| I am a man of few words. I also wonder why anyone would care to read my words. With that said here I go down the slippery slope of word smithing. Let me tell you about myself. I eat steak. Actually Minute Steaks. I probably eat Minute Steaks about five, six times a week. I like their shape. I like their color. I like the way they smell when my wife, Earlene, cooks them up with onions, garlic and flecks of red pepper. You knows what gets me revved up, the smell of minute steaks mixed with Earlene's perfume. I take a deep inhale when she passes the table smelling tasty, sweet and chewy good. I once had a dream Earlene was covered in Minute Steaks. It was, to say the least, very sexy. I woke up with a start next to Earlene and looked at her gentle sleeping body next to mine. Before you know it I make my move. I go straight to the kitchen for a midnight snack of a Minute Steak sandwich with chips and dip. When I got back Earlene hadn't moved. I slid into bed falling back to slumber with the juicy flavor of Minute Steak between my teeth. |
| A Few Words with Taps Wilhelm |
| I feel kind of foolish. I'm just stuck in the middle of a feud between some lady who hates our web page and a new editor who thinks my thoughts are without thought. Hmm. Let me speak straight from the ticker. I don't care about the email lady. I care about chocolate donuts. I don't care about her flimsy opinions. I care about the Detroit Lions, Detroit Tigers and the Toledo Mud Hens. This editor guy means nothing to me, but how spicy my enchiladas are means the world to me. His ideas and general outlook on things means nothing to me, but the gentle touch of my wife in the morning when I crawl back under the covers after my morning constitutional means a hell of a lot. So you see I have my priorities straight. Before me are the issues I deem important and those I deem unimportant. The important issues and ideas are in a neat stack in front of me ready for my attention and focus. The unimportant issues and ideas are scraped off the table into the plastic bag I just collected my dog, Jasper, leavings from in front of the TV. Yup, I've got things in control. Don't worry about me. I'm not going anywhere. If you need me I'll be right here. |
I offer you a question. Can you think of any thing
better than crawling into bed with cold feet, sliding
under the sheets and warming your puppies up close
to your warm soft loved one's gams?
I didn't think so.
This weekend when the "Blizzard of 2010" came
barreling through our land I needed to empty my
bladder whilst watching television. I was watching
"Saved by the Bell, the Lost Episodes".
I figured this, it is twenty four feet to the nearest
bathroom from my chair and fifteen feet eleven
inches to the back door. In order to pause my DVD I
would have to crawl over the wife, another four feet,
slide down the bed over to the table which is another
two feet. Once I added this up I figure it was at least
thirty forty feet I'd have to travel if I chose the
bathroom or a small percentage of that if I headed
for the back door.
As I stepped out on the deck the pressure lifting I
could see the small flakes land around me
illuminated like a thousand Tinker Bells. I was finally
done, turned to re-enter and as I tugged on the
knob, so to speak, the door had locked behind me. I
was locked out and the wife with her heavy duty
earplugs and eye mask would be no help.
I walked around the house. Side door, locked. Front
door, locked. Every window, locked. However, I did
see my neighbor's bedroom light on. Sturda Horowitz
is a strapping women with a Mae West quality. I
knuckle knocked on her window. Her face appeared
and she opened up. I explained my dilemma.
Moments later I was inside her house, feet frozen
almost blue. She looked at me and I looked at her,
before you know it I was lying next to her feet planted
in the crock of her knees.
We're just friends, Sturda and I, but I do admit I didn't
return home for three days.
What makes things even fuzzier is the wife never
noticed I was gone. I came home at dinner time. My
plate of "Spaghetti Red" was steaming on the table
and she was sleeping in front of the The Price is
Right with host Drew Carey.
I ate my food, had a beer and after a moment of
clarity headed back to Sturda's for the night.
Nothing beats warm feet.
better than crawling into bed with cold feet, sliding
under the sheets and warming your puppies up close
to your warm soft loved one's gams?
I didn't think so.
This weekend when the "Blizzard of 2010" came
barreling through our land I needed to empty my
bladder whilst watching television. I was watching
"Saved by the Bell, the Lost Episodes".
I figured this, it is twenty four feet to the nearest
bathroom from my chair and fifteen feet eleven
inches to the back door. In order to pause my DVD I
would have to crawl over the wife, another four feet,
slide down the bed over to the table which is another
two feet. Once I added this up I figure it was at least
thirty forty feet I'd have to travel if I chose the
bathroom or a small percentage of that if I headed
for the back door.
