Baxter Black

I stood with George, ears perked, eyes alert, like border collies waiting for the signal. John (we’ll call him John) finally made his momentous decision known: “We’ll do a C-section. But I want pictures for my scrapbook!”

The little kid sat on his knee
And looked up with stars in his eyes
He said, “Granddaddy, tell me again
How it was when you were my size.”

1. Lying flat on my back in the lobby of the Hyatt Regency in Phoenix at 2 a.m. I passed the carafe of chablis to my reclining colleague, who looked at me and said, “Pardner, I don’t think you’re executive material.”

The dragonslayer injured saving the damsel. The concerned female dabbin’ peroxide in the bullet wound creasing your shoulder. ‘It’s nuthin’,’ you’d say, wincing in pain. If only you had a saber slash across the cheek.

“Roy, can you show us the scar? It’s gotta be a big one!”

“What scar?”

“Where they took your conscience out!”

Meatless Monday … what kind of person would think something like that up? The same kind of people who would support Breathless Tuesday, Whistle-less Wednesday or Jalapeño-less Cinco de Mayo?