenegger. I call it “Gnaws.” The actual event went like this: We remodeled our house one time, and field mice moved in. I’m not talking about one or two. They plagued us for three months. I still hear the rumbling beat of ominous music when I think of them—“Bum, bum. Bum, bum.” Before I go anywhere near dark corners in our hous...
Here at the Old Reporters’ Retirement Home, I’m spicing up each day by writing a horror story. It’s a TV documentary inspired by an actual event. Hollywood will love it. It’ll star Arnold Schwarzenegger. I call it “Gnaws.” The actual event went like this: We remodeled our house one time, and field mice moved in. I’m not talking about one or two. They plagued us for three months. I still hear the rumbling beat of ominous music when I think of them—“Bum, bum. Bum, bum.” Before I go anywhere near dark corners in our hous...
You’d think America’s scientists would have better things to do than conduct fruitless research into global warming and the expanding universe. Instead they should tackle problems vital to the nation’s welfare, such as when to stop mowing our lawns. A few years ago my attention became focused on cutting grass because my wife, Marilyn, insisted on fertilizing ours. I promised to mow it every week in a spirit of matrimonial unity, and because she told me to. She said I needed the exercise. But by the end of May the urge to kn...
You’d think America’s scientists would have better things to do than conduct fruitless research into global warming and the expanding universe. Instead they should tackle problems vital to the nation’s welfare, such as when to stop mowing our lawns. A few years ago my attention became focused on cutting grass because my wife, Marilyn, insisted on fertilizing ours. I promised to mow it every week in a spirit of matrimonial unity, and because she told me to. She said I needed the exercise. But by the end of May the urge to kn...
Today’s lesson is: How to Stop Smoking and Go on Living. My wife, Marilyn, badgered me for years to stop smoking. She also said I should eat at least five vegetables before the sun sets each day. I wondered at the time why she was so eager to keep me alive. The answer: Who would carry out the trash? But I decided one day to become a former smoker, because it was easier than eating five vegetables. Of course, I had to eliminate a few activities that triggered my tobacco cravings, such as drinking coffee, driving, fishing, t...
Today’s lesson is “Hollywood,” and what can be done about it. Of course, any mention of Hollywood always takes me back to my own thespian career —a fleeting moment when I won my black belt in high drama and joined ranks with such epic performers as Larry, Moe and Curly. It was a high school play. The entire episode came about because I was overwhelmed one day by blond hair and snarling genes. This certain golden-haired beauty said, “I’d love to have you try out for a play with me,” and my genes snarled. “You bet,” I said. “Co...
During the Dark Ages of my married life, I bought a prehistoric Volkswagen camper and spent the national debt fixing it up. I named it “The Titanic.” It had all the necessary gismos for modern camping — a gas stove, electric ice box, a sink, a bed, a radio, a steering wheel, a motor and four tires. The problem was, they all had to be replaced. It was painted rusty red, so I camouflaged it in case our creditors tried to spot us with a rifle scope. When I towed it home, my wife Marilyn got a familiar glint in her eye. I’d seen...
Some folks carry grudges all their lives. They don’t leave home without them. They’re just not happy unless they’re blasting governments, churches, school boards or college football teams. They’re even against actors, neighbors, newspapers, television, lawyers and relatives. But the weirdest resentment I ever saw belonged to my wife, Marilyn, who carried a grudge against an entire city. She hated Denver. She was happy in her grudge though, and just to feel better she sometimes spread her gleeful animosity throughout the ent...
News reporters in olden times enjoyed pulling pranks. They all did. You probably think they acquired that fun-filled pastime in journalism school, except the reporters I knew never went to college. That’s why they were reporters. The most applauded jokes were those that involved large groups of people. Politicians and lawyers were not allowed to play, because they were considered experts at prankdom. As an example, Red Fenwick was a crusty old guy who always wore Western clothes to his job at the Denver Post — big hat, boo...
Bob Huber : local columnist When things go wrong, someone is always there to say, “I told you so.” And that fosters in me a vengeful yearning to do the same thing to them. But I never had a chance until one day I was in Levelland, Texas, and a money machine outside a bank went zonkers and ate my credit card. I should mention here that the wind was blowing hard enough that day to put West Texas in New Jersey, so rather than fight the machine outdoors, I went inside the bank and explained the situation to a lady vice pre...
Today, in our continuing series “What Makes Guys Tick,” we explore the question: How can husbands kill time in stores while their wives shop? This is a tough one, because in the first place, if a guy has the brains of zucchini, he will never accompany his wife on a shopping trip. But let’s say, just for the fun of it, that in a weak moment a man follows his wife to Wal-Mart, thinking he can kill time rifling through auto parts, fishing lures, humorous greeting cards and baseball caps while she meanders aimlessly, aisle after...