As I stepped out on the deck the pressure lifting I
could see the small flakes land around me
illuminated like a thousand Tinker Bells. I was finally
done, turned to re-enter and as I tugged on the
knob, so to speak, the door had locked behind me. I
was locked out and the wife with her heavy duty
earplugs and eye mask would be no help.
I walked around the house. Side door, locked. Front
door, locked. Every window, locked. However, I did
see my neighbor's bedroom light on. Sturda Horowitz
is a strapping women with a Mae West quality. I
knuckle knocked on her window. Her face appeared
and she opened up. I explained my dilemma.
Moments later I was inside her house, feet frozen
almost blue. She looked at me and I looked at her,
before you know it I was lying next to her feet planted
in the crock of her knees.
We're just friends, Sturda and I, but I do admit I didn't
return home for three days.
What makes things even fuzzier is the wife never
noticed I was gone. I came home at dinner time. My
plate of "Spaghetti Red" was steaming on the table
and she was sleeping in front of the The Price is
Right with host Drew Carey.
I ate my food, had a beer and after a moment of
clarity headed back to Sturda's for the night.
Nothing beats warm feet.
| Well I went to bed right after Dancing with the Stars the other night happy as a clam, clean and relaxed ready to slide these toes under my 300 thread count sheets. I was almost there. So close, in fact, I could smell the clean linen scent wrapping a seductive swirl around my nostrils. Phone rings. Phone rings. Phone rings. I answer. Guess who is going to be a grandfather? I'm too young to be a grandfather. I just met my daughter a few years ago. Mind you she is the spitting image of me. She's an attractive sort who took to the proper side of the gene pool. Twyla was on the other end of the phone. "Popsie, I'm with child." I grew quiet. "Who's the Dad? Is it whoesy whatsit? "Yes, it's Darren. Look Popsie he's got a good job." Yeah right I thought. He works part-time at Chuckie Cheese making pizzas. This guy is going to be the father. Holy crap. I hung up the phone all flushed. I looked into the mirror across the room, staring into my smooth creamy face thinking how I wasn't ready for this next movement in life. Twyla changed all that. I remember when we first met and I ask her about babies and her future she told me she'd probably never birth a child. There's no reason to do it she said. She's a good girl I thought. Maybe in a few years she'd be ready and I'd be ready and the whole world would be ready for another addition to the Wilhelm gene pool to live on the planet. I knew the fateful night Twyla ordered a cheese pizza from a rather dull square head man with a nervous twitch something was going to give. Twyla gave and what's done is done. I assume the child will be named Marlin Winsome Tapper Wilhelm unless Twyla decides to marry Darren and for that reason my phone will remain turned off for the next few weeks. Twyla and Darren Scudd Married March 5, 2010 Taps Wilhelm at the wedding |
Through extensive study over the past five years results have shown overall intelligence disappearing from all sections the Earth's populations. As many are focused on the global warming or lack thereof intelligence has been seeping out of the minds of humanity much like the air from a small pinhole in a balloon. Eventually all the air will be gone and the balloon flat. Questions presented are: What is causing the evaporation of intelligence? Where is it going? What can be done to regain or save intelligence before it disappears forever into the ozone? Researchers have determined intelligence molecules are living and growing in small cities inside everyone's brain. These gatherings of molecules actually communicate with each other. Studies have shown exposure to Mountain Dew, bananas, rubber cement, double cheeseburgers, reality television, toothpaste, bath soap and leather jackets may be some of the causes of intelligence evaporation. These substances apparently rearrange the intelligence molecules and cause them to get lost when they visit each other's cities inside the human brain.( for those who care click here for the rest of the story) |
| While Tap is away on vacation to Poteau, Oklahoma to visit his brother, Jorge, he asked friend and social scientist Dr. Skip Blower to take the reins. |
| Intelligence May Be Extinct by 2014 |
