I Have Moved
Yesterday, I loaded up the wagon and moved on over to Wordpress.
My new address is http://russellgayer.wordpress.com/
Same silly stuff on a new channel
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Misty Mountain Hop
My original intention was to
title today’s Friday Flash fiction Foggy Mental Breakdown in honor of the
Steppenwolf song. But I was struggling
powerful. The words just would not come. Then for some reason, I started
thinking about wise old owl and his buddy raccoon. So, I stopped by Craig’s
blog and read his story. Next thing I knew I was humming Led Zeppelin and
writing about bluegrass music. Go figure.
This week’s beautiful (and
inspiring) photo is courtesy of Maggie Duncan.
Misty Mountain Hop
“Where’s that noise coming from?”
“What noise? I don’t hear anything.”
“It sounds like an owl playing fiddle and a raccoon on banjo.”
“You can hear all that? What you been smoking, man?”
“Nothing—I swear. It’s coming from that foggy holler between them hills.”
“If you could hear music—and I ain’t saying you can—what makes you think it’s being
played by animals?”
“It’s upbeat and adventurous with a hint of sorrow.”
“So, that’s not unusual for bluegrass.”
“This is special music, not ordinary bluegrass. Powerful medicine for
children.”
“Oh, I hear it now. That’s Craig Towsley’s place.”
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Redneck Mythology
Did you ever wonder why there
were no mythological Gods of Redneck Folklore? Neither did I.
Then I saw this wonderful picture (copyright Lura Helms) and I said to
myself, “That explains it!”
I’m sure a bunch of ya’ll are gonna leave comments
thanking me for enlightening you on Redneck Mythology. I won’t be able to
respond right away as I am on the road this weekend, but don’t worry, I promise
to visit your blogs as soon as I return.
I appreciate you stopping by.
Redneck Mythology
Billy Bob
was half goat/half man. We won’t go into his genealogical lineage, but suffice it
to say, his kinfolks are regulars on Dr. Phil.
One
day, Billy Bob was peeping over the fork of ash tree spying on three beautiful
young nymphs skinny dipping. Little did he know that this particular tree was a
Venus Fly Ash.
His Mom
saw him and cried out, “Billy Bob, pull your head out of that ash!” But the
tree snapped shut on Billy’s head.
The
moral of the story is; "When you’re doing something naughty; don't stick your
head up an ash."
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Mussel Shells
This
week’s entry is an excerpt from my short story, “Lost at Peter Bottom,” which
has been selected by Tales From the South for their September 18th
show at Starving Artist Café in North
Little Rock, AR. This may not have the
level of humor you’re used to from me, but it fit well with the prompt and gave
me a chance to toot my own horn at the same time.
Photo by Susan Wenzel.
To read more stories, go to http://madison-woods.com/ click
on the Blog tab, and follow the links.
Mussel Shells
There were rocks to skip and mussel
shells to scoop sand from the water’s edge. Why did I ever leave the safety and
security of such an oasis?
The answer is simple. Greed.
This was a fishing trip. The primary
goal when fishing is to catch fish. We had worked this hole quite a while with
no success. I tried various types of bait, often leaving them in the same spot
for an eternity of two whole minutes without getting so much as a nibble. Frustration
mounted with each passing moment. The length
of my patience could be measured against the point of a hook—with plenty of
room to spare.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Ozark Snotmouth
I ‘m
known to have a strong stomach, but this week’s photo made me GAG! Now, I’m afraid to go to sleep for fear this
disgusting image has burned itself into my brain cell (singular). When I was
child nightmares of snakes often plagued my sleep. Just when I thought I’d put that chapter
behind me—BAM! Now, I have to write
about it. Oh well, the doctor says it's good therapy.
Ozark Snotmouth
I hate snakes. All five kinds—large, small, dead,
alive, and rubber.
As a rural farm boy, I was unfortunate enough to
experience dozens of unexpected encounters with these cold-blooded vermin. From
March to November they sensed my every move, engaging in a horrible conspiracy
to torment and terrorize me—often generating unsightly stains in my underpants.
The most horrific of all these despicable, slimy creatures
is the Ozark Snotnose. This snake does not have fangs, but smothers its victim in
a disgusting drool the consistency of rubber cement.
There is no anti-venom. Your only defense is tall
boots and Kleenex.
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