If I told my secret to the half dozen strangers who read my blog each Sunday, then it would not be a secret, now would it? Not that I have a secret, but if I did and I revealed it here I would have to fly around the world and whack each and every person that commented on my blog on Sunday Scribblings. That could get very expensive having to fly to Oregon, Idaho, India, England, Australia, California, Italy, Massechusettes, Washington State, Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, and Herbsylvania (there is such a place, ask Herb). OK, I could drive to North Carolina, Georgia, and Florida but I would have to get a rental car or maybe jack one so that my own vehicle would not be spotted at the crime scene. I could probably combine Oregon, Idaho, California, and Washington State into one trip, so that is doable. To the locations I would have to fly to I would be confronted by today's increased airport security and I could not bring my Glock with me so there is that inconvenient 5 day waiting period before I could buy some heat to bust a cap. And you can't even buy a handgun in England and many other third-world countries, so I would be forced to kill the foreign Sunday Scribblers with a claymore or a fireplace poker. Then there would be some kind of lobby against fireplace pokers. Remember, "claymores don't kill people, people kill people." I would miss too much work and Costco would fire me, leaving me without income or prospects. I would soon become homeless and have to live in a Kenmore dryer box. I could die of KFC dumpster poisoning, rabid rat bites, frostbite or hypothermia (not likely in South Carolina but my resistance would be down). I would be without healthcare, and I am not an illegal alien, so I would have to be treated by a massage therapist and aromatherapy cannot cure the plague (I looked it up). I would be so overcome with guilt over killing all of you (well, some of you) that I would simply lose the will to live. My death would be on your hands. So that is why I am not telling you my secret and I think it was rude of you to ask.
Whisper it to me. I won't tell.
ReplyDeleteWell, it involves a goat, a bag of oranges, a seven iron, a two by four, a pair of argyle socks, and a compass.
ReplyDeleteYou missed out India!
ReplyDeletethat oversight has been corrected.
ReplyDeleteThanks - I don't really want to know, and I certainly don't want to be bumped off for knowing. Thanks - you just saved my life, and the lives of all your readers. (But you had me worried there).
ReplyDeletePert must be fearless. . .
You could hit Herbsylvania on your way from Seattle to Idaho. Anything involving a goat and a 2x4 would make the front pages of the local paper, so you'd better whisper your secret in passing.
ReplyDeleteWell you can tell me - I'm in South Africa, so you could easily hire a hitman to pop me off, there's one on every corner you know ;-)
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDelete...rude, you think that's rude? ... you ain't seen rude yet... ;)
ReplyDeleteArgyle socks? Oh the humanity!
ReplyDeleteGill:
ReplyDeleteSouth Africa, that is a whole new kettle of tilapia. This is going to dramatically increase my expenses. It is not like I can drop by and dispatch you on the way to somewhere else, unless I can pick up a reader in Namibia or Antarctica. Thanks for the offer to hire someone else to monkey-flip you, but that would create a whole new secret and you can see the implications.
Herb:
AHA, I know you are trying to confuse me as I know there is nothing between Seattle and Idaho, much less a newspaper.
so you hated the argyle socks your neighbor wore and sunk his golf ball on hole 7 with a seven iron, so you took a compass and found the goat farm where you pryed loose the 2x4 that kept it in the fence and bribed it with the bag of oranges to go into your neighbors yard long enough for it to chew up all of his manicured lawn...
ReplyDeleteit would have been better if you had just bought him another pair of argyle socks that you like...
oops... I'll be the first you have to find!!!!
Dailypanic:
ReplyDeleteDamn, now I have to add Alabama to my hit list. And I was so accustomed to going to the bathroom indoors. Where is my passport? I think you have hit on something. Perhaps I should challenge readers to use my clues and guess my secret. Yours was very creative. If I was rating responses yours would be in first place. Oh yeah, you were the only response to hazard a guess.
I'm really afraid to comment. A claymore sounds like a bad way to go.
ReplyDeletePatois:
ReplyDeleteYou are in luck. Won't need the sword in California. Guns are everywhere. I can get one from any Rapper or NFL player.
You don't fillet people, do you?
ReplyDeleteNo, and I don't eat their liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti, ffffffffffffffff. Pretty much just a simple liquidation, very impersonal.
ReplyDeleteClever take on this nosey prompt. We surely wouldn't want you to end up homeless in a dryer carton. Otherwise, Pinehurst pretty well nailed my feelings---we appreciate your considerate secrecy.
ReplyDeleteDo you remember when at that other Pinehurst course, the one with brown grass and greens the size of dinner plates, and just as hard, when you played an entire round with a seven iron and putter? You hit the green on #4 with your seven iron. I laughed so hard that round it almost cured my big banana slice! Were you wearing argyles? Did a goat come on the course from Glen Exum's backyard on #7? Did you whack Cruikshank with a 2X4? Did you pull a tee shot so badly on #5 we needed a compass (and Fred Blackwell's dog) to find your ball? Did we carry oranges to refresh ourselves that round?
ReplyDeleteThe secret might be out.
Maybe the goat was wearing the argyle socks. That really made me smile. I hadn't thought of Blackwell or Cruikshank in years. Cruikshank was always good to us kids.
ReplyDeleteHey, you guys aren't discussing the course in my favorite place are ya?
ReplyDeleteI used to swing a few with Terry Jaynes. . .back in the days of pink crushed velvet hot pants and striped shirts. Stepped on a bee walking down the 8th fairway, I believe. All that clover. . .
Anyway, I have a couple of relatives in S. Africa. One lives in Cape Town, the other is a visiting exchange student, but I'm not sure which University. . .
Just in case you need connections.
Dang - I forgot to tell you I visited the Blue Man Group clip. I got kinda freaked out by the chick with the Martian voice - I mean it was "out there."
ReplyDeleteAlso visited Gathering's secret and superimposed her secret onto yours. Yup, almost word for word.
I'm not coming to your all woman weekend! And I was invited because she said so!
Pinehurst:
ReplyDeleteI remember Terry Jaynes. His dad was a state policeman named Mel. Click on the third Blue Man Group video. It features one of the better voices in the world. They are amazing live.