We were barely out of bib overalls when my boyhood friend Smooth Heine joined me in celebrating our independence by assembling a motorized vehicle on a budget of $13.67, the total value of our lifetime savings and investment portfolio. Actually, we were in the early stages of a primal urge to drive fast cars, wear white scarves and grow sideburns, convinced that eager girls would flock to us for rapid transportation, tender caresses and other colorful pastimes. It was an eighth-grade whim. So we shooed chickens out of a...
When I was a kid, schools shut down each June to give enterprising students a chance to get rich. Taking into account the prevailing economy at the time — a nickel bought a Coke which included a two-cent rebate for the bottle, if you could find a nickel — whenever I hear someone talk about those good old days, I get the galloping glurks. Amidst these economic foibles, a few enterprising grownups temporarily panned gold on the banks of the creek that ran through my Colorado hometown. Jobs were nonexistent, but a willing ent...
Bob Huber: Local Columnist When I was a kid, schools shut down each June to give enterprising students a chance to get rich. Taking into account the prevailing economy at the time — a nickel bought a Coke that included a 2-cent rebate for the bottle, if you could find a nickel — whenever I hear someone talk about those good old days, I get the galloping glurks. Amidst these economic foibles, a few enterprising grownups temporarily panned gold on the banks of the creek that ran through my Colorado hometown. Jobs were non...
Bob Huber : Local Columnist I love June. With each passing year, I love it even more. That’s because it contains Flag Day, D-Day, Father’s Day, my birthday and National Eat More Prunes Day. It’s a month-long feast of gala celebrations, if you get my drift. If Congress had a lick of sense, they’d set June aside as a month-long holiday. Banks would close for 30 days, post offices would stop flooding you with fourth-class mail and federal bureaucracies would come to a screeching halt. Don’t tell me folks from Maine to Hawaii wo...
Here at the Foundation for Doing Away with Old Age, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that you get perks in your golden years that make you giggle with delight. The bad news is the perks seldom make up for the price you have to pay. As Bette Davis, the AARP Magazine poster girl, said, “Old age ain’t for sissies.” But here’s the good news: •Kidnappers aren’t interested in you. •In a hostage situation, you’re likely to be released first. •No one expects you to run — anywhere. •Folks call at three in the afterno...
Bob Huber : Local Columnist Here at the Foundation for Doing Away with Old Age, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that you get perks in your golden years that make you giggle with delight. The bad news is the perks seldom make up for the price you have to pay. As Bette Davis, the AARP Magazine poster girl, said, “Old age ain’t for sissies.” But here’s the good news: • Kidnappers aren’t interested in you. • In a hostage situation, you’re likely to be released first. • No one expects you to run — anywhere. • Folk...
Here at the Institute for Intellectual Stuff (our motto is, “We Research Thorny Problems Such as Poverty and Baldness”), we’ve recently spent time delving into another timeless issue: Are men and women really different? Of course they are, dummy. Anyone can see that. Proof can be found in arguments between the sexes. Women always win. There’s no middle ground, no compromise, no armistice. If the battle’s ever in doubt, they starch your shorts. Men, on the other hand, gain a temporary upper hand only if they’ve done someth...
Here at the Institute for Intellectual Stuff (our motto is, “We Research Thorny Problems Such as Poverty and Baldness”), we’ve recently spent time delving into another timeless issue: Are men and women really different? Of course they are, dummy. Anyone can see that. Proof can be found in arguments between the sexes. Women always win. There’s no middle ground, no compromise, no armistice. If the battle’s ever in doubt, they starch your shorts. Men, on the other hand, gain a temporary upper hand only if they’ve done someth...
Every state has an antiquated motto, usually a timely little statement such as “Don’t Tread on Me.” But no one understands them except local historians, and you know how they are. So as a public service we here at the Institute for Better Slogans are fostering more up-to-date expressions such as: “We Put the Fun in Fundamentalism” (Georgia), and “Two Billion Years Tsunami Free” (Indiana). If any of you states out there think you deserve a new motto, we’ll be happy to oblige. Here are samples of our latest slogans for you...
You can’t buy bitters anymore. They were all the rage during the Civil War, but their popularity petered out. You see, armies of the North were to a large extent financed by a special wartime tax on booze, and so bitters were born. Bitters were an alleged medicine containing alcohol, which tasted awful but got you just as drunk. Naturally they were popular. But as a medicine, they avoided the special tax. Side note: You’d have to be a rocket scientist today to finance a war with liquor taxes. Folks were a lot more pat...
Mother’s Day always reminds me of a time when I supported a family, a dog pack, an ancient Ford, a cigar addiction and the federal government on $400 a month. In those days I put all our bills in a hat each month and drew one out to pay. If anyone complained, I didn’t put them in the hat. Life was simpler in those days. The mongrel dog pack was an unnecessary burden, forever increasing as our three kids kept bringing them home. The dogs were “Nicky,” part coyote and leader of the pack; “Bee-Bee,” who liked to break into...