It is all gone. Everything I thought and believed is all gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. What is gone, you ask demurely. Normalcy. Just plain normal people. Polite delicious looking sanitized people who take their hats off at the dinner table, only wear camouflage on the weekend, have a child with the dirty snot trail from a nostril, go to church 'cause they want to and if they didn't their mom would refuse to cook Sunday afternoon dinner and maybe even take the Dodge Dart back 'cause Jesus is angry 'cause someone missed church last Sunday 'cause they were sleeping in 'cause they drank too much the previous evening and can't remember how they got home. Mom's afraid God might up and kill this person for being an All-American sinner deluxe with no drive or inclination to be anything but a tub full of Fruit Loops and Rainier Beer who sits around all day watching Maury Povich and I Love Lucy laughing like there's no tomorrow and there might not be if someone misses church again, but someone doesn't want to go because the sermons are too long and I'm not allowed to pee when I need to 'cause the preacher goes on and on and on until I grow tired and they next thing noticed is the preacher laying hands on the redeemers. I miss just simple brained plaid wearing people who enjoy Oreos and beer, hamburgers that don't moo and the tough of love a special lady. Yes I do, |
| While Taps travels through Russia by bicycle his friend Thelmesa Morbidd is filling the post |
Welcome my ignorant friends and I mean that in the nicest of pleasantries. It has come to my psychic attentions you need guidance, clarification, a person who can guide through horrific life battles. I, Thelmesa, can offer kind words with little meaning but with great appearance My words are born of other words and allow me, to the uneducated, a platform to rest my enormous spiritual mind. Take my directory of words and gobble them up. Digest these morsels of wisdom. Disperse them kindly into your cesspool lives. If your down and lonely and you need a helping hand and nothing, nothing is going right hold your head up high. Hold your head up high. Because you must remember that Papa was a rolling stone where ever he laid his hat was his home and when he died all he left us was alone. You ask me, Thelmesa, how can I enjoy this life. I want love and lots of it. I want to feel important to someone. I desire somebody and something to apply frosting to my existence. I tell you I've been roaming around, I was looking down at all I see Painted faces fill the places I can't reach You know that I could use somebody You know that I could use somebody. With these words Me and Mrs. Mrs. Jones Mrs. Jones Mrs. Jones we got a thing goin' on. Those that's got shall get. Those that's not shall lose, so the bible said and it still is true. These are the words I live and spiritualisms I use to create a false sense of genius in your eyes. Lastly, I say unto ye, begin each day like it is another day. At night when in bed close your eyes. When eating dinner thoroughly chew your food. The United States never really landed on the moon. Blessed thoughts I smear on your soul. Amen. |
| Thank you Carole King, Kings of Leon (Followill Boys), Kenneth Gamble; Cary Grant Gilbert; Leon Huff , Barrett Strong and Norman Whitfield, Billy Holiday and Arthur Herzog Jr., Rod Argent and Chris Whiteor inspiration. |
| Anniversaries are so beautiful. I've been blessed. Throughout my career of love and relationships anniversaries have brought me great joy and in some cases even greater pain. I remember my first wife, Sheila. She was a doll. We spent two glorious years in an allegedly wonderful marriage. Two years where I worked hard, brought home the bacon and all I ever wanted was a bit of respect and sweet love. She ran off with my girlfriend, Stella, who worked over at the Rustic Inn. I came home one night and all I found was a note stuck to the front door with a wad of chewing gum. "Taps," it said in red crayon", I met someone else. Don't try to find me. I'm in a happy place. Love Sheila. P.S. Tell the boss down at the Rustic Inn Stella won't be in no more." I put two and two together. Those two took everything in the house including my toothbrush and bottle of Old Spice. Fortunately for me I was able to buy most of my clothes and other odd items back at the local flea market two weeks later for twenty five bucks. I heard a few years later that Stella had run off with a cult and moved to a place called Colorado City, Arizona. Sheila called me on our anniversary last year. It had been fifteen years since we had last spoken. She wanted to come back. She had made a huge mistake. She was a changed woman. I took her back. Surprise to me when I got home today. On the front door was a note. It read much like the note from many years ago. This time she showed some pity on me. She left my toothbrush with another note written in lipstick on the medicine chest. " Happy Anniversary, Love Sheila. Bye Now." Sheila Stella |
I'm feeling real quiet today. The
crickets in the kitchen are even
participating in my near silent solitude.
I am like a monk in Tibet or a cloistered
nun in Massachusetts. The silence is
infectious.
Why you ask me why am I silent? Why
am I sitting here in my underwear for
three days on the edge of a chair
staring out the window at the slow
wave of old maples hovering over my
house and former garden.
