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Posted 9/21/11 (Wed)


Blank. My mind is blank. And then to make matters worse, Shirley says that is when it is best! That hurts. That really hurts. And I’ve told her many times, fat people have feelings, too.
You know, a couple of years ago, you never would have thought about rush-hour traffic in Alexander, Williston, Watford. But now you do. There was a time when, if you were out late at night or early morning, you would be the only car on the street. That could be good. Or that could be bad.
When we were living and ranching in both the Dickinson and Selfridge areas, we spent a lot of time at each place. It depended on just where we were haying or cowboying. So, we didn’t keep a lot of food in either fridge. We just kind of played it by ear.
So, if we were in Dickinson, I could get up at 3 a.m., drive across town to the grocery store, buy breakfast groceries, and prepare a big breakfast for the neighbors and ourselves without really bothering anyone.
One morning, I guess it’s about 3 or 3:30 a.m., I go to buy breakfast foods. And heading south through town on 22, I get picked up for speeding. Thirty-two! Thirty-two mph in a 25 mph zone! I’m the only car on the road. People drive 35 all day long and nobody says a thing.
Well, the officer shines his light around the car. He’s sure anyone out at that time of the morning is drunk or high or lost or it is an emergency or something. All he can find is bacon and eggs and juice (he never found the body in the trunk). He gives a stern lecture on speeding and sends me off. I’m a little upset.
Two weeks later, same deal. It is cold and I leave my car running under a streetlight in the store lot. I load my groceries and take off. Being somewhat of a rebel, I determine to drive at 27 mph. Twenty-seven. As I make my way through town, I meet an officer. His lights come on and he spins around. I fasten my seat belt, take out my driver’s license and wait for him. He comes up and shines his light in my car. Again, looking for drugs, booze, weapons of mass destruction, or so forth. Nothing.
He shines his light in my face. “Do you know why I stopped you?”
I stare into that light and scream indignantly, “For going 27 mph in a 25, you moron!”
“No,” he responds. “You don’t have your headlights on.”
“Oh, thank you, nice officer.”
That reminds me of a story.
This guy was driving home from a late night of drinking and card playing. As he goes through Manning, an officer begins following him. It is two in the morning. The officer is following pretty close, so the guy eases to the side to let the patrolman by. Immediately, the officer flips his lights on and picks the guy up.
“Where are you going this time of the night?”
“Well,” the guy replies, “I’m on my way to a lecture on the evils of alcohol and the evils of gambling. The speaker is touching on how it affects your family life. How it can cause marital breakups. And how it can jeopardize your career.”
Interested, the officer asks who is giving the lecture.
“My wife,” comes the short reply.
Click, click. The sound of handcuffs.