My friend, let's call him Edwin
Sourwater, has caused me great grief.
He has taken the love of my life away
from me.
Starla was one of a kind. She was soft
yet hard. Warm yet slightly chilled. A
rare beauty who sometimes looked like
a raving murderer if you made her
mad, but I loved her. I loved her like no
other. We connected.
She was my Totie Fields, my Phyllis
Diller, my Agnes Morehead.
I met her many years ago. She was
married to Edwin. We fell in love, Starla
and I did. We thought alike, ate alike
and sometimes smelled alike and I
think that's what caused the initial
problem. She often smelled like my Old
Spice cologne after we had a good
romp in the hay. Edwin became
suspicious and found out on Christmas
Eve 1979. Starla and I took off. We
took off in Edwin's new mustard four
door Toyota Corolla.
We were together every day, every
night, all the time. It was heaven.
Now to the problem. Edwin found us.
He swooped in and turned on the
charm. Within thirty minutes Starla had
packed her gear and was out the door.
Gone. Poof. Vanished. Edwin had
stolen his wife back.
Now here I sit in the puddle of silence
thinking of Starla and her snores, her
loud voice, her loud sneezes and
belches. I sit here thinking only one
thing.
Thank you Edwin Sourwater, you truly
are my friend.
crickets in the kitchen are even
participating in my near silent solitude.
I am like a monk in Tibet or a cloistered
nun in Massachusetts. The silence is
infectious.
Why you ask me why am I silent? Why
am I sitting here in my underwear for
three days on the edge of a chair
staring out the window at the slow
wave of old maples hovering over my
house and former garden.
My friend, let's call him Edwin
Sourwater, has caused me great grief.
He has taken the love of my life away
from me.
Starla was one of a kind. She was soft
yet hard. Warm yet slightly chilled. A
rare beauty who sometimes looked like
a raving murderer if you made her
mad, but I loved her. I loved her like no
other. We connected.
She was my Totie Fields, my Phyllis
Diller, my Agnes Morehead.
I met her many years ago. She was
married to Edwin. We fell in love, Starla
and I did. We thought alike, ate alike
and sometimes smelled alike and I
think that's what caused the initial
problem. She often smelled like my Old
Spice cologne after we had a good
romp in the hay. Edwin became
suspicious and found out on Christmas
Eve 1979. Starla and I took off. We
took off in Edwin's new mustard four
door Toyota Corolla.
We were together every day, every
night, all the time. It was heaven.
Now to the problem. Edwin found us.
He swooped in and turned on the
charm. Within thirty minutes Starla had
packed her gear and was out the door.
Gone. Poof. Vanished. Edwin had
stolen his wife back.
Now here I sit in the puddle of silence
thinking of Starla and her snores, her
loud voice, her loud sneezes and
belches. I sit here thinking only one
thing.
Thank you Edwin Sourwater, you truly
are my friend.
| I have a theme for my story today. Humility. Recently I learned the true meaning of humility. As the evening wore on a lonesome Friday evening at the Drop In Café I sat alone at the end of the bar sipping a Lagunitas IPA from a small glass. My wife was out of town with her book club on a gambling trip to Atlantic City. My girlfriend was with her daughter, Margarita, who was in the process of giving birth to triplets. My best buddy, Earl Swayback, was going to church all week to prove to his wife that he had changed and was a moral soul, not the drunken cheater he actually was most of the time. In the moment of self pity I was thinking poor poor me. I'm a great guy. I'm fun. I can talk about anything with any one. Why am I alone? Then the epiphany came rolling through. Maybe I should step back and re-access my situation. It is quite possible I have spent so much time swimming in lake me I failed to supply my friends and loved ones with support. In my times of greed and selfishness I was so consumed with myself nothing else mattered. Now, the reality had presented itself to me in the form of loneliness. From across the room a tight bodied brunette smiled at me. I waved her over. She was a nurse. Baby send me to her doctor. We talked real close for the rest of the evening buying each other small beers. When the bartender, Slim, began to shut her down for the night this package of beauty ask me to escort home. I looked at her, beautiful eyes wrapped around my heart and tugged. Carol, I told her, I am a married man. I have obligations. So I must be home by noon tomorrow I promised my wife I would clean the house. And I did make it home, but it was really around two and I got most of it clean, but I was satisfied I had begun the process of being more thoughtful. Finally, I am thinking of some one other than myself. |